Day 70 to Day 72: He Surfs, She Surfs
Quick posts about what it means to surf together as a couple, and one apocalyptic day that brought the awe out of being afraid.
70/100 → This is what the back of our car looks like when the surf is on, and perhaps this sight is the only exception to my martial law on neatness. To me, the back of our car is a milestone of a mess. Because it means we are surfing together-- or to be more exact, I can surf the same spot with him.
Two years ago, I would not join him in the same lineup. I would sit on the shoulder and wait for hours. I would throw tiny tantrums about looking for friendlier breaks. But it couldn't stay like that-- especially not when you're a surf couple and you intend to stay that way for long.
So when I look at the back of our car, our shortboards criss-crossed in some yet to be unraveled promise of stoke, I feel proud. That even though I'm not a very good surfer-- yet, still, at all, or who knows how realistically far I can push my limits-- to just be able to surf where this boy surfs is monumental enough for me.
Because I might still be sitting on the shoulder, afraid, uncertain, and in everyone's way, had he not insisted that I tried. Harder.
So thank you, H. For the pressure and the patience. For dragging me out there to be good, be better, be my absolute best. And for simply knowing that I could, even before I could believe it myself. ♡
71/100 → Today in the lineup, we looked up from our surfboards to see four helicopters swoop past us, southward like mechanical migratory birds. It was almost apocalyptic, with rain clouds and lightning, and the thunderous whir of propellers drowning out the world for a moment. I don't see helicopters everyday, how much more four of them, and whoever they were and why they were there was so lost on me. It was strange but comforting; and one helicopter flew lower than the others, close enough to send ripples across the water but not close enough to reach. I started splashing water upward and I waved and waved until I saw the smile on the pilot's face as he waved back at us. Oh how small we must have looked. Our faces nothing but glistening blurs. Our bodies submerged. Our boards something like wings that float instead of fly.
72/100 → I wonder just how much of our selves are the same people when we first met, and I wonder just how much is now different, and of everything that's changed, how much do we love?
I look at you and I love all of it, especially the eyes that say you love all of it too.