A simple nine-word sentence in the novel I am reading ('they jumped off the dock into the blue waters') has invoked in me an awful and unrivalled longing for the sea, which I miss with every fibre of my being. It is an itching in my bones and a yearning in my heart. Every year, upon our arrival back home, I forget about my love for the ocean for approximately two weeks. My sea swimming, ocean diving, crab catching, sandy sandwich eating quota has been fulfilled and I can continue with my ordinary urban existence. Then I remember. This is not meant to sound downbeat; I feel extraordinarily lucky to have found a place - the sea, anywhere, as long as the water is blue in the sunlight - at such a young age where I feel utterly contented and I am so happy I have been able to spend so much of my summer at the beach this year. My city burns and I am very grateful that our street, the neighbourhood, remains as yet unharmed (and I grieve for those who have lost their livelihoods and the places they love, it is awful and despicable and dreadfully sad; I am not really sure what to think, except that it is clear something innate is dreadfully wrong with our society for young people to resort to violence) so it seems silly for me to be rambling on about my love for the sandy sea shore. But sometimes, in the wake of terrible events, all you can do is remember the places you love most in an attempt to rekindle what has been lost.
The absolutely wonderful thing is that, weather permitting, I'm driving to the beach with my best friends this Friday! I can hardly wait! Also, sending my best and most fervent good wishes to all those affected by the riots here in the city and elsewhere.