Home is a beach
“In every outthrust headland, in every curving beach, in every grain of sand there is the story of the earth.”
My story is held by a series of beaches. The sand and water hold the laughter and smiles of the conversations I have had there, the people I have inhaled the seawater with, and the memories of our conversations. The ocean has a way of making one belong. It is home.
Pacific Shores (May 2009, Age 12)
The minivan was warmed up, ham sandwiches were packed in a cooler, and my mom was running around the house telling my younger brother, Matthias, and I, that it was time to go. Only half-awake, I looked around my room at my stuffy – Sneaky, a panther I was gifted for my fifth birthday by one of my best friends from daycare. I opened my top dresser drawer – an antique dresser restored by my dad and pulled out a floral swimsuit, a bit too small for my growing body. I ran out of my room, where the walls were shining pink from the sunlight reflecting off of the hot pink walls I’d begged my aunt to paint for me.
As my brother, mom and I piled into the car, and my dad waved goodbye, we drove down the long driveway and I requested the CD we always listened to on road trips – Shania Twain’s Greatest Hits. We picked up my best friend Faeryn, who I’ve known since birth, and headed down the inland island highway. As my mom drove, we played the alphabet game, I spy and other car games and we laughed – a lot.
Pulling into the Pacific Shores Resort parking lot, we were excited to go swimming, go to the beach, and spend time together. Matthias hopped out of the van first, pushing past Faeryn and me in the middle seats, knocking my knee in the process, and I snarked at him “Matthias” in a tone only my family knows. After gathering our things we headed inside to the small front desk, passing the large fish tank of exotic fish that I can never remember the names of. All checked in, it was time to swim.
This is the pool Matthias learned to swim in, it is where I pretended to be a “grown-up”, and it is where I spent many happy days with my mom, Matthias, and Faeryn. We would swim for hours, often having the pool to ourselves. After a full day of swimming, we would beachcomb for crabs (which too often Matthias would throw at me), seashells, and other creatures we had yet to discover. We would climb up the large rock, feeling as if we were on top of the world. That rock was one of the tallest things I knew.
Pacific Shores Beach & Pool, Booking.com
Kits Beach (April 2015, Age 18)
I had been living in residence at UBC for almost 8 months – focusing on my classes and forgetting to focus on making friends. While I had friends to go for dinner with and do activities with, I craved a closeness I had not found yet. My mom was coming to visit and my cousin and I had planned a brunch for her at the beach. When she arrived at my dorm to pick me up, I ran out eagerly and embraced her in the tightest hug possible. My shoulder tension loosened, I breathed deeper, and I felt a sense of peace I had not felt since I had seen her during the reading break.
At Kits Beach, we planted ourselves on a grassy spot and she told me about her time living in Vancouver, the adventures she had and all of the fun she experienced. I did not have the heart to tell her that while I liked Vancouver, UBC, and the people I knew, I did not feel the same as her. If someone asked me where my home was, I knew the answer. It was in the minivan, listening to Shania Twain, surrounded by my family.
That weekend, when she left, I cried myself to sleep. I did not complete the work I needed to do, I could only watch Gilmore Girls and eat ice cream. I missed my home, my family.
Barnet Marine Park (December 2018, Age 21)
I had spent the day with two of my closest friends – two people who lift me up, support me, and who I can always be myself with. We had gone to a challenging yoga class, for a short walk on the North Shore, and had eaten delicious Thai food at our favourite restaurant. The day was full of energy, smiles, and friendship. We had, and still have, the type of friendship that connects you no matter which city you are living in. Even though one of the trio was about to move away again, we knew that she would always come back, because, much like the tide, she would never be far away from returning to where she belongs.
After a day of adventure, I arrived at my boyfriend’s basement suite for a relaxing evening. It was too cold and too dark to go for a walk at the beach, but we went anyways. On the rotting wooden dock, we held each other, smiled, and felt no need to say a word. Being someone who always has something to say, and who always fills the silence with words, this moment felt special, listening to the ocean waves without a need to speak. The light rain which would usually have me pull my hood up was something I barely noticed.
At Barnet we walked along the gravel path, the silhouettes of trees peeked out to say hello, and the city lights in the distance reminded me of where I was. I had a family here now. My friends, partner, and all of the people I had met in Vancouver had given me the greatest gift: a closeness that only a family has. I could finally say it – I was home.
“Home is people. Not a place.”
_________________________________________________________________________________Before writing the above story, I challenged myself to write a “Where I’m From” poem, inspired by this challenge put out by George Ella Lyon – the I Am From Project, to help guide what values I associate with home and how this relates to where I’m from. I’m including it here in case you’re interested in reading it, and in case you’d like to try a similar challenge yourself.
I’m from
I’m from lots of talking and no silence
I’m from love and encouragement
I’m from “this isn’t really your best, is it?”
I’m from turned out feet and cartwheels in the grocery store
I’m from hugs for everyone you meet.
I’m from constant competition
I’m from wanting everyone to know what you have to say.
I’m from wood blocked letters of your name
I’m from a love for elephants
I’m from saying grace and going to church, but only when grandma is around.
I’m from naivety that everyone is good
I’m from a doll with my middle name, with toes and fingers that have been bitten off.
I’m from 234 hours of home videos
I’m from capturing every moment, but never living in it.
I’m from late night ice cream runs
I’m from “I’ll start eating healthy tomorrow”
I’m from 18 hour drives with two stops
I’m from never having dinner together.
I’m from cold rinks and warm hearts
I’m from half-finished books, and half-finished hugs
I’m from telling the truth only when it’s convenient for you
I’m from wanting so badly for everyone to like you, that you will compromise yourself
I’m from compliments that mean nothing
I’m from wanting to know the whole story
I’m from “long story short” and “buds” and “diddle-ly diddle-ly dum”
I’m from “gute nacht” and “shalf gut”
I’m from dumb being a bad word
I’m from being a perfectionist, but never achieving perfection
I’m from a photoshopped family picture, because you can never get us all looking good
I’m from striving to be the best at everything you do
I’m from love, from cheering and from crying
I’m from a place, a family, a story.
Works Cited
Carson, Rachel. Lost Woods: The Discovered Writing of Rachel Carson. Boston: Beacon Press, 2011. Web. 27 Jan. 2020.
Hobb, Robin. Fool’s Fate. New York: Bantam Books, 2004. Web. 27 Jan. 2020.
Lepore, Jill. “The Right Way to Remember Rachel Carson.” The New Yorker. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2018/03/26/the-right-way-to-remember-rachel-carson. Web. 27 Jan. 2020.
Lyon, George Ella. “About.” I Am From Project. https://iamfromproject.com/about/. Web. 28 Jan. 2020.
McIntosh, Andrew., Bateman, Jeff., King, Betty., Hale, Jeff. “Shania Twain.” The Canadian Encyclopedia. https://www.thecanadianencyclopedia.ca/en/article/shania-twain. Web. 27 Jan. 2020.
“Pacific Shores Resort & Spa.” Booking.com. n.d. https://www.booking.com/hotel/ca/creekside-suites-pacific-shores.en-gb.html. Web. 28 Jan. 2020.
