Nostalgia

It's a prose about memories, looking back, growing up.

The cool breeze caressed my skin as I drove my jeep along the rocky roads I used to know so well. I drove in silence for the entirety of the journey, except for the roaring engine and the sound of my tires bumping on the dusty pitted road. I braked when I arrived at my destination. The beach.

 

I took off my sandals and held them in my hands as I walked down the beach. The soft white sand buried my feet as I stepped into them. My mind was like a scrapbook of recollections; flashbacks of me playing on the beach with my friends and family appeared. I remember building sandcastles and running back to the shore when waves drew closer. How little I knew when I was so young, so carefree. I stood on the shore, allowing the salty seawater lap at my bare ankles. 

 

The tranquil sea turned into a battlefield. The waves were like white horses, galloping to the shore then retreating back into the ocean. After a while, I turned around and walked away from the beach. I found the shortcut I used to take to my house when I went to the beach to play. It was a small pebble path with palm trees and tropical hibiscuses growing on both sides of it. There is a single lamppost standing near the path, flickering away in bright daylight. I made my way through the trees and plants, realizing how much they grew in the years I was gone.

 

Finally, I arrived in front of my house. The wooden planks that built up the house were bleached white, but the texture of the wood was still present. I walked up cautiously and stroked the wood tenderly, scared that I will break the fragile wood.

 

I fumbled for the key in my pocket and at last, I found it. The cool brass key. I pulled it out and opened the door. Warm but dusty air flooded into my lungs as I walked in my house. I glanced around. Everything looked the same as I have left it when I was eighteen for university. After that, I didn’t come back to visit. Then my family bought another house in New Jersey and moved over there. But they didn’t sell this beach house, wanting to preserve the memories we had.

 

I walked up the stairs quietly, grasping the handrails, trying not to make the loose floorboards creak, and revealing my presence. I made my way up to my old bedroom. I fingered the doorknob, at first reluctant to turn it open it. I did. The objects in the room triggered old memories. I remembered how I used to sit by the windows, reading books whilst sipping orange juice. I remembered how much I wanted the pink canopy bed when I was small, thinking that it was a princess bed. I remembered the day my best friend and I painted mermaids, dragons, fairies and other mystical creatures on my bedside table.

 

I walked over to the window and gazed at the beach outside my window. I stood there; listening to the waves hit the shore and then turning back into the sea again. I was drowned in nostalgia, listening to the music of the sea. 

Author's Note

Tell me if there are any mistakes.

Reviews

[Truth_About_Rain]

I likes, Mi!! :D lol the first sentence gave me a jolt when you said 'as I drove my jeep...' xD the sentences are a bit rocky... :)

in your sentence "There is a single lamppost standing near the path..." the use of 'is' made me stumble a bit O.o I think it's a tense mistake, or am I wrong? Cuz in the sentence before that it says 'It was a small pebble path..." I think your whole story is in past tense so yeah :P Anyways, good job mi!! Keep writing!