The Last Wave
Went body boarding today at Bondi. As soon as I dove in the ice water instantly gave me brain freeze. Bondi Beach's way of saying "welcome back, tropical native boy."
I know it's annoyingly cliche for surfers (pros and wannabes alike) to wax poetic about being one with nature and feeling the rush when the waves scoop up your board and all that but based on whatever little experience I've had so far, it's true. Granted, I've spent more time being underwater than above, but even being submerged and spun around like laundry provides moments of clarity. Like: "God I hope nobody laughs at me when I surface."
My favourite part is definitely the waiting. You're sitting on your board, legs dangling underneath you, waves gently rocking you back and forth as you patiently wait for the right one to come along. It's here where I find myself thinking of things I normally wouldn't. Like: "If a Great White swam underneath me, would it go for my legs first since they are as of the moment the easiest bits to reach? Or would it go for the board since by presumption it would appear to be the meatier part of the meal? Or would it perhaps ignore me and instead go for the fat swimmer a few meters away because from my clouded perspective, he does somewhat resemble a pregnant walrus?"
Paddling away far from the noisy middle aged beach goers and their urinating children, I pass on wave after wave, content on just floating and enjoying the afternoon sun. Ordinarily I'd be aggressive and try to catch every wave I can but today I decide not to. If the perfect wave's there she'll come. Maybe I'll catch her and maybe I won't. For now I'm perfectly content floating. And thinking of things other than getting mauled by a 30 foot shark...
What would have happened if I had stayed and not flown home? Where exactly is home anyway? Whenever I'm in Manila and my friends ask me when I'm leaving I always say "I'm going home in a few days." And when I'm in Sydney and my dad asks me when I'm flying back I always say "I'll be home on December." I think I currently live in two places at the same time. My mind and my body are still playing catch up to each other, and when they finally merge, I wonder where I will find myself at.
I look across the water and see the real surfers passing the time. They look out towards the horizon like I do. I wonder if in some far away beach, other people are staring out and if so, would it be possible to see them if I paddled out a little further? I have dorky little bodyboarding fins on, of course I could. How hard could it be?
Finally the perfect wave comes and I catch her perfectly, riding her all the way back to shore. The ride is crisp, perfect, and like all good rides I really don't want it to end. But like everything else, it does and I find myself back on the beach, sand up my shorts and a smile on my face. The water is freezing but it somehow just reminds me of how great it is to be alive. This will do. For now.
I know it's annoyingly cliche for surfers (pros and wannabes alike) to wax poetic about being one with nature and feeling the rush when the waves scoop up your board and all that but based on whatever little experience I've had so far, it's true. Granted, I've spent more time being underwater than above, but even being submerged and spun around like laundry provides moments of clarity. Like: "God I hope nobody laughs at me when I surface."
My favourite part is definitely the waiting. You're sitting on your board, legs dangling underneath you, waves gently rocking you back and forth as you patiently wait for the right one to come along. It's here where I find myself thinking of things I normally wouldn't. Like: "If a Great White swam underneath me, would it go for my legs first since they are as of the moment the easiest bits to reach? Or would it go for the board since by presumption it would appear to be the meatier part of the meal? Or would it perhaps ignore me and instead go for the fat swimmer a few meters away because from my clouded perspective, he does somewhat resemble a pregnant walrus?"
Paddling away far from the noisy middle aged beach goers and their urinating children, I pass on wave after wave, content on just floating and enjoying the afternoon sun. Ordinarily I'd be aggressive and try to catch every wave I can but today I decide not to. If the perfect wave's there she'll come. Maybe I'll catch her and maybe I won't. For now I'm perfectly content floating. And thinking of things other than getting mauled by a 30 foot shark...
What would have happened if I had stayed and not flown home? Where exactly is home anyway? Whenever I'm in Manila and my friends ask me when I'm leaving I always say "I'm going home in a few days." And when I'm in Sydney and my dad asks me when I'm flying back I always say "I'll be home on December." I think I currently live in two places at the same time. My mind and my body are still playing catch up to each other, and when they finally merge, I wonder where I will find myself at.
I look across the water and see the real surfers passing the time. They look out towards the horizon like I do. I wonder if in some far away beach, other people are staring out and if so, would it be possible to see them if I paddled out a little further? I have dorky little bodyboarding fins on, of course I could. How hard could it be?
Finally the perfect wave comes and I catch her perfectly, riding her all the way back to shore. The ride is crisp, perfect, and like all good rides I really don't want it to end. But like everything else, it does and I find myself back on the beach, sand up my shorts and a smile on my face. The water is freezing but it somehow just reminds me of how great it is to be alive. This will do. For now.
posted by Carlo Ledesma at 4:21 AM
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