You can never tell with waves.
One day they tease, the next they say do not look at me, I am angry, you'll drown.
I sat facing the ocean early morning today because I wanted to tell myself I can start the day right, I can wake up earlier than the sun, I can be happy watching people pass me by, jogging their own early mornings away.
There is a young man walking a weary-looking black dog. There is a sporty grandma in her striped, collared shirt who double-checked to see if it was really natural oregano drink I was bringing with me. We smiled at each other. A young father walks by, little girl in tow, pigtails and yellow skirt on the daughter, and the father, pink umbrella tucked under his arm. Another child-adult pair passed by, this time wearing almost-identical outfits; the grandmother looks dreamy and a bit silly in her blue-colored eyebrows, the grandson especially curious about the fat man who sat down very near me. They come with the child's father then, I can see him now, taking pictures of his son and of his mother or mother-in-law; they look so happy they might as well wear rainbow-colored costumes and tap-dance in front of me.
I miss my mom.
And I miss my father.
I sat facing the ocean early morning today because I thought I can contemplate on how peace can be found in small cities.
But the holidays are over, the first three months of automatic happiness are starting to fade. I begin to think of home.