Take this place with you

It started out as a New Year’s resolution: I will learn to surf. I have always looked forward to going to the beach—feeling the sand between my toes, the sun on my cheeks, the sea air in my lungs, and the surf’s brotherly embrace. The first time I was in Liwliwa beach in San Felipe, Zambales I was attending a beach party, one complete with bands, DJs, and dancing, just chilling like every other beach trip I had. But I resolved that it will be different this year. No more ‘just hanging out’.

The instruction was like a pick-up game of basketball. And I don’t play basketball. After a few repetitions of drills on the shore consisting of the lying on the board correctly, pushing yourself up on the board, and putting your feet on the right points on the board, off to the sea we went. The first few times trying to stand up on the board were miserable failures especially for the uninitiated in board sports like me. But once you place your feet on the right position on the board, you immediately understand the word ‘stoked’—that rush of elation from harnessing the laws of physics and nature into your own ride. I wanted more of it the more successes I get in standing up and balance on the board. I wanted more even after my hour-long lesson.

The following day I ventured out on my own. In those two hours of just me and the longboard I realized why surfing became a way of life for some people. On your own there will be no surfing instructor one to push you but yourself and the wave. That moment of being ‘stoked’ is created in a few seconds; yet it lasts for the rest of your day, and you'll seek for it for days to come. But before you will be able to set your foot on the board to ride that wave you will have to paddle. A lot. Paddle to find a spot to wait for the waves. Paddle to gain speed and momentum when catching a wave. Paddle back to that spot whether you caught the wave or not. Surfing became a lesson on patience and perseverance, and of how sweet their fruits can be.