The Wind
The wind comes and goes freely, ignoring the pleas of those in rooms still sweltering even after the sun’s blistering rays had sunk below the horizon at our Telunas resort, the destination of our class’s writing retreat. But as I woke to the sound of waves crashing against the beach and opened the door the next day, the wind seemed to have responded to my prayers, albeit a couple of hours too late. Stepping out of the shadows, I was greeted not by the glare of the rising sun but rather a sudden cool breeze, reminding me of the pleasures of air conditioning, which already felt like a distant memory.
As people began flowing towards the beach and the sun rose directly overhead, the wind became ever more invaluable, sweeping away the glare of the sun and allowing me to enjoy the feeling of the sand shifting below my feet. Whenever the wind inevitably stopped, I would become painfully aware of the blinding rays which beat upon my forehead. But as the breeze started up again, the sweat beading up on my forehead would soon be swept away. The delight of being freed from the oppressive sun, even if it was only temporary, was one like no other. As I stood entranced by the mesmerizing routine of the wind and the waves, I was reminded of the joy I had felt as a child being let loose on the beaches of the “Windy City,” where I had lived for nine years.
My childhood in Chicago was mostly spent at home, as living in a sprawling city made it inconvenient to meet with friends outside of school. Despite the rarity of my outdoors excursions, I was still reminded of the city’s nickname daily; stepping off my school bus and walking towards the doors of my mediocre public school, I was often greeted by a brief gust of wind, ruffling my hair for the brief period before the air stilled again. These days I spent idling in the Chicago Public School system were perhaps the greatest gift of my childhood. Without schoolwork to numb my brain and electronic devices to rot it, I soon became an avid reader. Most of my time was spent lying faceup on the sofa with a book raised over my head, ignoring my mother’s demands to correct my posture, engrossed in books ranging from children’s encyclopedias to Percy Jackson.
Childhood was simple and relaxed; blissfully unaware of the world outside my neighborhood, delighted by the mere act of interest and discovery. Even though my recollection is undoubtedly distorted by nostalgia, the relaxation I feel when the wind brushes across my face reminds me of how little it has changed over the years, temporarily restoring in me the careless freedom that was my childhood.