The reason I was never drawn to La Union is because it’s a black-sand beach. I don’t care for black-sand beaches. I like my beach like I like my freshly-groomed armpits — white and smooth. Best if it’s somewhere far-flung and deserted, ideally with blue-green waters and shallow, waveless shorelines. I want to float in peace, hearing only the lull of my breath and the still water beneath me.
None of these descriptions describe Elyu’s beach. In fact, it’s the exact opposite. It’s a surfing beach after all. The elements are always out to get you. People are swarming left and right, playing hide and seek with the crashing waves. I’m always clutching my chest, alert and careful not to accidentally expose my good china. But amidst all this frenzy, I am reminded to be calm and —as cliché as it sounds— to enjoy the fucking ride.