02/11/22:
Surf House Chicama, 7:42am EST/4:42am PST
The weather is cloudy, and will continue to be cloudy, but it still looks incredible. I hope wetsuits counteract the cold.
(Also my wet hair stained the pillowcase. I cannot with the red.)
see ya after my surfing lesson!
Surf House Chicama, 6:38pm EST/3:38pm PST
I SURFED THE WAVE.
Every muscle hurts, so this entry's handwriting will be ugly as fuck.
My first surfing lesson went great! I even stood up for a few seconds! It's really hard to maintain your balance, so just doing that made me ridiculously ecstatic. The waves here are amazing, and I see again why Uncle Dirk said the danger was me loving it. He was right. I do love it.
Two and a half hours after my surfing lesson began, I was dying of thirst, snotty and spitty, and if it hadn't been for the chill of the ocean, my muscles wouldn't have lasted like they did. When I finally was done, the only part of me unscathed was everything the wetsuit covered. Putting on a wetsuit, by the way, should be its own Olympic sport. I was exhausted by that alone, bags to slide my limbs in or not. But I digress.
My right heel, I knew, was all cut up. But that was all I felt. It wasn't until I was heading back-- yes, a walk. We had to find the gentler Chicama waves-- that my left big toe caused an issue. It hurt, it burned, but that foot was fine, no? The burn was the sand, because I didn't wear shoes. Right?
NO.
A chunk of skin had been flayed off. Like down a couple layers too. And there was sand in the wound like I'd purposely stuffed it.
Once I knew that, walking on hot sand was not it. Limping made me sink into the sand, but putting my whole foot down made me want to yell. I had to crawl part of the way. The hot sand was burning my full layers of flesh, and missing however many I was missing burned that much more. Thank God my wetsuit protected my knees so I could crawl.
Finally made it back, chugged 3 glasses of water, and paid my instructor. Then I hosed off, struggled with the wetsuit again, crawled to my room and contemplated making that decision from the fake grass rug that was probably put there for sand scraping purposes.
I finally felt capable of standing but not of lifting my arms to take my swimsuit off. I just threw on my sarong and went in search of more water down at the little bodegas. Found some, went back, and took a nap in a hammock.
During breakfast, a girl named Isa and I had talked about my first surfing lesson. When I was on the hammock, she and her friend came back from surfing, and we traded injury stories. Unfortunately, I had left my first aid kit in Huachipa, but she shared Neosporin, and band aids.
When I got upstairs, I painfully took a shower, dressed in my PJs-- promptly realized I wasn't wearing 90% of the outfits I packed; 2 so far-- and crawled into bed. Lots of crawling. I passed out, hard, and woke up in time for dinner.
A delish burger with egg & ham that is... not sitting right, and the toilets here barely have any pressure. The amount of flushing I have to do for my earlier diarrhea is just... ungodly.
Anyway, tomorrow is a non-surf day, unfortunately. My toe is healing after I scraped every bit of sand out, nearly knocking myself out in the process, the pain was so bad. Besides, I owe my coworker a tan. She literally said, "If you don't come back with a tan, I'm fighting you."
As I write this, my balcony is wide open, and so are my windows. If I turn my head just a hint, the view and smell of the sea are mine. The thought actually made me cry with how grateful I am to myself:
my feet stayed steady on 19 hour workdays
my wrist, hacked to death, didn't bleed enough to kill me
my heart, in Nevada, California, Utah, here, not quite giving up on love knowing She is big and blue and exists eternally.
See, even in panic mode, nonsensical breakdown in my closet with a bottle of vodka, my body and brain knew they're meant for different things, and focused on keeping me alive. Meant for natural beach waves, surfers' foot injuries, and a tan that I, for once, don't hate, and thank God.
If I were to write a thank you note-- I can trace this all the way back to reading The Mediator for the first time, tbh; Carmel, anyone?-- I'd start with my uncle. Because while The Mediator took me to Carmel, it was one, one, chance decision that sent my sister and I to Ventura to visit Uncle Dirk.
If he hadn't let me keep visiting, and gamely following all my harebrained topics-- what kind of dictator should I be?-- sharing the produce store in his backyard, working on his DIY while I read quietly, teaching me things I didn't know I needed to know, I wouldn't be here, on this balcony.
See, I know I'm a very... strong person, but never once did I think he didn't want me around, and that specific feeling of being unwanted has followed me around since I was born. To not have it, to not feel spectacularly unwanted, was like finally having a bellhop bring me a baggage cart. I didn't have to pick apart my flaws to find the ones that drove someone away. So I was understandingly sad when he left. I knew why he was leaving, and I'd spend my retirement traveling too, but geez. It wasn't a lot of time.
Chicama has been on my list since Day One of this bucket list, and I missed Uncle Dirk, so I bought a ticket and hopped on a plane. The unexpected side effects of coming here are innumerable. Some family I haven't seen in 17 years. I was 6 then. I know now: a relative shouldn't be judged by the sins of their mother/sister. A country shouldn't. Neither should a language. I was foolish, and naive, to think otherwise. I'm so happy one chance decision led to this peace, this gratitude, this confidence. I wish I could convey it better, but I'll always remember how it feels.
In the spirit of the country, I'll just say: Gracias, tio. Your belief in me never wavered, and I needed that, more than anything.
See, I had plenty of money, and plenty of family, but none believed in me quite like that. And each time I proved you right, you never seemed surprised. This shocks me more, because I held doubt and low self esteem, and the feeling that I don't do anything right.
But this proves that I can, huh? I don't ruin everything after all.
Jackie
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