We trudged through the rocky staircase carved into the side of the Airbnb. I, my father's shadow, loved to stick close to him, the leader of the group. With my new basket bag hanging from my shoulder, a bathroom towel in my arm, and my book that I was eager to read, I skipped excitedly down each step to enjoy the beach. When the stony path slowly turned into hot, coarse sand, I knew we were closer.
“Where can I drop our things, Baba?” I panted heavily as I tried to keep up with my dad. He stopped walking for a second, looked around, and moved forward a few more steps.
“Here is good.”
I laid my towel elegantly on the sand and neatly placed my sandals, bag, and video camera beside it. I lowered myself onto the grainy ground, and my dad handed me his black New York Yankees baseball hat, his wallet, his glasses, his headphones, and his watch.
It was at this moment, of all the times on the trip, that I remembered to take out the video camera.
“Proud of me, Baba?” I beamed, holding up the camera. He grinned down at me.
“Yes, I am, Baba,” he replied. Little did I know that those would be our last words to each other. And as I pressed the record button, I captured him in his final moments. His back turned to the lens as he made his way to the course waters.
In their rigorous pattern.
To
and
Fro.
To
and
Fro.
To…
and…
***
“Let’s get closer to the water!” my friend, Aaminah, exclaimed excitedly, pointing to where the sea met the land. I nervously glanced towards her before shaking my head disapprovingly.
“Uh. I’m not…” I started. She quickly moved her arm from pointing and smiled warmly at me.
“Right. Of course, love, we don’t have to today,” she said. We silently stared at the people enjoying themselves in the water. Girls were tanning in the sun while flipping through the pages of the book they were reading. Dads were diving in the crystal-clear water with their kids, occasionally splashing water in their faces, while the mothers cautiously watched them from the shore.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Aaaminah started. “When do you think you’ll be ready to go in the water again?”
Ten months since the tragedy, and even though I could sit on the sand and stare at the waves, it was a little too soon to go in the water. I sighed, staring into the infinite ocean that kept on tugging at the shore, crashing into anything in its path.
To and fro.
To and
Fro.
To and
Fro…
***
Five months after the tragedy, I found myself on the beach again. Cronulla. I stood arm in arm with my mum's sister. We looked out at the large waves as we lowered ourselves onto her blanket, the same one we used to warm us, now protecting us from the sand. The silence that filled the air was replaced by the ocean pounding at the rocky shore. Soft crashes seemed to calm down my usually scattered mind.
“You know what I did the first time I came here since…?” She turned to me, smiling supportively. I stared back silently, waiting for her to continue. She looked back at the ocean before yelling, “HOW COULD YOU TAKE NAZIH AWAY FROM US! YOU’RE SO MEAN!”
I smiled at her before lowering my head to rest on her shoulder.
“How can something so beautiful and calming be so… dangerous?” she questioned, stretching out her legs before lying down. I followed her, closed my eyes, and just listened to the waves talking to the wind. Making its own music in my ears.
***
“I honestly don’t know, I mean, it took me five months before I actually wanted to return to the beach,” I finally answered Aaminah. Silence filled the air again, as if she were careful not to say or ask anything triggering. But still, we carried on with the festivities of the day that brought us to the beach. The candles' sparkles crackled, their warmth reflected in my beaming face. I held the cake high towards the camera. My friend was filming the momentous occasion while singing 'Happy Birthday.' When the song ended, I closed my eyes before blowing out the 1 and 9 candles. With the help of the wind's whispers, the scent of extinguished candles tickled my nose, a familiar, nostalgic smell. Frosting dissolved on the tip of my tongue after each bite of bliss as I gazed off into the ocean, its waves gently whispering in my ear. As I lowered my torso to the ground, the rich smell of salt lingered in my nose, and my fingers sank into the grains of sand. The liquid rays of sun absorbed into my veins, melting my vitamin D deficiency. With each sound the brilliant blue waves made as they kissed the shore, I took a deep breath.
SWOOSH.
In.
SWOOSH.
Out.
The ocean teased the dry sand, quenching its thirst each time they met on the shore. As my eyes gazed at the horizon of sapphires that shone in the sun, I thought: how could something so beautiful also be so dangerous?
***
According to the Royal Life Saving Society Australia, there have been around three hundred and fifty-seven drownings in the past year. Normally, I’d just feel bad and go about my day as per usual.
But it’s different when your own father, someone who was a pillar in your family, the glue, the leader, is a part of that statistic. Suddenly, three hundred and fifty-seven people sounds like… a lot.
One hundred is a lot.
Fifty is a lot.
One is a lot.
After he drowned, all of my mutuals on Instagram seemingly went to the beach. It was summer, so who could blame them? I’d sit behind my screen and scan the waves in all the posted videos. Cronulla, the waves didn’t seem too big. Brighton, calm waters with gentle waves.
Smiles plastered on their faces, their beautiful beach outfits fitting the atmosphere of the blue water, sky, and the golden ground.
Out of the thousands of beaches in New South Wales, the beach we decided to go to was the most dangerous. Waves as tall as towers, thundering towards you. You have a split second to decide whether to run away and not get into the treacherous waters, or get splashed by the salty waves that cool your skin, somehow soothing it while calming your nerves.
After the tragedy, I took up journaling. Escapism through my own words. Draining out my brain from the recurring thoughts I was polluted with. I filled each page, expressing how Mum and Ibrahim, my brother, had another argument, wishing Baba were around to smooth things out. He was a problem solver. Missing him hugging me if he read that there was something wrong with my face. He was compassionate. Missing him sitting in silence with his Bluetooth headphones, doomscrolling while I watched whatever movie was on TV at 12 am in the morning. He was caring.
But now, the house remains hauntingly empty and unsettlingly quiet. As you walk down the hallways, you’re met with photos of him throughout the years. Frozen moments in time that are mere glimpses of the moments we shared on the earth together. My eyes always return to the photo taken on the Twenty-First of December, five days before our lives were altered irrevocably. He was posed, resting his arm on the balcony fence, smiling casually at the camera, wearing his iconic outfit. A black t-shirt, green baggy cargo pants cut just below his knees, his New York Yankees ball cap, and of course, the Tom Cruise sunglasses, the Ray Ban Aviator classics.
Behind him, the bright blue waves of sapphire looked small, calm, and regrettably beautiful. In the moment, he couldn’t know that the very thing he posed in front of was going to be the very waters he would float on in a few days.
To and Fro…
To and
Fro…
To
And
Fro……
***
Over 300 days have passed, and I still yearn for, yet fear, the salty water touching my skin. Dragging my legs into the quiet currents of a natural murderer. Who holds the waves accountable? Trial it for murder! How many lives has the blood-stained ocean stolen?
No matter. I probably sound crazy.
For now, I just stare at the vast waters from the safety of the shore. Watching people's heads bob up and down as the waves carry their bodies up and down.
To and Fro….
To and
Fro….
To
And
Fro
…
I hope to slowly warm up to the thought of being brave enough to swim again. Like little spasms in my brain, as my heart yearns to feel the salty cold water once more.
I wonder if I can ever be ready to enjoy myself in the water again. As mum recalls, “You used to swim whenever you could.”
But as time progressed, the older I got, the less interested I became in swimming. But that was for childlike reasons. Now it’s something more dire. More serious. More… Traumatic?
I often get reminded that in everything I do, my dad is always around, proud of me from afar. I hope he beams with pride, wherever he is, the day I decide is the right time to conquer my fears and confront the waves. Feeling the icy water surrounding my body, hydrating my skin. I imagine myself staring up at the sky of blue while floating aimlessly in the ocean –
Serene and at peace.
My heart longs for it. Eternal peace. Eternal quiet. While the waves tickle my ears, among the company of small fish and other marine creatures.
That’s all just dreams. Hopes that wish will come true one day.
I hold up the 1 and 9 candles after lighting them for a photo. I close my eyes as the smell of birthday candles mix with the salty seaside air, hugging my nose in a warm embrace. A small smile creeps on my face as the thought of the waters’ healing plays in my mind.
I sit safely at the shore, digging my hands deep into the sand as I stare out into the ocean, to the horizon. Watching as the waves continue their pattern.
To and Fro….
To and
Fro…
To
And
Fro
…
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