The other day I was at the beach and the sun was about to set. It was that special window when the light would scatter across the sea and make us imagine we were looking at diamonds instead of water. And so I stood there, the wind in my face, watching the sparkling of the sea, with my camera in my hand and all sorts of thoughts choking up my head. There are just too many of them these days. But for a moment the shiny sea insulated me from my worries, and my thoughts were allowed to reach their natural and sometimes premature conclusions.
Everything felt easy and natural.
Later I noticed that there were two kids playing near the shore. They were siblings, a girl and a boy. They had golden hair and they looked like they belonged to the diamond sea. There was another boy, slightly older, also near the shore, desperately trying to fly a kite. He kept running back and forth, intent on keeping his kite in the air. Whenever the kite fell to the ground, he would try again. And again. And again. I lifted my camera and tried to take a picture of him but he was too fast for me, and that was when I decided that some things need not be recorded on film in order to be remembered.
It made me think of the one time in recent years when I tried to fly a kite. We had bought one from a nearby store and was determined to get it up in the air. We tried and tried but it never flew more than a few metres above the ground. My friend realized that it was because the kite was broken. It was a small tear, but it proved to be lethal. But I could not bear to give up, despite my friend's protests. I kept at it. I tried everything. I ran and ran. But nothing made the kite fly.
So I gave up.
Giving up makes me sad.