Summer nostalgia: an ode to summer
The lightness of summer. It is a promise. Closest we will ever be to living in a world of nostalgia, that somehow still feels present. You can taste the melancholy that these summer days will leave behind, each time your shoulders have less to carry, and each time you dip your toes in the ocean.
Summer to me will always be the one I spent in France at the age of 11. Each time I hear that six-letter word, it is this place and reality my mind immediately takes me to. It is toast with melted butter in the morning. It is collecting fruit from the lemon tree in our backyard and then the yellow-fleshed plums hanging from the branches that leaning over the balcony, the ones you have to stand on your tiptoes to reach. It is going to an unfamiliar grocery store in the late afternoon. The chill of the air condition hitting you like a wave as you enter. Being greeted by bright lights and white walls, that has a certain cleanness to them that is in contrast to everything else at the time: The book you read by the beach that is now curled up by dried seawater. The skin under your feet that has gotten tougher after walking barefoot almost every day, and the bike rides with a mango popsicle in hand, that is melting faster than you can eat it.
Summer boredom is the most beautiful thing. Everything suddenly feels more possible, but somehow there is no pressure. You can doze off in the morning sun, or you can decide to get started on the short story that has been in the back of your mind for ages. No day is predictable and even if you fall into habits, they somehow feel more beautiful than ever before. You are aware that all of this is temporary. Some of the things you do and the places you visit, you will never see again. But somehow that is fine. We learn to let go.
Oh, the lightness of summer. The freedom of waking up when your body wants to and not by three alarms playing from phone, and the freedom of losing track of both time and days altogether. The heat from the sun, making cold water taste like a magic potion. Standing close to the fan in your room, closing your eyes and letting the fresh air softly cool you down. Collecting tiny pieces of ceramics and glass on the beach, that the ocean has swallowed a long time ago and now left behind with smoothened edges. Wearing a hand-me-down sunflower dress that my aunt wore in the 80s. Fresh pastries that make the air smell even sweeter. Sharing a basket of strawberries with my dad in a city of fountains. Sunsets in foreign places and wondering what the sky looks like at home. Picking out postcards and writing down all the joys of the season, all pressed into a 148.5mm x 105mm page.
The summer nostalgia is like a dream.
