By Trina Otero
Right before I step onto the white sand I get that rush – that feeling I imagine a bride feels right before walking down the aisle. Nervous excitement. The ocean and I have a complicated relationship, but we love each other nonetheless. I was born in Germany, but my DNA screams “Wepa!” all the way from Puerto Rico. Landstuhl, Germany, is NOT by the ocean. Oh well. I lived in California for a few years with my family after Europe, and I was a happy clam. I have so many awesome childhood memories of Ft. Ord. Sadly, I was ripped from my slice of heaven when my father received orders to locate to Ft. Knox, KY. The Midwest. Yeah, definitely no ocean there. Since then, I have not lived by the ocean, but I get an antsy feeling when I don’t see a body of water for a long period of time. Is it because I’m a Pisces? Is it because my ancestors lived in the Caribbean? Now that I think about it, a third of me is Spanish (brush up on your knowledge of Puerto Rican history), and those fuckers liked to travel and conquer. The second third inhabited the small but beautiful island of Boriken. The last third hails from Africa. I imagine the two thirds of me loved the ocean. I wonder if my African ancestors loved it too? They possibly did, in their homeland, on their coasts. I don’t know if they grew to love the beaches in PR, seeing as they were enslaved. I’m getting off topic…
What I’m trying to say is, I’m a water baby. Always will be. It’s a part of me. My skin longs to feel the sun and water-kissed wind. My heart aches for the ocean like a twin flame searching for her other half. And when I finally reach its shores I feel at peace. Right at home.