PROMPT:

Structure: I was given (6) Use mostly verbs, but I changed to (10) turn the majority of your sentences into questions

Content: I was given (6) Shift/limit: tell your story from the point of view of being blind of deaf

Free for All: I was given (10) trick your story, turn it into an echo, or make it excessive, but I changed to (6) Give your story amnesia

 

Where did I live before I came to New York? I remember the warm, soft sand, the fishy smell and the refreshingly cool salty water… so did I live by the sea? How old was I when I moved there? Like nine or ten? Then I must have lived there for like eight years, right? How come I can’t remember a single name, a single place, not even my home…but the beach? The sea must have meant so much to me.

Isn’t it strange that the sea was the only thing I remember? Isn’t it strange for me to forget eight years of memory just like that? What was the city’s name? Why did I move there? Who were my friends? Did I have friends? What happened to me? What made me lose my memories?

Why is the sea the only thing I remember? Is it the clue to my lost memories? I remember sitting on the beach at night with my feet in the water. How do waves sound like? Were there stars above my head? Was it quiet? Was it dark? To me everything is always quiet and dark. I could only smell the fishy odor in the sea breeze; I could only taste the salty water splashed onto my face; I could only feel the warmth of the sun lingering in the sand grains; I could only feel the waves washing over my feet again and again; I could only feel peace in my soul; but I could not see or hear anything.

There’s one more thing I remember clearly about. I remember a hand guiding me onto the beach. But who was it? When was it? How old was I? I remember as we walked, I started to smell barbeque. Were there more people? Suddenly the person stopped, and I could feel strong heat coming at my face. Was it fire? Perhaps the fire for barbeque. But it was huge was it a bonfire? Was it bright? How tall was it? Were there cracking sounds of the woods? Did people sing and dance around it? I hoped I could see and hear so badly. It must have looked like a fallen star that collapsed into the beach, though I don’t know how exactly stars look like. Why do I remember a sense of sadness? Why was there a short pause – why did the silence I lived in became quieter and heavier for a moment? Why did the wind stop too? Why do I remember feeling tears running across my face? The hand never let go of mine until I got home safely. Who was it? Why did the person take me to the beach? Why was there a bonfire? Was there an important event? I don’t know, I can’t remember.

Where was it? How old was I? Who were there? … Why do I feel like if I put my feet back into the water I’ll remember everything?

When I was ten, I moved to a quiet, small city by the sea in China, called Yantai. It was just a five-minutes-walk from my house to the beach. And when you open the windows in the mornings, your room will be filled with air freshly blown-off from the sea surface. I’ve grown so accustomed to it, it was until I left the city eight years later to come to New York that I realized how much the sea meant to me and how I took it for granted.

It carries my most precious memories. It carries the most precious memories of everyone who lives in the city. It watches people come and go, leaving laughter and footprints behind, then gently, it reaches out its arms, carefully wipes them off from the sand, then keeps them safe and untouched under the sea.

Since Yantai is a small city, there are no tall buildings covering the sky and the air is perfectly clean and fresh. Therefore at night, you can see stars randomly scattered across the ink-color sky. Especially when you are standing on the beach, because its so dark there you can see nothing else but the stars. I used to go to the beach before I go to sleep, when the warmth of the day was still lingering in the sand, just to lie down on the beach and stare at the stars.

“Where are we all going to be?” asked Sarah, “do you guys think we are all going to stay in touch with each other?”

Yes of course, we thought. Of course we are all going to stay in touch. Five years later, ten years later, fifty years later, we are still going to be best friends. No matter what. Nobody saw ourselves only seven years later, being so caught up with our own lives the last time we ever contacted each other was at most six years ago.

We are all in different places now doing different things. We’ve all changed in ways we didn’t expect. But I know we all remember the night. The night we as a class stepped up another staircase of life, the night Sarah’s questions brought the bliss into stern silence.

It was the night of my elementary school graduation. Our class had a barbeque party at the beach right after school. We lighted up a bonfire, sat and ate around it. When everyone else was enjoying the moment, I saw Sarah sitting quietly staring at the cracking woods burning in the fire. Suddenly she spoke.

“Where are we all going to be?” she asked, “do you guys think we are all going to stay in touch with each other?”

There was a pause. A pause of everything. Even the waves paused. Even the wind. Everything.

Then the pause was broken by a jumble of ‘yeahs’ and ‘of-courses’.

“Guys, what about…” Simon suddenly stood up and said, “let’s all say something to the class, as um… as a blessing for everyone! I’ll start!” he cleared his throat, trying to act like a cool adult, the class giggled, “I’ll go back to Korea after this summer. I just want to tell you guys that I’m glad all of you stopped by in my life… this class is the best!”

Simon never says something like that. He was not a “serious guy”. He was always the one who makes the class burst into laughter and then spends the next three days in the principal’s office. Hearing something so sensational from him, some of the girls started sobbing and laughing at the same time uncontrollably.

Later the whole class shared something about how they feel about the class. There were tears and laughter, and the sea was there all along listening to every word we were saying.

I wonder if any of us still remembers what we said.

I don’t. But I know the sea does.

Right before I came to New York, I met with two of my friends from elementary school at the beach – they were the only two people who stayed in the school with me. We took off our shoes and stepped into the refreshingly cool water, facing the sun sinking inch by inch into the horizon. As the wave again and again washed between our knees, we recollected tons of tiny pieces of our memories that have gone obscure a long time ago. As if it was the sea that made us remembered everything, or was it?

We three talked about our elementary-school life, our middle-school life, our high-school life, and our unknown university-lives.

Just like seven years ago, there were laughter and tears… and the sea was there all along listening to every word we were saying.

 

I remember playing with the sand in a construction area.

I remember stepping on ants and feeling good about it.

I remembermy great-grandmother’s funeral.

I remember my mean piano teacher.

I remember my mean violin teacher.

I remember learning Korean alphabets.

I remember learning how to read clocks.

I remember accidentally dropping my teddy bear into the toilet when I woke up in the middle of the night to go pee-pee.

I remember a dream I have had making friends with a T-rex.

I remember that time when I forgot to bring my bag to school.

I remember my first time drinking coffee.

I remember myself crying when a clown wanted to give me a balloon.