I was not much older than eight when we returned to Gold Coast, the city that was once called home. Well, at least by my mother and two sisters. I didn’t yet have the privilege of speaking when we first left, let alone call a place home. But at least I could salvage the most of memories on that trip back. The pictures taken and fragmented pieces of reminiscence have faded, but this one recollection of Surfer’s Paradise managed to be almost as clear as its water…

“Look, that one - see that, Nash? - looks very much like the apartment we lived in,” my sister exclaimed.

We were walking towards Surfer’s Paradise, and Coco couldn’t help herself from talking about the life we once had in Australia. Again. I followed the direction of her finger …show more content…
A shocking cold pierced my skin and numbed my feet, making me shiver. I was desperate to leave the desert-like heat of the sand, but now I lingered at the edge, letting my toes create little eddies in the foam. The waves lapped, digging my feet deeper into the surface. Soon, the spray tickled my calves and knees, and I giggled.

I did it. In my own tiny, yet significant way, I have conquered the monster. It accepted its defeat and retreated back into the deep depths of the sea, uncovering a shimmering turquoise carpet. The roaring and crashing reduced into a distant echo, and slowly, it was gone, replaced by the swish and sigh of the calm waves against the shore.

I remember Dad calling me “a little Aussie” after I shared my victorious battle. A little Aussie. Now that I look back on this day, it was a disposable sentence; something that had probably left Dad’s memory seconds after it left his mouth/it was said.

But those three words stuck with me. A little Aussie, A little Aussie, A little Aussie… I have finally left my mark onto this strange place, where the other kids could run around under the hot hot sun without searching for shade; where everything was shockingly, expensive; and where the people would speak with that accent words couldn’t