Desaru

Day 1:

I woke up really early to get my overnight oats in before our car ride to Malaysia, during which I slept most of the way, curled under a sarong. I haven't woken up so early for ages, the world was still dark when I crept into the kitchen and by the time I finished my breakfast the sun had risen. My whole world went from darkness to light in one hour which never fails to fill me with wonder - daybreak and sunset are two such huge changes our planet goes through every day and I am afraid of leaving my family and of people leaving me.

Before we got to our hotel, (which my family - my parents first, and then the children when we were born - have been going to for 25 years) we stopped by to eat some roti prata. I haven't had one in ages, and this one was heavenly, lighter and less dense and oily than the one I usually have in Ghim Moh, and with a delicious vegetable curry on the side.

At the hotel, our room wasn't quite ready yet, so Dad and Tim played some table tennis while my Mum went for a walk on the beach. Tim is getting so very big and strong, while Dad is growing a beer belly (not from beer though!), but Dad still beat Tim even though he had been driving for hours - what a champion! Here is his victory pose:

When our room was ready, I walked down to call Mum from the beach. She was sitting very upright, staring out at the green waves, and I didn't have the heart to break her moment of peace, and so I sat down beside her and lay my head on her shoulder.

When we did get up to the hotel room, we immediately got into our swim suits. It might seem foolish, given that it was about 12 noon, and the sun was f i e r c e, but the thought that in less than a month I'll be heading into an English autumn and winter and any beach swimming will only happen in my dreams meant that I didn't want to waste a second of my time by not being in the water.

The waves were just. perfect. The last time we came the sea was very placid, and calm, which would have been alright for paddling but it was also full of jellyfish. This time mercifully the jellyfish had chosen another holiday location, and the wind was cooperating but giving us plenty of lovely, lifting waves.

So we went right in. Something my Dad has always told me since I was young about swimming in the sea is that you've got to let the waves carry you. If you struggle and panic all you'll get is a faceful of salty water and the horrible fear of drowning. It reminded me of the lyrics from one of my favourite worship songs, Satisfied in You:

'So when Iʼm drowning out at sea
And all your breakers and your waves crash down on me
Iʼll recall your safety scheme
Youʼre the one who made the waves
And your Son went out to suffer in my place
And to show me that Iʼm safe.'

So often God's plans seem to drown me. He gives, and He takes away, and I'm left wondering 'why?' I kick and struggle and try to out swim His ocean of sovereignty, when all I'm doing is blinding myself and tiring myself out, running from Someone who cannot (and will not) ever leave me or forsake me. It's so much better, so so much more fulfilling, to let go of my stubborn desire to direct the wind and waves, and let God's current pull me where it will. I need to dance with His waves.

Literally dancing with the waves right here

Dad also has this thing he likes to do, which is laying in the shallows of the ocean, where the waves break, and let the foamy breakers toss and turn him along the shore. It's the best feeling, of utter helplessness and release. You get a lot of sand in your hair and every crevice and pocket in your swim suit, but's it's completely worth it. I used to believe the Grimm tale that said the foam that encrusts a wave is a dead mermaid, and as I was tossed and turned by the white shore-foam, I thought, ' I'm basically in a mermaid graveyard right now.' Strange.

When Dad and Tim went to the swimming pool, Mum and I stayed on the beach and read for a while. I read T.S Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, and we put our legs in the sun and the rest of ourselves under the shade of the trees that have looked at beach revelers for years and years.

Tim came back, and pushed me on the swing. And then we dove back into the water.

When the sun glare had made me sufficiently dizzy and the sea had parched me so much that I felt the terrible irony of 'The Ancient Mariner':

'Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.'

only then did I head back to the hotel room, to shake the sand from my swimming costume, pad around the cool hotel room in a towel, and eat some of the banana bread, papaya and blue berries I had brought.

And it wasn't long before I was back in the water, with Dad this time. Time alone with my Dad isn't very common, and time sent talking with my Dad about unpractical things is less common still. But in the waves of the late afternoon, Dad told me about his Father's business, and the failure of the business during the 1973 Oil Crisis, and how his success had been built on a reputation of honesty, and a strong bond of trust with his customers. Our conversation was punctuated by particularly strong waves that washed over us, pushing our hair back from our faces and stinging our skin, lifting our legs from the sandy, muddy depths of the ocean and setting us lightly down again. I had a strange mental image of us as we were, but without the sea - we were literally levitating in space. That gave me the strangest shivery feeling of delight - swimming is a miracle.

Day 2:

The day dawned bright and early, and Mum and I took advantage of the morning sun to head down to the beach to do some early morning yoga and tai-chi.

We had breakfast after that, I had a heaping plate of watermelon and two  plates of nasi lemak rice with a vegetable curry called 'sayur lombok', and then some chinese porridge with shallots and soy sauce. I finally feel like I do justice to the breakfast buffet, compared to past times where I would eat a few measly pieces of toast and butter.

The sea was calmer today. I looked at its surface and marvelled at the waves. There are big waves, the ones that lift you up, and there are smaller waves on those big waves, and smaller undulations on those small waves. And each wave has travelled an ocean to lift you.

 I was loathe to leave it when the time came.

But it did, and by 12 we were out of the hotel, stopping to eat Nasi Padang and buy some things (including a close to 6kg watermelon!) before we came back to Singapore.