Design by Ashley Oetomo

On the plane ride home, I was filled with the familiar, aching tiredness and relief that comes when a stressful university term ends and a long summer awaits. Empty days used to daunt me when I was floundering about—totally lost, confused and lonely. Having found some freedom and independence in the big smoke, I was able to face the long, lonely road and the howling wildness of my twenties with newfound hope.

When my sister and I staggered through the front door of our beach house, both of us stale and dehydrated from the journey, we stood gazing in wonder at the timber ceilings and listening to the ebb and flow of the sea.

“We are way too plebeian for this place,” my sister announced.

I laughed and had to agree. Our little inlet, where we had a house, was a little undiscovered jewel along the South Australian coastline. Very few families lived there, and there was a mixture of gentrified folk and down-to-earth country families. For the most part, we all kept to ourselves, quietly observing one another.

Over the next few weeks, we settled into a routine. We would roll out of bed, have breakfast and head down to the beach via a steep track used by several of our neighbours, watching out for the red-bellied black snake we had decided to call Lieslie. After doing lengths of the beach, surfing or swimming leisurely, we would head back to shower, read, chat, nap, make lunch and then wander down the track again in the afternoon for another swim or walk along the sand.

During one carefree summer, my school friends and I hollowed out seats for ourselves in the sand, where we could lie back and let the waves lap over our limbs. I remember one of the other girls remarking that it was childish.

“Let’s behave like children a little longer,” I replied. “We have the rest of our lives to be adults.”

As a child, I used to forget my worries completely during the summer. I would lose all sense of time and never dread what was coming afterwards. I simply existed in the present. As a young adult, however, I had my underlying sadness to contend with: transient, superficial friendships; the creeping insecurity of feeling behind in life’s milestones; and the ache in my chest when reflecting on past relationships or the fleeting moments of intense passion that never had the chance to develop.

Although summer was fleeting, it felt like a time when troubles could be pushed aside, with only brief clouds blocking the sun before the bright light returned and reminded us to cherish those transient moments.

Eventually, I had to book my ticket back to Melbourne. I had a clear, definite date for when summer would end, and I held onto every moment before it passed. When I left, I felt the familiar ache in my chest and a longing to stay forever. My own little patch of heaven.

Looking out the window of the plane, I gazed down at the patchwork of farmland, where trees lay sporadically across dry fields and waterholes glimmered faintly in the afternoon light. My chest still ached, but I was moving relentlessly forward.