the journey to hiraeth

As a young girl, I grew up in a quaint fishing town along Southern California’s coast. Whenever I mentioned my hometown to others, they would be clueless about its location, as it was relatively unknown. Eventually, as a teenager, I moved not too far away, but due to the town’s small size and isolated peninsula setting, it felt like a world of its own.

Living away from my hometown made me realize how unique and special it was. It was the kind of place where everyone knew each other, or at least knew someone connected to them. One amusing incident occurred when a girl from my elementary school, whom I hadn’t interacted with before, recognized where I lived. It highlighted how intimately connected everyone was in that close-knit community.

Reflecting on the past, I remember the excitement when something new, like Yogurtland or Waba Grill, came to town. Back then, I thought these were groundbreaking establishments, not realizing they existed elsewhere already.

Fond memories flood my mind, such as the sound of seals barking at night and the honking of boats from my bedroom window. I had a view of the cranes on the docks, busy lifting cargo containers.

Currently living in a beach town, albeit a more populous one, I miss the uniqueness of my hometown. The city noise drowns out the soothing sounds of the ocean, and the beach feels distant, overshadowed by tightly packed buildings.

Recently, I went back with my family to revisit my roots and share my cherished memories with them. The nostalgia overwhelmed me as I recalled waking up to my grandmother’s three-course breakfasts, filled with main dishes, sides, and fresh fruit – a remarkable feat of energy for her.

My grandma would then take us to our favorite spots, one of which I revisited during the trip. I reminisced about climbing rocks in the ocean, peering into tide pools to spot fascinating sea creatures, and playfully interacting with sea anemones. We collected hermit crabs, sea snails, and sea glass.

We would spend endless hours in the sun, and my grandma would pack us lunches and snacks, usually from the 99-cent store. Our go-to snack combo always included Fritos, Cheetos, and Doritos – it amused us that they rhymed. Alongside these, my grandma’s favorite was a pack of large pepperoni, while she enjoyed a good book in her beach chair, sporting her sunvisor and Fanny pack, with a bottle of water nearby.

As time goes by, memories may fade, but some triggers, like a familiar scent or sight, have the power to bring them rushing back as if it were yesterday. The trip back to my hometown with my own family was undeniably special, and I eagerly await the day when my son is a little older so that he can experience the same joy and playfulness that defined my own cherished childhood.