We had the morning to ourselves. Just you and me. “Why not walk to the beach?” I asked. You smiled your big smile, eyes full of excitement, arms reaching up for me.

We started the five minute walk to the beach. Along the cobblestone streets, passing the taco stands and restaurants setting up for the day. You always in my arms.

At the beach, the tide was high but the waves were gentle. I step into the sand and head towards the surf. You hold on tighter, hiding your face in my neck. A mixture of fear of the waves and too much sun in your eyes.

Looking out to the Pacific — Puerto Vallarta

I stood there for some minutes, looking out to the vast ocean; in awe of what it contains, how are it stretches and where it ends.

Eventually, it arrives at the land of my ancestors, our ancestors. I always think of them when I look at the Pacific.

I like to imagine them years ago, looking out into the ocean as I am, baby in arms, wondering what lays on the other side. I like to imagine them looking east as I look west, our stares meeting over the ocean transcending time.

Maybe the ocean connects us, holds us in some way. Maybe it’s called me home again.

With you, in my arms.

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