Writings

A story of surf, a little bit of magic and never giving up


Today I don't find the right words, they are all in there but they don't seem to find eachother in making sense kind of way...So I will simply tell you Igor's surfing story from this morning.
A story of surf, a little bit of magic and never giving up
Igor has struggled for nearly four years with learning to surf. We did an introductory course together where I after not catching one single wave in the entire week and getting hit by the board in the eye, decided that this surfing thing was not for me. But Igor, although not exactly a pro after that week, got hooked and has been going to the ocean religously every week after that. I have seen him struggle, curse the waves, the cold, his board and almost give it up several times. But somewhere in the back of his mind he has always known that this was something that even though it didn't come easy to him, was worth all the effort.

So today, like many other days, he went around from beach A to beach B to beach C, as surfers do, looking for the swell, the wave, the barrel or whatever it is that these to me insane water gliders look for. It wasn't clear anywhere, it was messy, the waves were too small. He thought of going home but finally he opted for jumping in beach A, raining, 50 kilometres winds and hardly a ripple on the water. 'Why did you go in then?' I asked horrified at the mere possibility of diving into freezing water for no reason. 'I had a hunch' he said. He went in but alas, nothing, just wind, cold, rain, with an ocean as flat as Victoria Beckam's belly. No waves. He was alone, no one on the water, the beach or the cliffs so,with noone to witness he started talking to the ocean: ' I love you, I am learning so much from you and I feel that you've got something for me today, please give me a wave, I promise I'll appreciate the shit out of it'. A minute later, out of no where, a perfect wave came, a shoulder height left, which is the good direction for him (he is a goofy surfer which doesn't mean that he is a goofy who surfs, although he is, but that he places his right foot in front, left one behind) He rode it all the way to the end, doing not two but three visits to the lip (which I have learned means the top) of the wave and exiting not as chunk of sea weed rolling in the white water like he usually does but turning back and paddling into the ocean elegantly without wetting his hair. 'The best wave of my life' he said when he was recalling it all for me with eyes big like those of an eight year old tearing apart the wrapping paper of a Christmas present. After finishing that glorious wave he gave up a loud yell, in sheer happiness from after four relentless years of being smashed around by mother ocean finally catching that perfect ride.
He then stayed in the water for another half hour, no waves, wind and cold again, but it didn't matter, he rode his wave and most importantly, he got to talk with the ocean.
A little surf story, and an encouragement to regardless of whatever difficulties befall you when pursuing your dreams or passions, never give up on what you love.

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