Finals week, commonly known as the most dreaded few days of a student’s year had just begun. Nonetheless, instead of grinding through hours of tests, I was in the place I like to call my second home with a few of my best friends. Even though this was only one year ago, the summer of sophomore year feels like a past life of mine. The details of the experience are still vivid in my thoughts and dreams, beginning when we arrived at the Panama City airport. This is when one of the best weeks of my life truly began.

“Starbursts please,” I remarked. “ and don’t even think about giving me a yellow”. Walking through the Florida airport, I noticed the little convenience stores selling keychains and souvenirs as well as picked up on the southern accents of the people around me, like it was a game. I could sense the slight breeze, pounding sun, and sway of palm trees just outside the building; I yearned for it. It never gets old, going from the cold dreary weather of Chicago to the cloudless, Florida environment. I stepped outside and bathed in the rays beaming against my face while my friends argued over irrelevant stuff like who has to sit in the back on the car ride to the house.

Cape San Blas Florida, the location of the beachhouse.

It was just like how I imagined it, which is true for every time I travel with friends or family to our beach house. From that moment I stepped outside of the Florida airport, all my worries and distractions disintegrated. The week could not have been any better than what it was. I can recall many of the things we did on those 7 days and nights, yet one specific memory from the trip jumped out to me when I was coming up with ideas for my story.

The waves lapped over the side of the board and as I layed there and waited, I bobbed up and down while Mary scouted for the perfect wave. It was a process, trying to cooperatively ride a surfboard. In order to ride the wave to shore successfully, it required great concentration; I would call it near perfection. “You see anything?” I asked every few moments or so. Mother nature didn’t cooperate, Mary answered and said, “ Be patient, It could be any minute now.” I was always uneasy being deep in the Ocean, but being with a friend made it feel different. She gave me an aura of protection and comfort that would be absent if I was alone. Finally, a wall of water formed in the distance. “Get ready!” she yelled. Seconds before it reached us, I paddled with both arms on either side of the slender, blue and black board while Mary began to carry out her part of the plan. In unison, she gave the board a gentle nudge to get it going and hopped on. “3, 2, 1!” we called out, working as a team to stand up and distribute our weight evenly so that we wouldn’t tip on our journey towards shore.

Funny thing is, we weren’t able to execute, but that’s not the important part. If I remember correctly, I blew our chances by losing my balance and flinging the board from out under our feet. We flopped into the seasonally warm, salty water and resurfaced smiling and laughing hysterically like little kids. Mary and I had spent close to an hour and a half out in the water; our friends became tired of watching us fail, so they returned to shore to lay out and enjoy the periodic slight breeze that relieved the otherwise scorching day. What was important was that I felt pure bliss to be alive and well in this world. I floated there next to one of my best friends and contemplated life, staring off at the backdrop of houses against the scattered umbrellas and tents on the beach, thankful for what God has blessed me with.

While surfing surely sticks out to me in my memories, my favorite part of the trip was the tail end, specifically the last night. It has become sort of like a tradition to have a bonfire on the night before we head back home, and this time around we abided by the tradition, hence making preparations for the fire about an hour before dark. The sun set around 8 o’clock, so we grabbed the essentials (chocolate and graham crackers), then walked down the boardwalk. With each step we took, the creak of wood under our feet temporarily overlapped the screech of seagulls. As we claimed a spot on the beach, the sun steadily grew closer to the horizon, projecting satisfying shades of pink, red, orange, and yellow. Soon after, the stars came out. They are always unlike anything that I see in Naperville: it’s like I am on another planet or in another world while true reality continues on back home. Time flew that night; my friends and I sat in a little circle with our toes buried under the cooled off sand to cherish the final moments of our week together. We told stories, reflected on life, had deep conversations, and again couldn’t help but gaze at the irradiating stars that filled the solid dark sky. It was the perfect ending to the first week of summer.

Starry Florida Night

Now, a year later in life,  I realize that the week I spent in Florida was incredibly impactful to who I am today. My friends have always been extremely important to me, many of them being by my side since elementary school. This is a group of people that I have full confidence in saying that I trust with my life, our bond grows stronger as we go on in our lives, inseparable even with the constant, circulating social drama of Highschool. The experience of a lifetime that I had with them is an experience that I can dream about and fall back on when I feel like the world is against me. No matter where life takes me, I will always smile when I think about the incredible week I got to spend a week with a group of people I will never forget.