There’s something about the ocean that stays with you, even when you’re miles away from it. The salty breeze, the sound of the waves, the way the sun kisses your skin and the sand sneaks into everything you own — it becomes part of who you are. It’s not just where you grew up; it’s what you carry inside you.
So when I say, “Island girl back in action,” it’s more than just a playful announcement — it’s a homecoming. It’s a reconnection to the part of me that dances barefoot in the sand, that knows how to move with the tide, that lives for sunsets and early morning swims. It’s the version of me that the city sometimes forgets but the island never does.
Coming back felt different this time. Maybe it’s because I’ve changed — grown louder in some ways, softer in others. Maybe it’s because the island, too, has evolved, with new cafés tucked between familiar surf shops and bright murals blooming on walls I once walked past without a second thought. But the important things were still there: the laughter of kids racing along the beach, the rhythm of soca music floating from open windows, the heavy, honey-thick heat of an island afternoon.
I landed with nothing but a carry-on and a heart full of hope. There was no need for heavy luggage — just bikinis, sundresses, and a few good books. And of course, my surfboard would be waiting, tucked away at my cousin’s place, still covered in the faded stickers I plastered on it when I was sixteen.
First stop? Straight to the beach. No pit stops, no distractions. I needed to feel the sand under my feet and the water pulling at my ankles to remind me: this is where you started.
I slipped out of my sneakers and into the warm, grainy comfort of the shore. The ocean roared in front of me, endless and familiar. I laughed — a full, real laugh that I didn’t realize I’d been holding back for months. I waded into the water, arms out, head tilted back, letting the sea embrace me like a long-lost friend.
There’s a kind of healing that only saltwater knows how to do. You can tell a therapist your problems. You can text your best friend. But there’s something about surrendering to the ocean — letting it take the weight of your worries, the ache of your ambitions, the quiet fears you’re too proud to say aloud — that resets you in a way nothing else can.
“Island girl back in action,” I whispered to myself again, this time a little more proudly. Not just back for a vacation. Not just here for the ‘gram. But really back: back to the girl who wakes up early just to chase the sunrise, who sings loudly even when she’s off-key, who knows that happiness isn’t something you find — it’s something you create, moment by salty, sun-drenched moment.
The next few days blurred into a beautiful rhythm. Early mornings surfing small, perfect waves. Afternoons spent sprawled on beach towels with cousins and old friends, laughing at stories that somehow never got old. Nights under the stars, eating grilled fish and plantains, dancing barefoot in the sand while someone strummed a guitar.
No makeup, no heels, no endless notifications to answer. Just sunburned noses, tangled hair, salt on our lips, and hearts wide open.
I realized something important: you don’t have to choose between the life you build out there — in the bustling cities, chasing dreams — and the one you come from. You can be both. You can be ambitious and grounded, worldly and rooted. The island doesn’t ask you to shrink. It reminds you to expand, to breathe deeper, to live wider.
It teaches you that beauty isn’t in polished perfection. It’s in laughter so loud it carries on the wind, in waves surfed badly but joyfully, in mangoes eaten messily on the side of the road, in sunsets that set the whole sky on fire without asking for applause.
Being back wasn’t about reliving old memories — it was about weaving new ones into the tapestry of who I am now. It was about remembering that no matter how far I roam, the ocean’s song still hums in my veins. That no matter how much changes, the roots run deep.
And as I stood one evening watching the sun melt into the sea — the sky exploding into shades of pink, orange, and gold — I felt it again: that spark, that surge, that undeniable sense of belonging.
Island girl back in action. Stronger, freer, saltier than ever. And just getting started.
