“Come on, Raina. We are going to the beach,” I call out to my five-year-old daughter.
“Let’s go. Go to the beach…” she says in a singsong as she runs after me trying to hold on to my hand.
I can barely focus on her. I have had a big quarrel with my husband. I don’t even want to talk to him right now. I don’t want to see his face or hear his voice. So, I have come over to my parent’s house.
I had to bring Raina along. She was sobbing while my husband and I were screaming at each other. She couldn’t have stayed there without me.
“Ma, let’s make sand castles!” Raina says, breaking my line of thought.
I smile and help her make one. Then as she plays there, I go to sit under an umbrella and watch her from there.
“Let’s work this out,” my husband had told me last night over a call.
“For the sake of our family…” he had added.
“I love you,” he had said.
“I’ll think,” I had said and disconnected the call.
My alarm rings and breaks my reverie again. I look at Raina. She is sitting with her palms cupped around her sand castle, staring angrily at the sea.
She looks so funny that I can’t help but smile. It might be the first time I’ve smiled in five days.
“What is it, love?” I ask her.
“My home,” she says still not averting her gaze from the sea.
“What is it about your home?” I ask with a smile playing on my lips.
“I have made this castle. It is mine. It is my home. But the sea comes every time to break it. I can’t let it break my home now, can I, Ma?” she asks me.
I look at her and her big eyes stare back into mine.
My little child was ready to fight with the enormous sea just to save the sand castle that she called her home.
I, on the other hand, had let the differences between me and my husband drift us apart and I had left my home.
“No, baby. Nothing can break your home, our home,” I say and smile at Raina.
I call my husband and sort things with him. Nothing seems to be the issue between us anymore.
Who would have thought that my daughter’s sand castle would teach me the meaning of my home?