A month ago, I started my weekly visits to my hometown Bagga, a quaint place teeming with memories and nostalgia. One of the things I always enjoy is swimming and soaking at the local beach, where the salty breeze dances through the air and the sound of waves crashing against the shore creates a relaxing symphony. Since I am in the throes of my writing, my people-watching skills are heightened, providing me with ample inspiration for my stories. I noticed a group of about eight children swimming nearby, slowly making their way towards me, their laughter echoing across the water. They were quite friendly and asked my name while introducing themselves with bright smiles and eager voices. I remember at least three names: Kira, 8; Melissa, 13; and Ziel, 9, each name etched into my memory like a sweet melody. For some reason, Ziel was particularly drawn to me, her curious eyes sparkling with excitement as she inquired about my presence there. I asked about their grandparents, knowing that the parents of children that age were likely born after I left for the US, and it sparked a conversation filled with shared familial stories.

I soon found out they were all cousins and were related to someone in my family from another side, adding another layer of connection to our interaction. I watched them swim, splash, and playfully dunk each other in a carefree manner, their joy infectious. Before long, they circled around me, holding onto just about every limb they could grasp, and I was swept away in their exuberance. Ziel asked me to dunk her a few times, and I complied after instructing her to close her nostrils before going under, feeling a bond forming between us with every playful moment. In addition to my limbs, one youngster climbed onto my back, and before long, I had become a floating device for them while they played, their gleeful shrieks filling the air.

Ziel had a special kind of friendliness and familiarity about her, and I was as drawn to her as she was to me, realizing that sometimes connections can form in the most unexpected ways. We chatted while she splashed around, exchanging stories and laughter until it was sadly time for me to leave. I bid the children farewell and made my way home, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Ziel reminded me of someone I couldn’t quite identify, as if she was a reflection of a cherished memory.

A week later, I returned to the same beach, hoping to see my little friend once more and experience the warmth of her company again. I spotted a group of six children splashing in the ocean, their joy palpable even from a distance. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see their faces due to the sun in my eyes and their distance, but the energy was unmistakable. Suddenly, they made their way towards me, and there she was—Ziel and her cousins, a vision of exuberance and joy. Again, she chatted with me, her enthusiasm infectious as she held onto me as she floated and splashed around. We talked as she began sharing more about herself and her family, her stories painting vivid pictures of her life, filled with both innocence and wonder.

I observed all the children, noting how carefree and innocent they were, vibrant spirits unburdened by the weight of the world. I thought this was the happiest time of their lives, and they didn’t even know it, a fleeting moment of bliss that would soon transform as they grew older. I hoped life would be good to them, although they’d likely have to learn about maturity and face life’s challenges—getting an education, finding jobs, starting families, and maybe experiencing heartbreak. I could only hope their triumphs would outweigh their disappointments, and that God would equip them with the tools and strength they needed to weather life’s storms. Eventually, we said our goodbyes, their cheerful waves lingering in my memory as I walked home.

Almost on cue, I encountered Ziel and her cousins the following week during my next trip to Bagga, their playful giggles echoing like music in the air. They again displayed their usual playful demeanor, and I marveled at their innocent interactions, which reminded me of a simpler time in my own life. There was a two-year-old baby with them, her eyes wide with wonder. “Miss, you could hold she fuh us so we could go swim,” she asked, her voice sweet and coaxing. Being a softie for the elderly and children, I obliged, wanting to be part of their joyful experiences. The baby was as friendly as her older cousins, giggling with joy as we splashed around, her laughter a bright spot on that sunny day. I finally handed her back to the oldest girl, a wave of warmth spreading through me. Ziel and I chatted a bit more, our connection deepening as I reminded them to be careful before heading home, hoping to see their bright smiles again.

Today, I returned to the beach, anticipation bubbling within me, and saw two children swimming towards me in the shimmering waves. One was Ziel’s cousin Melissa and her eight-year-old brother. “Where is Ziel?” I asked, my heart racing a little. She explained that Ziel lives in a community outside of Bagga proper and usually comes to visit her cousins and go to the beach on Saturdays. Since today was Friday, she wasn’t there, and I felt a pang of disappointment, a small ache of longing for my little friend. I had hoped to see her today, to share another moment of laughter and joy, but I remain hopeful that we will meet again, perhaps in the most unexpected of circumstances.

I pondered what was drawing me to her; although I didn’t know her well, she felt so familiar, an echo from my past entwined with my present. Then, it struck me—she reminded me of the character Valencia from my second book, Beyond The Mango’s Shade, a vivid creation that had leapt from my imagination onto the pages of my story. Without giving away the storyline, Valencia was a little girl, about Ziel’s age, who befriended the main character in ways that still resonate with me. Just like Ziel was drawn to me, Valencia was drawn to Felicia, creating an unbreakable bond of friendship. There’s such a resemblance between the two girls, their spirits intertwined in an inexplicable way. But Ziel is real, while Valencia is a fictional character that lived in my head 15 years ago, a creation born from inspiration and creativity.

I hope I get to see my little friend again, and I wish for her to grow up enjoying all the beautiful things life has to offer, unfettered by the complexities that adulthood brings. Usually, I observe someone and use a mannerism or demeanor to create a fictional character, yet here was a real-life person reminding me of a fictional character I created long before she was born, linking my realities with the imagination I hold dear. For some reason, I see this as life imitating fiction; it’s a beautiful symmetry that life presents to us all. We writers are a peculiar lot; we can often see the subtle nuggets of life that most people overlook or ignore, capturing moments in words that might otherwise vanish into thin air. Simply put, our creative side is always in overdrive, tirelessly trying to decipher life’s intricacies and transform them into something tangible, something meaningful that connects with others.