San Fabian’s beaches are bright and crystal clear, often full of locals and tourists alike who want a taste of the Philippine Sea. There, I saw my first sunset. We were visiting Mom’s side of the family in Pangasinan. I walked with my parents along the shore, holding Dad’s hand and watching wet sand stick to my feet until the water washed it away. I wore my favorite bathing suit, a pink and purple one-piece with Disney princesses on my chest. I was three, maybe four. 

When I saw the sunset across me, I let go of Dad’s hand, mesmerized. My parents left me by the shore while they set up our beach towel and chairs. The sun met the ocean on a distinct line, slowly disappearing as it sank. Hues of yellow, orange, and pink blended into one another. Back in SeaTac, I was never close enough to watch the sun melt like this. Where was the sun going? Was it sinking into the ocean? Why did it keep getting smaller? Where was the rest of it? 

Dad came by and said that Mom was setting up snacks on the beach towel. I nodded absent mindedly. Noticing my concentration, Dad sat next to me on the sand. “What are you looking at anak?” 

“The sun,” I said. “Dad, how far is the sun?” 

“Oh, it’s far. Very, very far. ” he said. I was confused. It didn’t look far. 

“Can I walk to the sun?” I asked. 

Dad chuckled at how genuine my question was. “No, you can’t walk to the sun. It’s up in the sky, millions of miles away.” 

He patted me on the back and walked away. I looked back at the horizon. The distance didn’t feel real. A million miles could mean anything to a child. To me, a million miles looked like a five-minute walk. 

My Dad always explained things to me as a form of protection. Age six, I asked why I needed a car booster seat in the family minivan. He explained it was to keep me safe. Age seven, I asked why I couldn’t play with the boys at the park who were running around on the playground. He explained that they were much older. Age ten, I asked why I couldn’t have my own phone. He explained the Internet had a lot of weird people. 

More often than not, his explanations were more frustrating than helpful. The distance didn’t feel real then either. Despite the gap in years, experience, and wisdom, part of me always felt the need to prove him wrong. To show him that I was capable. 

I want to feel the sun. And touch the sky. What did pink feel like? Orange? Yellow? The sun felt like a five-minute walk away. 

Naïve and eager, I walked straight ahead. This was my first time being in an ocean. I didn’t know how to swim, so I assumed it would be walking in a pool. I was wrong. The waves were stronger than I realized. They pushed and pulled against my ankles, my legs, moving my body with them. When they sank, my skin was exposed to the cold breeze. I kept my eyes set on the sun and realized I wasn’t getting any closer. It was still just as far as when I started walking towards it. The ocean was consuming me. I was nearly neck deep. Each wave kept splashing into my face—not enough to drown me, but enough to keep getting in my mouth. Before this, I thought that ocean water would taste clean. Pure, like fresh spring water by the mountains. But my mouth shriveled up at the taste of sea salt and brine. The flavor disgusted me. I couldn’t stop tasting it. I didn’t think to close my mouth, but I was also so intrigued by the idea of water being salty. I let the salt water fill my mouth before spitting it all out again, coughing.

I didn’t realize how much I was struggling until I was lifted into the air. I gasped at the sudden wind. Goosebumps. Dad grabbed me by the shoulders and lifted me out of the water. I started coughing while fighting against my dad’s grip. 

“What are you doing anak? Are you ok? Huh? Your throat? Why were you drinking sea water? Don’t do that again. Just keep coughing the water out. Here, let’s walk to Mom. Oh my god anak, you’re so silly…” 

I barely heard his words. My throat hurt, but I felt a deep sense of accomplishment. “Dad, I was almost there! I could almost touch it! Did you see?”
I don’t remember what my Dad said. Maybe he was too anxious to laugh. Maybe he was both frustrated and relieved. I imagine my Dad watching me play in the water, amused by how much the ocean entertained me, until he realized that I was starting to lose myself in the waves. He acted out of fatherly instinct. Even if I saw nothing wrong, my Dad did. 

At that moment, I was disappointed that my Dad didn’t understand what I was trying to do. My naivety blinded me from any possible threats or setbacks. Even into adulthood, my Dad has always seen my goals and determination as a great distance. He would always catch up and call me back to safety, but most times I wouldn’t listen. I saw the sun at the end of the ocean, but all he saw was the ocean.