My Soul’s First Harbor

I used to think I had outgrown this place. I left in pursuit of bigger roads, louder cities, and brighter lights. But somehow, no matter how far I went, my heart always knew the way back.

Agay-ay.

The air feels different here—slower, softer, and very familiar. Everything looks smaller than I remember: the roads, the houses, the shoreline. But the feeling? It feels bigger than ever. The same waves that once felt ordinary now sound like echoes of memory. The sunsets I grew up with now feel sacred. When you leave home, you learn how to survive. When you come back, you remember who you are.

A different kind of gratitude comes with returning. You see things more clearly. You appreciate what you once overlooked. You understand that being small doesn’t mean being insignificant, and that being quiet doesn’t mean lacking. Simple doesn’t mean less. Agay-ay isn’t flashy; it doesn’t try to impress anyone. But it doesn’t need to, because this is where my story began. This is where my feet first learned the ground, and where my name has always belonged.

No matter how far I go, how much I grow, or how much the world changes me, there will always be a part of me anchored to this shoreline. Coming home reminded me that I was never disconnected; I was just away.

Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is return to where you started and see it with grateful eyes.