Inner Bravery
On the first night of our arrival to the Grand Meliá Golf Resort in Río Grande, Puerto Rico, some twisted deity drew a string of rainclouds over the beach. Back home, in Maryland, a storm shackles its suburban citizens to their homes. This storm, however, cinched my restraints, and freed me. Every one of the sky’s thunderous eruptions was a siren’s call, one that lured me into beautiful discord. Accompanied by two family friends, I flew onto the grounds, and leapt into the pool. Much to my chagrin, we had, quite literally, plunged into the deep end. We swam there, though I lack the ability to swim, and have nearly drowned on two separate occasions. The pool, illuminating rows of monstrous, cavorting palm trees, glowed blue against a world of muted grays and blacks. The scene was a dream in every sense of the word. The incessant sky showered my face with warm, round drops. I wondered aloud if someone had swept me off to the heavens, in a carriage of uncertainty I found I loved so much.
A few days later, we reached Luquillo Beach. Describing it in its entirety would be an insurmountable task, like painting a picture of an unexplored realm. It is the Caribbean incarnate, a stereotypical picture of soft-sand shores, distant mountains, and turquoise water filling the expanse between the two. I found the kayak stand, and determined I would glide over these translucent waters. The last time I kayaked in an inflatable vessel, a current entrapped me, and denied my absolution. This time, when the continental shelf plunged into bleak abyss, no fear plagued my heart. King Midas graced the surface with the golden touch of sunlight. Seagulls circled overhead, and lounged on buoys within arm’s reach. I listened to the sound of the sea, a composition no orchestra, in my mind, could ever rival.
I bounded over many more hurdles on this trip of a lifetime. I scaled a thirty-foot tower, unharnessed, and lingered in a line of lost souls for my turn to brave the course’s tallest zip-line. At Ponylandia, I mounted an unsettled horse, and on Big Tree Trail, the path to the legendary La Mina Falls, I battled my own physique. On the right side of the trail, a wall of dirt and foliage stretched upwards into the canopy. The left side resembled Luquillo Beach’s continental shelf. Often times, we encountered a group returning from the waterfall. The path was so precarious that one group would befriend the clay to allow room for the other.
The flight home was, undoubtedly, the most arduous part of the odyssey. As we landed, lightning strikes, those poetic prison guards, wreaked havoc upon the horizon. From this day forth, I told myself, every new place I explore will become my home. I will find happiness in temples honoring Gods I know little of, languages I will strain to interpret, and currencies I’ve never before handled. I will forever remember Río Grande, Puerto Rico, as the unspoiled land of wildlife, waterfalls, and sweeping panoramas, which spurred the inception of my adventures, and unleashed my inner bravery.
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