As I stopped in front of their house and walked up the steps, I noticed that it seemed enormously smaller. The house was as similar as my hazy memories allowed me to remember: faded white sofas with butt prints, a table for two jutting out to the equally small kitchen, two beige rocking chairs in front of a television from twenty years ago. The question on my mind was, “Where are we all going to sleep?” » I quickly discovered that both sofas had pull-out beds. My mother and I finally walked down the beach and I excitedly raced down the steps to the tunnel, screaming at the top of my lungs and slapping my sandals on the concrete. My mother was yelling at me to stop, I was sure I was experiencing deja vu. As we walked the beach, I noticed that our land was private and there were fancy hotels on either side with plush beach chairs. Over the years, I had developed a fear of the ocean since being in Florida when I was younger, so the beach wasn't as beautiful to me as it used to be. However, the water looked incredible; the waves reached their peak, then crashed with power. I loved the smell and taste of the salty air, the soft sand beneath my feet and the remarkable view. It was a place I would never forget and a place where I saw myself in the