Whenever I go back to my hometown, I often wake up early and follow my paternal grandfather to the sea. In the mist that is still floating somewhere, the sea is soft and dreamy, a few gentle winds blow on the mainland, bringing the characteristic salty taste of the sea. Standing in front of the sea, I feel the intensity of the indescribable concentration on my body. In the air, the white seagulls tilt their wings, absorbed in flight toward the far horizon, where the bright pink dawn is casting chest-shaped rays of sunlight into the water. The waves gently hit the shore, the sea was clear and the white sand stretched far away. I walk with my bare feet in the sand, and the cool sensation penetrates my flesh. A strange sensation spreads throughout my body. Fine, cool grains of sand recedes under my feet. I searched and picked up each of the shells scattered on the cat. Each shell is a place that holds memories of the homeland. When I leave my hometown, these shells are a bridge to bring me back to life with my homeland.
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