Since I was little, I dreamed of living on an island that was made just for me. It took me years to figure out what to call it. “Deserted Island” sounded too lonely and dejecting. “Dream Island” was unoriginal and boring. One day, as I wandered around the yard, these white, dainty flowers huddled in the bushes caught my eye. I forgot my dad was growing jasmine for my mother. I fell in love with the name when I heard it. Jasmine. Jasmine Island. It was the perfect name for the perfect island that I was designing in my own mind.
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Sight
There are tall, majestic palm trees with large fronds, shielding me from daylight. Some are slightly bent; others straight and slender. They’re almost everywhere like a maze, so I'd have something to explore. I’d get lost in a swarm of emerald green, and I’d find my way back to the ocean. The ocean is a soft, sapphire blue, with calm waves that brush my ankles while I lie on the sand. The water is clear, clear enough to see little silver fishes dancing with one another before they’re swept away by an incoming wave. I’d dig my feet beneath the sand and stay there until sunset approached. Sunset made the entire island look like a painting. I can visualize an artist soaking his brush in yellow paint, resembling the golden, honey drops of the setting sun. Then mixing blue and a tinge of black, to illustrate the ocean drenched in navy dye.
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Touch
Far into the maze of trees, I’d occasionally find tropical flowers that I had never seen before. I only recognize one of them — the jasmine flower. Like many others, the petals are smooth to the touch. So delicate and silky, like the feathers of an owl. They give me the urge to pick off the petals one by one and release them into the ocean, and I have no clue why. The sand is never hot enough to burn my skin. I can walk around barefoot, and it’d feel like strolling on a path of cool clouds. I can roll around in it for hours, with no sticks or shells to harm my body. The entire floor is just made of soft, grainy powder. Sand can also feel tickly when it gets caught in between my toes and fingers. When that happens, I’d stand up, brush off my clothes, and head to the water to rinse my feet. The ocean is more refreshing than chilly. I can go knee-deep without feeling afraid because I know the waves aren’t powerful enough to carry me away.
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Smell
The air is so salty I can smell it from a mile away. The briny odor blends with flowers, giving them a bittersweet scent like fallen autumn leaves. I don’t even mind it though, because the smell is so different, so unique. It’s a smell I will always remember.
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Taste
Every person who visited the beach at least once experienced the taste of saltwater, maybe not in a pleasant way. Imagine playing with someone at the beach, and you accidentally get too close to the ocean. A wave suddenly launches itself at you. You can’t think, only taste. You taste the tanginess in the back of your mouth as water shoots up your nostrils. Falling back on the sand, you’d gag and cough at the sourness still lingering. The ocean water doesn’t taste as lovely as it looks, and this goes for every ocean on every island. It’s something I can’t change. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. An island isn’t complete without the saltiness of the ocean.
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Hear
Islands do get lonely when it’s too silent. I always expect waves when they arrive, because I don't like unpredictable things. They don’t roar or rumble, they simply come and splash onto the shore, creating white bubbles before dragging back to the deep. Those are my favorite kinds of waves. But I’m most comforted when I hear sparrows singing songs to one another. Instead of loud endless peeping, they lightly trill, like music notes. They sound like a fancy doorbell compared to an alarm. They travel into my ears like little vibrations. Those voices drown out my thoughts, helping me sleep. The sparrows are the finishing touch to my paradise island.
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