Saturday: The Day Before Father’s Day

 Saturday: The Day Before Father’s Day

It’s the long weekend, and the caravan park is full to the brim. Every corner is taken by folding chairs, flapping towels, and barefoot children weaving between campsites. The weather couldn’t be better — sunshine drapes over everything. The air is thick with the smell of braaivleis and the buzz of conversation. Music plays from every direction, laughter rises like smoke, and people settle into their rhythm.

I went for my walk — at last. The lagoon, temperamental as ever, finally let me cross. I reached my dunes again, those sandy shoulders that always seem to understand me. I sat there for a while, breathing in the quiet.

I came back, read a little, and now I’m here… listening. To the music playing around me. Good music, actually. My kind of music. But it’s not mine — not tonight. It belongs to the families around me, to the couples sharing fires and stories.

And me? I’m here too. Alone, but not always lonely. Just sometimes. Like now.

This was, and still is, my choice. I’m not unhappy. I’m not second-guessing. But I’m human, and sometimes the glow of other people’s togetherness casts a sharp shadow.

No one’s asked me to join. Maybe it’s because I’m single. Maybe it’s just how things go these days — friendly from a distance, but no further.

Life is weird. Or maybe it’s people who are weird.

I don’t have a tidy ending to this feeling. I don’t need one. Tonight, I’m just letting the music play and letting myself feel whatever it is that bubbles up. Honestly. Quietly.