I like the sound of the word “peninsula. The border between the land and the sea, which is the same for beaches and sandy beaches, but I like the tip of the peninsula, the rugged precipice. Deep, wave-carved rocks loom beneath my feet, and the roar of the wind envelops my body. When the weather is rough, the foam from the wave caps breaking on the rocky beach pours down on my face. One step forward, and the body will swim through space-time, and life will end. It is not that I am not tempted to do so.
I have stood at the same point many times. My earliest memory is when I was 12 years old. Since then, I have repeatedly come to this spot to look at the horizon, feel the wind, listen to the waves, and contemplate the self.
Beaches and coastlines can be transformed by the thoughts of people. But at the tip of the peninsula, on the solid reefs of the precipitous cliffs, human power is powerless. Human beings are transient, changeable, and ephemeral. But the rugged, bare nature does not move an inch. When I stand in such a place, I am once again aware of my place in the world.