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The Bahamas, an archipelago of over 2,000 cays and 700 islands, thirty of which are populated by tens of thousands of people, is well known for its sand, sun, and sea (Harris). Given the crystal clear turquoise waters, bright and radiant sun all year, and soft and white sands, it's no surprise that we attract a large number of visitors each year. Visitors are always ecstatic to see the splendor that the Lord has bestowed upon the Bahamas. It is without a doubt exceptional and completely unique. There is one island in the Bahamas that I adore, one which I will never turn my back on, and its name is Long Island. Its location is in Central Bahamas, beside Rum Cay and down from Exuma. It extends for eighty miles and about two hundred and thirty square miles (Harris).
Long Island is where I call home; it was my home for around nineteen years. However, after my graduation from N.G.M Major High School, I chose to further my studies in New Providence, at the College of the Bahamas, as it was called then. Moving away from my beloved island was a standout amongst the most depressing moments of my life. However, it was a choice I needed to make if my dream of turning into a physical training instructor was to become a reality. Growing up, my companions and I climbed trees, fished and swam in the ocean, played games, and farmed to pass the time. We were additionally intensely involved in church. We went to youth meetings, Mass, and Sunday school. There were no exemptions, and all youngsters would be there to listen to God's word.
Going to church was each Sunday's routine, this was the place where you learned about your moral values. The community was in charge of teaching every single tyke to be an upstanding and a decent individual. In Long Island, everyone lent some assistance. If I somehow happened to be hungry and I had nothing, there was no shame in me going next door or to another house down to ask them for something to cook or to get a tad bit of the sustenance they had cooked. It was no bother to approach them for water or whatever I required. This culture is an entirely different one to what we have here in New Providence. For instance, my cousin and I reside in a duplex; however, I have no clue who my neighbors are. On numerous occasions, I did not have cash, and I was hungry; but Nassau's culture is entirely different. Had I been on Long Island, I would have simply walked to my next door neighbor and requested for help or nourishment. Unfortunately, that is disapproved of here in Nassau. The culture here is every man for themselves as though everyone is an island, unlike in Long Island where you receive and give help to everyone that needs it as well as you can.
In long Island, the best days were the summer days since there was no school, and we got the opportunity to go jumping off cliffs into the deep blue waters and go spearing snappers and crawfish. Then we would head home where my mom would put on the grill. We would also plant cassava, peas, arugula, and corn in the farm, anything we could get we would plant. During the night we went out into the bushes to catch black crabs and at times, white crabs but I did not like the white crabs, to me the black ones tasted significantly sweeter, and I preferred them in the rice over the white. We got a kick out of the chance to go hiking in the daytime, and we would deliberately lose our way and afterward attempt to discover our path back to society in the most ideal way imaginable, which we did in a few hours.
Parking lots cater to a particular kind of childhood, the sort that fantasizes about getting away from "this little island" while likewise acknowledging how incredible the island is. During my high school years, any social event of worth occurred in the Starbucks parking lot. As all Long Islanders know, you can take the child from the parking lot, yet you cannot remove the parking lot from the child. The day before I left Long Island to go to college, I sat in the parking lot of a close-by shoreline attempting to mentally capture and bottle seagull's sounds and the sounds of lobster traps that fishermen dragged through coral-covered rocks. All through my first semester I would sit in silence and remember these serene sounds.
There is a maxim that says, 'If you are lucky enough to live by the sea, you are lucky enough.' I was fortunate enough to live by an ocean, bay, a dozen lakes, and a river, so I would say that I am more than sufficiently lucky. Long Island is so many marvelous things. It is the sound of the ocean slapping the shore, regardless of whether it be the rough north coast ports of my harbor town or the sweeping sandy shorelines of Robert Moses. It is the aroma of freshly-caught fish that you come to love and the salty beach waves. It is the message in a bottle that you send to an anonymous friend in Spain as a kid and the often sunburnt skin. Long Island is realizing that, regardless of whether you are in New Providence or Asia, on the off chance that you close your eyes, you will have the capacity to hear the ocean sounds of your youth calling you back home. Being able to experience my childhood in such a place made my childhood anything but boring. My study desk today is full of seashells from the Atlantic, every one of them a reminder of a most cherished memory or a sandcastle. The person I am is as a result of Long Island, and I could not be more appreciative.
Harris, David Russel. The Bahamas. 22 March 2017. Web. 18 April 2017.
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