For context, we celebrated my niece's first-ever birthday today with my whole family, and I invited my boyfriend and Zuki, the dog, to the simple seaside lunch. Looking at the photos now makes me happy and grateful for how our relationship is being valued and welcomed by both families.
We arrived at Amancor, a ruined park in the town of San Remigio, beside the beach where we rented a space for the celebration. This place, which used to be a perfect park, is now gradually being demolished and will soon be transformed to be safer and more interesting, since it also has risks such as its center pool and lack of design or details. Looking around feels sad, since I grew up visiting here more often than needed, and now debris and smashed concrete dominate the surroundings. What was once a beautiful relaxation spot is now filled with uncleaned debris.
But even if it looks ruined and filled with debris, the beauty of the place—specifically the water view and the landscape—has not changed. It is relaxing in a way; its beautiful beach view, turquoise water, and fresh sea breeze remain amidst the demolition, and the landscape, filled with trees and green grasses, gently calms itself. Upon looking at the water, I can sense lots of stories that have happened there—the stories of fishermen riding their pump boats, folks searching for seafood during low tide, and kids swimming around after class without telling their parents, only to go home with sand all over their clothes.
We went there with our dogs Zuki and Chai, since the ground was perfect for running around and safe, as there were no other dogs during our visit. The ground was also clean from poop and trash, which assured us that the place was safe and appropriate for our dogs, allowing them to feel happy in this kind of afternoon. They ran around for at least three hours without getting tired, and sometimes they would approach us when they needed water or felt thirsty, with their tongues out catching their breath.
Zuki and Chai still do not get along well until now—not because they are aggressive, but because Chai, the female with black and white fur, does not like Zuki, the shipoo Maltese, since Zuki always does this horny thing to Chai, and she does not like it. Whenever Zuki runs to Chai, she would run for her life toward me and hide at my feet, only to realize that Zuki is already on her back. It makes us laugh sometimes, but often we separate them when things get intense before Chai bursts out of anger and starts conflict. Sometimes they get along well, but more often than expected, they just run around to annoy each other.
We saw a group of kids who approached us when they saw our dogs, finding them cute, and asked for permission to play with them. As fur parents, we told them how to handle the dogs and asked them to clean their hands before touching them since they are not yet complete with their vaccinations. When they did, we allowed them to play with our dogs gently and appropriately. We were also tired of watching over them, so we were a bit grateful to have these kids look after and entertain them so they could enjoy our visit at Amancor.
A photo of the four of us while the sun was setting behind us, the warmth kissing us like a body therapist in a massage space. Our dogs are really important to us, and we want to be responsible and make them feel happy and valued.
As the day quietly came to an end, I realized how simple moments like these—family, love, laughter, and even a worn-out place—can still hold so much warmth and meaning, enough to carry with me long after the sun has set.