The house stood on stilts at the very edge of the ocean, where the waves lapped up against a beautiful beach hidden by garbage and covered over by houses. The sound of the waves was one of my favorite things about the week. All day long it echoed through the house, and at night the sound haunted my dreams, until finally I started listening to music as I slept to cover up the noise of the neighborhood.
On the roof of the house was a spacious, tiled terrace. At night, we would take cushions from the couch and gather up there, high, where the winds blew. The boys would smoke and the girls would bring out snacks. In the day, we would sit inside where there was no relief except a single fan.
I spent a week in that house in Belakang Padang.