Remnant of Yesterdays

Parts of the Dungun coastline are slowly being pushed inland by the ferocious sea as the days go by. The waves take pieces away, leaving only fragments behind. Spinifex grass is hardly seen nowadays—the thorny vegetation that looks like a sea urchin, which once detached, would roll along the sandy dunes for children to chase. Their laughter used to alarm nearby crabs, who scurried sideways into their holes, waiting until the footsteps faded behind the rough roar of waves surging towards sodden footprints.

In December, the sea draws its full power from the moon and grows short-tempered, always charging against the land in full force, destroying everything within reach. The severely damaged seaside road along Teluk Lipat beach once stood as shameful evidence of the land’s—and humanity’s—defeat in the worst war of nature in modern Dungun history. Children could no longer chase spinifex grass or disturb the crabs’ daily business.

The local authority has since placed concrete structures, supposedly to mend the destruction. But the sea has a mind of its own; its future cannot be foretold. After many Decembers, it has only grown better at adapting, while the concrete breakers merely shoo the waves to other places. What remains are the remnants of yesterday: the shortened beaches of Sura Tengah and its neighbour, Sura Hujung, the latter standing as the doorway to the realm of elves and the jungle spirit of eerie Bukit Bauk.

Recently, on a July afternoon, I stopped by Sura Tengah beach. I looked at the calm sea and spoke with it in silence, wondering how long this beauty would last—how long before I could one day bring along my missus, in her sheer cotton t-shirt and kain batik jawa, to share the view.