I feared the mighty sea when I was young, especially after a tragedy happened: a passenger ferry collided with an oil tanker. Within minutes, the tragedy claimed almost 2,000 lives, including some of my distant relatives. The event has been dubbed as “the worst ferry disaster and the worst peace-time maritime disaster in history.” As the years passed by, the fear of the sea waned and I began to cherish a love story with the sea.
I love the days I spend so close to the vast sea. In the morning, before the sun rises, I would head out to the beach for a walk, barefooted. I enjoy the gentle breeze caressing my face and playing with my hair. I love the feel of soft, moist sand between my toes. I would happily create a path with my set of footprints. And I would be delighted when a stroke of tide erases the marks I had left. I often wish those marks were the mistakes I’ve done with my life.
When I get tired of walking, I would sit on the white, powdery sand and wait for the sun to stretch out its rays as if to say it already has awoken from a deep slumber. It is amazing to watch the sun rising up, little by little, from the horizon. It is soothing to hear the sound of the surf. The distinct crash and return of the tiny waves becomes the laughter of loved ones. It rekindles so many moments I spent with family and friends.
The gentle breeze brings the salty taste of the sea, and almost instantly I see fishermen in my mind. They are on the seashore, pulling out nets from the sea. I see people waiting in line to buy fish, children playing on the shore, and small crabs frolicking in the now heated fine sand. When the sun’s heat start to hurt my skin a bit, I know it is time to head home.
The sea and I are one. I take the passion and drive from its waves; the hope, from the sun that constantly rises from its edge; the calm, from its white, powdery sand that never fails me; and the happiness, from the memories that it draws from my mind. Each time I look out to the sea, I see my life laid out in front of me.