This is undoubtedly a long-awaited post.
The constant push and pull I did with myself to write up this little thing had been going on for more than a week now. It's not like I was hesitant to write. It was quite the opposite, to be honest. But the lack of peace of mind, and the sudden disappearance of words whenever I tried to write down my feelings slowed me down, that was, until right now.
So here I am, with my unstructured thoughts, trying to sum up what I felt when I met the ocean after five long years…
The sea and I, over the years, had drifted apart.
It wasn’t until I stepped out of the rattling motor ran vehicle and came face to face with her vastness, that I got a chance to be close to her once more.
The last time I saw her, she had been her quiet self, letting gentle waves glide over the shore like creases a mother leaves on her newborn. But as I got to see her this time around, the story was slightly different.
With a gloomy sky above our head, she had also painted herself in grey; her waves, having lost the gentle creases, now had the edge of a teenager in their puberties.
At first, the thought of her being angry did cross my mind. But as I braved to walk along her shore that very evening, all my worries were washed away with her waves.
The long walks along the coastlines are something I'll remember for a long time. Bare feet over the wet sand, hair running wild with the wind, sunburnt skin and tired, tired eyes; that was how my days passed there. When small flickers of lanterns painted everything orange at night, it felt like everything was neatly cut out from one of my long lost dreams; surreal and majestic.
A wonderful silence graced us whenever people grew quiet. And in those rare moments, it was only the sea and I. I felt her listening to me at those times, just as I tried listening to her, trying to figure out her tune, the symphony she orchestrated all alone.
Compared to lively nights, Mornings were always slow in nature. Sleepless adventures took away our hunger, for the most part; still, we all dined like kings, as last night's hangover could only be battled with a stomach filled with grease.
And then the most memorable day came along, and I found myself face to face with high mountains that tried their best to reach the vast ocean, but came to a standstill when faced with her beauty. They stood still just steps away from her waves, and watched silently how she danced. Along with the mountains, I, too, kept watching her as the roads starched out into the horizon.
She was too beautiful to not look at, and my eyes couldn't get enough of her.
But as all good things must come to an end, the long roads came to a stop too. And with the setting sun behind us, it was time to head home. So towards home, we went, leaving behind evergreen lands, and an ocean who became our friend.
As I now write this down, while sitting inside a box in the sky that feels trapped and narrow, I still hear her. From miles away, she calls to me whenever I close my eyes, beckoning me to closer, until we can converse again.
"I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying."— John Masefield.