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Description
"The sea, the sea, the sea. It rolls and rolls and calls to me. Come in, it says, come in.”

When I tried to read Sharon Creech’s The Wanderer in sixth grade, those three lines seemed cheesy. A lame way to start a novel, even a children’s novel.

Boring rhyme scheme, if in fact it had one at all. Not enough imagery, not enough feeling. Like a nursery rhyme.

I still think that maybe it doesn’t quite capture the ocean, but I’ve been writing my whole life and I’ve discovered that it’s nearly impossible to take the crashing waves, the chaos and beauty and rawness of the ocean and write it all down onto a sheet of paper. No one can capture the call of the sea. No one can capture perfection.

I crave the peace and solitude I find at the ocean, crave to feel the cold embrace of the waves, to become a part of the foam. And maybe that’s why so many people want a sailor’s burial, or their ashes scattered on the beach or into the waves. They would become a part of the sea, a part of the rocks and the wind and the waves.

Many a sailor say that the sea is their first love, and I have never related to a simple statement more deeply.

Sitting here, cold and damp rock pressed against my body, fifty feet above the people and the crashing waves, I am free. My mind is clear and I become a part of nature, just another piece of the rock structure.

One of my friends pointed out that I see in the ocean a freedom of expression; that it’s both tranquil and turbulent, chaotic and peaceful. Angry and sad, mischievous and playful all at once.

I almost feel as though the water reflects my brokenness, expresses all of the pain and emotions I feel by channelling it into the crashing of the waves and the bubbling of the foam. The rawness and realness, the wildness, of the sea is freeing. The wind tangling my hair and stinging my cheeks, the bleeding of my feet after scraping them on the rough rock, the damp coolness of the air… all of it brings me back to reality, grounds me. For once I’m physically present in my body; emotionally, an extension of nature.

Here, I am comfortable in my own skin.

The simplicity of the sea washes away the complexity of human thoughts and ‘civilised’ life.

Here, I am alive again.

Here, I am free.

Description
"The sea, the sea, the sea. It rolls and rolls and calls to me. Come in, it says, come in.”

When I tried to read Sharon Creech’s The Wanderer in sixth grade, those three lines seemed cheesy. A lame way to start a novel, even a children’s novel.

Boring rhyme scheme, if in fact it had one at all. Not enough imagery, not enough feeling. Like a nursery rhyme.

I still think that maybe it doesn’t quite capture the ocean, but I’ve been writing my whole life and I’ve discovered that it’s nearly impossible to take the crashing waves, the chaos and beauty and rawness of the ocean and write it all down onto a sheet of paper. No one can capture the call of the sea. No one can capture perfection.

I crave the peace and solitude I find at the ocean, crave to feel the cold embrace of the waves, to become a part of the foam. And maybe that’s why so many people want a sailor’s burial, or their ashes scattered on the beach or into the waves. They would become a part of the sea, a part of the rocks and the wind and the waves.

Many a sailor say that the sea is their first love, and I have never related to a simple statement more deeply.

Sitting here, cold and damp rock pressed against my body, fifty feet above the people and the crashing waves, I am free. My mind is clear and I become a part of nature, just another piece of the rock structure.

One of my friends pointed out that I see in the ocean a freedom of expression; that it’s both tranquil and turbulent, chaotic and peaceful. Angry and sad, mischievous and playful all at once.

I almost feel as though the water reflects my brokenness, expresses all of the pain and emotions I feel by channelling it into the crashing of the waves and the bubbling of the foam. The rawness and realness, the wildness, of the sea is freeing. The wind tangling my hair and stinging my cheeks, the bleeding of my feet after scraping them on the rough rock, the damp coolness of the air… all of it brings me back to reality, grounds me. For once I’m physically present in my body; emotionally, an extension of nature.

Here, I am comfortable in my own skin.

The simplicity of the sea washes away the complexity of human thoughts and ‘civilised’ life.

Here, I am alive again.

Here, I am free.