a girl & an ocean

i'm taking you with me to the ocean

Can you feel how the breeze from the sea treats you kinder than the ones you thought would handle you with care?

As a quiet child, I always think that I’d rather be an empty seashell that is scattered around the beach. The ones we always disregard their existence because you think it's a nuisance. While I agree the seashells did hurt my feet while strolling around the beach, I often ignore the pain and think the seashells are one of the reasons why the sea is a wonder. If I weren’t there to appreciate the seashells, I am sure there are others who find comfort in between the inner pearly calcified layer of the shells.

And if I were to become the seashells, I could trust there would still be a human collecting and appreciating solely my existence. Or at the very least, there is a tiny crab who is shy to make its presence known to the world needs me as their safety shell.

If I can’t be a seashell, perhaps, in my other life, I can be reincarnated as a beach. I certainly would never be alone. The sea, who understands me, will reach its arms around me, the waves stroking away the pain, the despair softly and beautifully.

If I can’t be the beach, I can be a Bubble tip anemone under the sea. I will have a clownfish best friend who is attached to my hip. It will cheer me up, doing its best to crack a joke. Maybe it invites its friends, and then I will never be alone anymore.

Well, if I can’t be anything, I will be on my knees to be the moon. I would endlessly, day and night, beg God to let me be the moon. The one who is oh so beautiful, oh so mesmerising and oh so ethereal. The sea can accompany me without needing me to ask for its company. I want to be everything.

And if I can’t be everything, allow me to be the ocean.

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Growing up with a people-pleaser character embedded deep inside me, a trait that is controlling every thought and action of mine, I dislike the common idea of crossing an invisible boundary of people to get what I want. I would never argue with people who have their own opinion that clearly benefits them more. Be it a gift, a shimmering Barbie pencil case that I have been eyeing, or a long-time crush that it took me eight years to move on from, I’d rather give it up if I can get a peaceful outcome. Even if I get hurt in the process, it doesn’t matter.

Younger me taught old me that I don’t want to hold my stance even if I was bribed a million dollars.

She also taught me how to dislike the sensation of being tethered to one thing. The desperation to make my desire known, I would never experience it.

I would change my favourite singer if someone I know was into the same singer as me. I would change my favourite colour if I heard someone else have it the same. I pretend my heart stays still at the mention of something I terribly loved. I would do anything to make sure people can’t find the similarities between me and them.

Maybe it was not the people-pleaser in me because I don’t think people-pleasers run away from people. They should please the crowd—performing even. Maybe it was another thing. Perhaps it is the fragile armour that I have to put on after going through things that are so bad—I don't want to hold any memories of them. I don’t recollect any happy moments for the past nineteen years.

I am not so sure myself. I’m sorry.

Yet, one thing I am so sure of myself is I believe I deserve to have everything. But I never save myself a seat for the occasion. I would never be the one to pat myself on the back after surviving. I would rather strip myself of the badge honouring me—the one I worked hard for. Then, I would also leave quickly the room full of people who applaud and celebrate me, creating a rift between me and my friends, creating another part of me who experiences imposter syndrome. I believe I deserve to have everything despite that; I can’t receive the congratulations for all of my hard work yet.

Please try to understand me, my dearest. I’m sorry.

Beloved, certainly you're not What Veuillot calls a "tenderling." Bubbling in you, as in a pot, Dice, lust and revel have their fling. My dear old child, you're surely not

Too fresh these days. However, dear, Your tireless game of fast-and-loose Has given you that smooth veneer, That things acquire from constant use. It has its charms, however dear.

I do not find it growing stale - That sap your forty summers bring Since autumn fruits with me prevail Over the banal flowers of spring. No! you are never dull nor stale.

(The Monster, Charles Baudelaire)

At this stage in my life, nearing my twenties, I find myself feeling anxious about my age. The experiences I once cherished no longer hold the same significance for me.

I have grown up, I think. I am confused, but I’m not sorry.

I am forgetting everything the younger me taught. It’s for the better, I guess.

the things I want to cherish after visiting the sea

I want to be the sea. I don’t want to be a seashell, a beach, a Bubble tip anemone, or the moon.

Letting you become drunk by my breeze, letting you swim in my arms, letting you drown in me.

I would pick up the pieces of me one by one. I will appreciate myself. I will become my own best friend. I will become beautiful, mesmerising and ethereal by myself. I will be everything that I want to become. I don’t want to say sorry no more.