A Love Letter to the Ocean

We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch – we are going back from whence we came. John F. Kennedy

I sit her on a beach in Italy, shaded by an umbrella emblazoned with a vodka logo. The sound of mindless chatter in Italian mingles with a loudspeaker aggressively advertising a product that I don’t understand.

I sit here, still salty from the ocean. My hair dries in salty strands, and water spots cover my now slightly sunburned legs.

There are so many things I could be doing, but all I could think about when I got out of the water was about writing about it.

I want to capture this feeling. Bottle up the euphoria, cork it, and ship it home.

The first thing I remember instantly about the ocean, when I’ve been away for a while, is that these waters know no language. They know no country, or loyalty to anyone or anything. There is no language barrier here, and there are no clashing political ideologies. Only crashing waves.

The sound of waves lapping is the same in every country, and so are the underwater noises that fill my ears when I submerge myself in the cool salt water. The exhilaration and freedom I felt when I dive under a wave is the same, too.

One of my favorite things to do is simply be in the ocean. I don’t particularly like talking, or splashing, or even swimming, but rather stretching out on my back and feeling my toes lift away from the sand. The way I feel, floating, and squinting up towards a clear blue sky, is one I go back to on restless nights in my stifling city apartment. The sound of the waves in my mind drown out the drone of motorcycles and the beeping of irritated drivers.

The salt heals everything, someone once told me. After I got my ears peirced, I was given a bottle of saline solution. I threw it away and went to the ocean instead.

In this … paradise, the cuts and blisters on my feet sting a little less. The writers block that has been plaguing me the last couple of months dissolved completely.

Growing up near water, I forgot how fortunate I was to have it. To walk through the sand admiring the shells. To stand in the white wash, completely still, and let the waves bury my feet in the sand. Sinking a little deeper into this beautiful enigma I feel so drawn to.

It’s part of me, and half of me thinks that salt water runs through my veins.

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