The sea

I like to believe that the sea waits for me all night. It flirts with the moonshine, surging and receding, keeping its secrets, where it’s been and where it’s going. And when the moon finally gives up and turns away in a sulk, the sun creeps out, winking at the sea and making it blush.

Then, as light takes over my little corner of the world, it’s my turn to wake up. My eyes hurry past the tall, gently swaying coconut trees and tall buildings beyond my window, to catch that first morning glimpse of the sea. We say hello without words. There are some bad days when it’s a muddy, gloomy, silty presence, resentful of the world. Some days, it’s more zen -- one with the sky, it reassures me with its dully gleaming, calm surface seamlessly blending with the horizon. Other days, it stands fiercely apart, unmistakably separate, burning blue, glittering and brimming over with excitement, irresistible and dangerous at the same time. And it reminds me to choose – who do I want to be today?

When I’m at work, the sea waits patiently again. I raise my head and rub my eyes, immersed in a slab of writing that needs sharpening – sometimes through blows of a hammer, at others, little nudges with a chisel. And the sea waves at me from afar, reminding me of all the things that will outlive this day, that will outlive me.

It’s oddly reassuring to be reminded how small I am.