on the ocean: love in the time of the spill

dear readers,

as an undergrad, i had the opportunity to sail around the world in a hundred days (or so), visiting ten countries across the global south. a chinese-american honors college advisor at u. pitt helped save my life. he had my back during the scholarship panel interviews, and in doing so, added priceless breath to a choking soul.

during my time as a swashbuckler, i sat alongside the ocean, on these steps which rose like fire escapes up, up, up the ship, wind pushing flatter my cheeks, water fresh in my eyes, welling up to meet the cleansing sea air, like this i read siddartha for the very first time, flipping my resurrection tape back and forth, side a, side b. i’ve climbed to the top of the ship and i am so high on the horizon that i can see storms like small grey bees buzzing on the horizon. i am close enough to the sky to taste the tip of cloud’s tongues, they taste of salt water taffy and fresh water womb. one time i sat with the ocean for two whole weeks without landing/docking.

and one thing i realized was that water lives for unity. the death defying unity, the sharp loyalty that water molecules have for each other, presents itself to the sailors eye as seemingly infinite undulations of salt water ocean. as much as water lives as drops and swallows, it also lives as a massive and singular body, adhered to the idea of sticking together.

i saw the ocean as a family of waters, each with their own hue, texture, ecology, spirit. where the indian ocean meets the atlantic, there bear witness to a horizon long embrace between the indian ocean, a body red, and the atlantic ocean, a body brown. they tangle in each other, melt back, dredge forth, take and spill from within each other. and on goes the exquisite mating that accompanies when ocean meets ocean. im talking about what the high seas look like.

so who are these people who would soil our oceans so in the name of profit? people and corporations who need to be stopped, checked, chin checked at the very least.

good night,
sepia

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