My mom used to help me fall asleep at night, by making me use my imagination. She told me to envision myself swinging on the playground, with the spring breeze teasing my ringlets as I attempted to
fly. I wasn’t a rough sleeper after that. But soon, as the years past, I no longer felt so connected to the sky. In books or movies or television shows or even commercials, people have told me the
blue sky was where freedom lay. Though I enjoyed the brightness of the brand new day clouds brought, I felt it wasn’t “my” freedom. I wanted to fly, but in some other way.
The real confusion should have been actually finding it. Due mostly to my fear of.. Everything, I didn’t like to try new things, especially when it came to injuring myself in any physical form. This little girl was adventurous only in her mind, never daring to climb a tree or turn a summersault on the grass. How could a stubborn innocent find her own feelings of the world with such fearful limitations?
With fear, comes reassurance of safety. That which is safe feels right, but only if safe is on my standards. So fortunately, I had the loving family who forcibly pushed me into the average activity known only as the highly unneeded act called “swimming.” Psh. Swimming. Why would I want to do that?
I knew when I went into the pool that I would never really care much for chlorine, and guess what? I was damn right. The stuff still smells man made and wrong, though those words come from someone with the privilege to visit real water during the summer. Yet even with such a massive difference in appearance and smell, I can always find that one spot of rich equality chlorine and ocean share. The loud chit chat, of bathing suit clad vacationers, can immediately be silenced by the power of the water’s depths, and my choice to go under.
There is no swimming involved when I push my head below to feel the cool sensation of pure blue softening my body. Instead, I just sit there, eyes closed, listening to the splash of ripples passing by in silent traffic. Words from conversations attempt to break through the barrier, but the constantly changing movements won’t allow any of it to come near me. The only overpowering body is my own, with dramatic bubbles quickly coming to climax, as I am given no other option but to return to the surface. Well, how nice and tranquil. I still wasn’t feeling it, in that special place only I should know.
And then, we went back to the sea.
My grandpa, Opa, had built the house with the pier quiet a time ago, and so it’s been a part of me since I was born. Why hadn’t I figured it out earlier? There, sitting on the very edge with the my toes resonating a mini-whirlpool, I closed my eyes. Exchanging the perfect view of seawater as the sun hit its surface for the scent of salt and sand dancing with the fish, I plunged my toes deeper for the consuming tingle that was warmth and coolness intertwined. Anticipation suddenly overwhelmed me, for this was the first time swimming in the sea crossed my mind.
No hesitation; no doubt; I’m allowing my senses to fill my heart. After all, who was I to deny the world to give me flight? Waves of the surface surrounded my body, making me the medium between air and water. But when I opened my eyes, feeling physical blue, holding white of air, yet seeing green;
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