In dialogue with ocean

by Sondra Kim (China)

A leap into the unknown Indonesia

Aglaya knew she couldn’t drown. It was a ridiculous thought, a momentary feeling while she waited for the sweeping wave to give back her breath. A leash around the left ankle reminded her that she was safely tied to a piece of unsinkable fiberglass. The waves were not even that big this off-season, but the stormy clouds weighing low made the ocean look grimly like the site of a shipwreck. Her mind played that trick because she was alone in the water. The only reckless idiot who rushed out to the ocean the minute pouring rain made a pause in its all-day-long loud statement. Inhale, don’t panic, and roll under, clenching to your surfboard, so the mass of water breaking into hissing white foam doesn’t drag you all the way to the underworld. Enjoy seconds of underwater silence with all sounds muted and distanced. Feel the force of physics pulling you up, and by the time you’ve resurfaced and got on board, the next wave is there to slap you in the face. She knew the routine well and didn’t battle with the ocean. You think Aglaya was a skillful surfer, daring enough to go into the water that day when everyone else opted out? Someone who catches waves effortlessly as if in discreet partnership with the ocean? There was nothing skillful or effortless about her stubborn persistence to hop on a board every day and paddle out to be beaten up by the waves. It was a strange dialogue they had: the ocean gave her bruises as souvenirs from this island of thousand Gods. She silently showed up every day trying to wash off the old fear, break the habit of freezing at the sight of nature’s force. Maybe, she should’ve not snuck out this rental board like a thief from a place she stayed at without saying a word. She knew they’d refuse her for a reason. The downpour shuffled time of low and high tides, drawing naked the shore where you would usually stand hip-deep in the water. The waves looked catchable, but unpredictably chaotic, pushed in all directions by the gusts of wind. She went in anyway. Inhale, don’t panic, dive under the wave and then steadily paddle to calmer waters. By the time Aglaya crossed all the way outside the lineup to catch a breath, she almost didn’t feel her arms. She looked around confirming that nobody else was there. Nobody had an ache to surf, and the acute feeling of finite time so strong, they’d get into the water despite exhausting conditions and long odds of actually catching something. It didn’t matter. She needed the time with the ocean, a one on one equivalent of a long talk. Aglaya didn’t grow up hearing old myths about gods and demons joining forces to churn the sea for the elixir of life. Didn’t see crowds so big, everything blurred into mixed splashes of golden yellow and white, all these people coming together to pray to the ocean asking for the rainy season from the god Baruna. Didn’t participate in a sacred ritual when your loved one’s final tie to the visible world— the body, is turned into ashes that are taken to the ocean. Didn’t live with the contradicting perception of the ocean as mythical origin of deadly diseases and the place powerful to cleanse the soul along with the body. Living in a multimillion concrete hive of a megapolis, the respect for nature didn’t stem from the special connection with it, cultivated daily. Maybe when you’re disconnected, that’s why at times brushing off thoughts about us exploiting the environment to the edge of catastrophe is easy. Sitting on the board, with arms freely caressing the water, not for the first time she felt the ocean was a self-willed, living creature. Not for the first time she felt the lessons it can give are endless if you’re stubborn enough to persist, revering its might and its kindness. Inhale, exhale, attuning to the rhythms of rolling waves. Aglaya opened her eyes searching the horizon for an opportunity. The wave was approaching, she felt free and capable to go with it.