Salty Memories
When I closed my eyes leaning on the edge
of the deck, the sound of the smooth, white waves flowed into my ear. The
captain of the ship started the music that reminded me of Texas countryside,
along which people danced and seagulls shrieked. The gentle breeze ruffled my
hair randomly and the scarlet sun was sinking on the horizon. Standing there, I
tried to think of other moments in my life that made my eyes shine with
happiness, such as when I was accepted into KMLA and when my boyfriend told me
he loved me. Ironically, simply standing there on the edge of the deck made me
happier than ever.
It was then when I realized I had fantasies on a vague concept of "sea"; like a reflex, when I breathe in the sea breeze or hear the sea foaming with white waves, my body returns to a calm and happy state. I tried to think of reasons why I love sea so much and a never-ending panorama of happy memories at sea passed through my mind. At the age of 11, I learned how to surf in California, and I remembered digging out clams and catching blue crabs at mud flats with my mom, dad and my little sister. At night, we used to have barbecue parties with sweet potatoes and numerous stars embroidered in the night sky.
My panorama was stopped by the announcement by the captain, notifying a beautiful castle on the left that was built in the Byzantine period. The announcement ended and I looked down the cruise, craning down to see the white waves walking by, one by one. As I was watching them, people were chattering in loud, Turkish voice. Having no one to talk to, I kept on staring at the bottom of the ship, when a burst of loneliness pierced into my heart like an icicle. It wasn't a kind of loneliness in a boy and girl relationship, but more of a loneliness that I realized I had to go through for the rest of my life.
Staring at the wide open, unpromising sea, I
got lost in painful memories of my times of ignorance before I realized that I
am the only one who can believe in me.
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Waiting was never easy. On that day, I sat
in the same bench, under the same tree, at the same park, across the same
building. I sat there waiting. Numerous people passed by. Around 6, I saw span
pants jogging. Around 12, I heard yellow kindergarteners toddle. Around 8,
lovers covered themselves behind branches. But nowhere could I find my person.
Some people asked me why I sat on the seat
all day long. I told them, when you get lost at an airport, you stay there
until someone finds you. When you get lost in life, you do the same. I just
thought my someone would come up someday. But when?
Everyday, the sponge heart inside me got heavier. The sweat I shed during years of determination, the tears that streaked down when my wife left me, the damp hollowness I felt every night under the same soggy covers. Whenever I breathed in, the sponge would repress me. It made my footsteps lag across the street when I took a stroll. So I sat there on the bench until I could find my person who could heal my wounds and always take my side, which never happened.
When I was 11, I thought my best friend
would always be there for me. When I was 12, I thought my favorite celebrity
would always be there for me. When I was 16, I thought my advisor would do so.
When I was 17, I thought my parents were the only ones who would do so. When I
found out I was wrong the whole time, after experiencing a number of betrayals from
people I trusted, I finally knew. No one, even God, if he existed, could ever
be there with me forever and always. I was the only one who could believe me and
be responsible for my own life.
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"Ladies and gentlemen, the dinner is
ready on the first floor cafeteria. Thank you."
The announcement by the captain dragged me
out of my epiphany recollections, and I stood in a line after a blonde European
girl. Standing in the long, long line, I was about to fall into the past
memories again when a guy after me told me to scooch.
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