across the ocean
I watched her crossing the ocean.
Midnight, the heavy curtains blocked any trace of city lights, leaving the room completely dark. She tossed and turned, not feeling sleepy at all. She reached for something in the air, but failed to grasp anything. I dipped my toes into the ocean. The cold Pacific waves. My mind said shiver but I could not shiver. I walked further because my mind said turnback. Water devoured me. I drowned because my heart said to stay sober. The day was getting closer, but she never felt ready. It would take the courage of a lifetime to cross the ocean, she thought. She grew weary of the darkness as time slowly passed by. By the time she fell asleep, the first beam of daylight glared through the horizon.
The freezing current penetrated my bones. I saw nothing but the humming of dark blue. I heard nothing but a cocktail party of silent water. I heard a thousand voices talking. The moaning of submarines, the gasping of mermaids, and the low chanting of a blue whale. Life was ordinary as it always had been. But she could not help tearing up when the time had come to say goodbye. She let her favorite clothes sit in the dust. She didn’t need them anymore. What was the meaning of possessing if everything would eventually be lost, she thought. The wave flushed me up to the concrete shore. I squinted at the glaring sunlight-landing hurt more than drowning. There was only one and infinite Pacific. How many were there left for me to cross?
She never saw me crossing the ocean. But I saw her drowning, struggling on the edge of suffocating. By the time she reached the shore with clothes soaked with water and seaweed in her hair, she saw everything- and the cycle started again.
Carol Kang loves reading and appreciating the literary and art works of others. She is a salty carrot who always wants to be happy.