What the Ocean Speaks to Me

Being at the ocean always makes me feel guilty — guilty about being one of those rats from the mainland, endlessly racing against each other. One of those people busy accumulating riches without any clarity of where to stop. One of those dopamine seekers who find pleasure only in materialistic things. One of those who value money more than true virtues. One of those who wake up with endless desires and label them as their dreams. One of those who keep chasing so-called goals without a real sense of purpose. One of those who are simply surviving, without truly understanding the meaning of their existence. One of those trying to build a bigger house without realizing the importance of real relationships. One of those seeking happiness in every action, without ever grasping what true happiness really is.

Watching the ocean silences all that noise. It pulls me closer to the truest version of myself. Its vast horizon reminds me that life is an endless journey, with no real destination to arrive at. It makes me realize that the way I’m leading my life feels like an illusion — an endless, exhausting lie. The deep waters humble me; though I know they have a depth, it feels impossible to truly measure.

The sea makes me think. It makes me pause, reflect, and dive deeper within myself. It slows my restless thoughts, helping me see things more clearly. It’s where I stop running, where I breathe, where I find the quiet space to rejuvenate — before returning to the chaos of the mainland.