Ashore

written by Shelian visual by Ma. Avrille Marquiela C. Loraña

The sky roared and the clouds parted as they gave way for my freefall. When I emerged from the deep sea that tried to hug me in death, I saw the beauty of the aftermath. Down under it was darker, and the permanent filter of water and sea salt filled my vision, feeding me with false illusions of a moon at arm’s length. But above, the moon was a far speck of dust in the littered sky. I had spent the night rocking, flowing with the lullaby of the sea creatures. There was no raft, no ship for me to sail. I was simply hailed from the heavens, and thrown into the sea. Like a rocket ship they say—I plummeted with that same force, hurling with no breaks as the wind cut through me. When I broke the tension of the ocean surface, the water harshly hissed at me, the intruder who ruined its peace. Then, slowly but surely, the waves returned to their patterned movement— this time with me in its cold grasps. Just like that, the tides carried me along its crowd as I hoped to find shelter at any bay, if there was one. I fought with my traveler when it tried to call me underneath to join the corals who danced in beauty, but with barely any light. The night blew a chilly breath, and the water hugged me in its coldness, as I warmed myself with the light of the moon. By daybreak I felt like a driftwood of limbs so weary it cannot grasp anything, the weight of the water holding me down. I was a traveler lost at sea without a compass. At this point I hear it, the smashing of waves no longer are incoherent—it sings a melody of sirens in each flow of the current. The sky turned pink, and the colors change and mix in a puddle, until I finally see it rising. A ball of hope came, a phoenix reborn in the sky that lit ablaze. It flashes, and the little crystal light it sent blinds my glassy eyes. It touched my skin ablaze to contrast the liquid blue that gave me cold. Finally, the sun rose in all its glory, no longer shying away behind the fortress of greenery and stone. Where there stands a mountain is an island. The shore awaits me, and is near. As I mindlessly floated into the blue oblivion, I felt that speck of earth grow farther and farther away. My vision was blurred and pained from the saltwater as I watched the tiny isle of hope sail as if it was a ship. But hope, it will not leave you behind. It stays, as it did in the beginning of time. I regained my strength, fighting against the tides and pushing towards the rocky shores. Then I hear it—the song of the sirens, the melody of the sea. It urges me to return. The sweet humming of the ocean felt like a dream, a promise of rest and comfort. As the sea prepares to swallow me on my escape, I antagonized it. My ears plugged with water, and it only seemed to give the song a stronger voice as it entered my earlobes. The rhythm rocked me to slumber; it tried to take me back to the water. However, this charade of comfort will soon be lost, its voices tiring, its melody dimming as the instruments are worn. This music is for a time, and will never be eternal. I left the sea and its sirens. With my newfound strength, I carry myself out of the water and let myself touch sand. It was rough and coarse, but it was warm. The small particles gave feeling to my skin, a contrast to the numbness of the water. Then, there I was. After the grueling fight with the sea, I saw the aftermath. An island so empty, but felt so alive as it stretched its blue, green, and brown treasures. There was much to explore. The island shimmered in its beauty, welcoming me home.