Almost too calm —
If it wasn’t for the faintest horizon line separating the baby blue colour of the sky and sea, I wouldn’t know if I was looking up or down
The silence here is deafening as I sit on a small raft, immobilized by the glass-like water
I don’t know how many days it has been since I’ve woken up alone, how many kilometres I have drifted in this never-ending blue — days just seem to blur into one another
as I sit in my raft, devoid of any form of progression.
Sometimes, the radio beside me will start playing sporadically
“half a million Americans lost their lives to COVID-19” —“Ontario ICU capacities are at their limits” —“Every 4 minutes, a person dies from COVID-19 in India” —“Another black man was brutally murdered by police” —“Asian CNN Producer zip-tied and asked if she speaks English by Minnesota police while covering protests” —
They tell tales of a world seemingly far away, filled with chaos and turmoil, of pain and loss
Sometimes they move me to tears, which drip down into the blue abyss below, creating the tiniest of ripples;
Other times, the loud cacophony of noise simply sinks deep down to the depths of the sea.
In a way, it’s a privilege to live so peacefully, away from such tumultuous and unforgiving waters
Not having to worry about being drowned, not having to worry about being shot, not having to worry about dying, not having to worry about being pushed off of an overcrowded, sinking lifeboat
But being out here, I can’t help but feel numb and disconnected
I have more than everything I need, and yet —it all feels so…
Some days I wake up with immense motivation and realize that I can use my hands as paddles
Maybe if I paddle hard enough, I can reach an island, or reach somebody, someone, something — Maybe I can finally be productive and amount to something, anything
So I dip my arms into the lukewarm water down below and start scooping
As my arms move rhythmically, I count each stroke like the reps that I used to do at the gym — 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8… Rest for 20 seconds. 1, 2, 3, 4…
I hear the splish splash of the water besides the boat, and ripples start to radiate outwards, disrupting the glass-like water
For a few moments, I feel a surge of excitement rush through my spine; things ARE changing, I AM progressing
But as time passes, I realize that the view in front of me looks the exact same as it did before and it feels like someone injected lead into my muscles
How many sets has it been already? How much time have I been rowing for?
And yet, nothing seems to have changed.
The sky is still as blue as it was 365 days ago, the water, still as calm as the first day that I woke up on the raft, and I find myself, not any closer to anything than before.
So I resign, lie back down in my raft, and sigh.
Some days I tell myself that it’s okay to feel this way — to feel tired, to feel alone — and so I stay put in my raft, practising “self-care”, bubbled in my own delusions
But those shallow voices of self-assurance are quickly swallowed up by another that emerges from the depths of the sea: one whose whispers can project from thousands of kilometers below
“If other people were in your position, they would have gotten to the island long ago, but you’re still here, adrift, lazy and immature.” — “Look, there’s someone who is applying for a research position about and experimenting with resources in their raft” — “Wow, this student is making a cancer treatment while sailing in her boat, so why can’t you?”.
So I continue paddling, just to prove that voice wrong but
Whether or not paddling will truly get me anywhere, I don’t know
I just go through its motions to feel like I’m progressing, when in reality,
I might always remain adrift.
