Space
Breathe in, breathe out. This panicked mantra echoes through my head as I wrestle a pair of goggles over
my eyes and squeamishly bite down on the mouthpiece of my snorkel. As someone who has been
swimming for over ten years, my anxiety around snorkeling seems irrational. The uncomfortable restriction
of only being able to breathe through my mouth nearly overwhelms me as I jerkily bob my head into the
warm Hawaiian ocean current and silently beg my body to get used to the sensation. I feel my legs float
upwards, breathe deeply, albeit panicky; and float off into the Pacific Ocean. Suddenly, I’m in utter bliss.
my eyes and squeamishly bite down on the mouthpiece of my snorkel. As someone who has been
swimming for over ten years, my anxiety around snorkeling seems irrational. The uncomfortable restriction
of only being able to breathe through my mouth nearly overwhelms me as I jerkily bob my head into the
warm Hawaiian ocean current and silently beg my body to get used to the sensation. I feel my legs float
upwards, breathe deeply, albeit panicky; and float off into the Pacific Ocean. Suddenly, I’m in utter bliss.
Since I was young, the ocean has been a space that has enveloped me and grounded me in times of worry.
From the rocky coast of Half Moon Bay to the soft white sand beaches of Florida, the ocean and marine
flora and fauna captivate me in a way on another level than the rest of the natural world. By snorkeling,
I have begun to observe and understand the complexities of ocean life that we can not see from a beach
towel on the sand. When you first push of the sand and begin to snorkel, you can only see the tan-grey sand
dotted with dark pebbles and white shells. Apart from the occasional flurry of sand sent up by a scuttling
crab or piece of stray coral, the ocean seems dead, empty. However, the further out into sea you get, you
begin to see stray fish, their colorful fins reflecting the light from the bright sun overhead. You become
aware of the small movements of the fuzz on the coral, observing how fish interact with the seemingly
lifeless organism. Swimming further out, the fish become more plentiful and colorful as the water around
you turns colder, the clear ocean allowing you to take in an underwater scene you have only ever visualized
in textbooks. The crystal blue of the ocean around you is dotted with the bright yellows, reds, whites, and
even purples of sea life, and your problems and worries seem so insignificant in this oceanic wonderland.
From the rocky coast of Half Moon Bay to the soft white sand beaches of Florida, the ocean and marine
flora and fauna captivate me in a way on another level than the rest of the natural world. By snorkeling,
I have begun to observe and understand the complexities of ocean life that we can not see from a beach
towel on the sand. When you first push of the sand and begin to snorkel, you can only see the tan-grey sand
dotted with dark pebbles and white shells. Apart from the occasional flurry of sand sent up by a scuttling
crab or piece of stray coral, the ocean seems dead, empty. However, the further out into sea you get, you
begin to see stray fish, their colorful fins reflecting the light from the bright sun overhead. You become
aware of the small movements of the fuzz on the coral, observing how fish interact with the seemingly
lifeless organism. Swimming further out, the fish become more plentiful and colorful as the water around
you turns colder, the clear ocean allowing you to take in an underwater scene you have only ever visualized
in textbooks. The crystal blue of the ocean around you is dotted with the bright yellows, reds, whites, and
even purples of sea life, and your problems and worries seem so insignificant in this oceanic wonderland.
Maybe it’s the calming silence of the ocean. Or the salty flavor of your surroundings that slowly
fades into nothingness. Perhaps it’s the feeling of the current lapping your shoulders, enveloping your
body in a gentle embrace as if to say “it’s alright.” Whatever it is, the ocean is a place where I feel at
home, free to let it all go.
fades into nothingness. Perhaps it’s the feeling of the current lapping your shoulders, enveloping your
body in a gentle embrace as if to say “it’s alright.” Whatever it is, the ocean is a place where I feel at
home, free to let it all go.
Your language here is so beautiful! I love how you walked me through your thought process as you snorkeled to help understand exactly what you felt. Your descriptive language was very fun to read– and the pictures are gorgeous too!
ReplyDeleteI really love the way you began and ended your blog in such a powerful way. I love how you talk about your initial fear and shift to loving snorkeling and then transition into a more descriptive paragraph about your favorite space. The diction and imagery you used also really add to the blog; I can easily picture the ocean in my head while reading this. One suggestion I have is using first-person in the second paragraph, rather than second-person, so it's more personal to you. Other than that, this was a lovely read!
ReplyDeleteI really enjoyed the description within your blogpost as it transported me into the Pacific Ocean with you. The detail made it very clear to navigate the blog and visualize the scene that you set. Perhaps, you can incorporate more of your voice towards the end of the second paragraph as well. The conclusion helped tie the entire post together.
ReplyDeleteI love the descriptive details, colorful language, and imagery you used in this! It really gave me a sense of your experiences and memories with snorkeling. I definitely related to this idea of knowing how to swim for so long, yet being afraid of snorkeling. I'm not sure if this is possible, but maybe you could include a photo of yourself or your own photos from the specific places you went snorkeling. That is my only suggestion because the writing in this post was really good!
ReplyDelete