I wrote that after some heated afternoon, with hot cheeks that were stained from salty water. There have been many before them, and will be many after, but with each tiny pool I watch them fall like they are parts of me breaking away. I suppose in some sense, they are. Leaving me and taking some of the pain in my belly with it.
This evening we have been sunset fishing, and despite the storm clouds, the sky was miraculous. We could hear the call to prayer sweeping across the ocean, and I remember all those times I have heard it before. Hazy, humid mornings in Istanbul that dragged my heart through spice markets, river boat journeys and temples. There is next to nothing in this world that I live for more than exploring different cultures. From Tanzania to Vietnam. Cambodia to the Middle East. I am international hand gestures and native thank you's - because that's all there really is, I guess. Just different ways of connecting with strangers all over the world.
While fishing, the sky bled from red and pink to the darkest indigo; we cast our lines out under a net of thousands of stars. I like to think of them as my constants; forever unchanging in this crazy world. Which is funny, because they say when you're sea sick you should keep your eyes on the constants to bring you back down. Just like life really.
I'm holding onto the views here as though they are uncertain in their existence. Like they could disappear at any moment. The expanse of blue in every direction, the fish as they swarm to feed, the old fishing boats that leave the harbour each morning. I suppose in some ways it's because we're uncertain of our own existence; we don't know where we will be a year from now and that is both terrifying and amazing.
