Salt Water and Damaged Ambitions

 

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Nothing brings me closer to the Gods than trekking or hiking in the middle of the jungle or rainforest somewhere. Back in high school, I used to hike and trek to some of the highest mountains in Java with my friends, as well as with friends I knew from playing basketball at the Institute of Technology (ISTN). For about a year, I even dated one of the hiking leaders from ISTN. Our weekly dates often involved finding new trekking trails or hiking to Mount Gede in Bogor, West Java.

I can’t swim. I’ve been afraid of the ocean since I was a kid. When I was around 8 or 9 years old, my cousin kicked me—literally—out of a boat while I was trying to put on a life jacket during a family trip. I almost drowned in the ocean. That experience scared the hell out of me and left me terrified every time I was near the ocean.

Blue Lagoon, Padang Bai, Karangasem, Bali - personal photos

In 2021, I visited Sanur Beach with my landlord before we picked up a friend who came for a visit. That friend ended up living next door to me for about a year. I spent two hours on the beach, trying to have a conversation with the ocean. I told it how afraid I was—of its currents and all the creatures living in and beneath it. But I also said I was willing to try to understand it, to compromise my boundaries, because I was enjoying the time I spent on its shore.

This might sound crazy, but the ocean responded. It sent a high wave to pat me on the shoulder, pulled me into its salt water, washed away my fears, and welcomed me into its embrace. At that moment, I felt I belonged—not just to the jungle or the rainforest—but to the ocean too.

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For the past four or five years, whenever someone asks me what I’m looking for in a romantic relationship—because no one ever asks me about my professional life, since they assume I’ve got that figured out—my answer has always been the same:

“I need a strong anchor, a steady companion. Anyone can survive the biggest currents or waves, but it’s rare to find someone who can survive the stillness of steady currents or calm waves. That’s the real challenge—navigating the dull and mundane days.”

Those dull and mundane days are the most dangerous, especially when we’re carrying damaged dreams and ambitions we don’t talk about. We bury them deep, lock them away in a Pandora’s box, and avoid opening it, even when it’s begging for a conversation.

When I’m hiking in the jungle or rainforest, my thoughts stay in the present—what I have, what I’m working on, and what I’m trying to achieve. But when I’m in the ocean, swimming or snorkeling—hopefully diving someday—my thoughts jump between the past and the present. My Pandora’s box opens without me turning the key. And every time, it hits me hard—both my heart and mind. But mostly my heart, as tears stream down my face, blending with the salt water.

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Regrets over bad decisions. Resentment over a heart broken too many times. The pain of losing not just material things, but also trust—trust that shatters and never fully heal. These things are from the past. They can’t be changed. They need to be left behind so I can move forward, free of baggage.

Past mistakes don’t define us, but they shape us, teaching us lessons. So why is it still so hard to let go? Is it because we cling to memories? We hold onto good ones to reminisce and romanticize. We hold onto bad ones to dissect and analyze, hoping to prevent future mistakes. Why can’t we just leave them as they are?

This morning, in the ocean amidst strong currents and heavy rain, I looked up at the gloomy sky, thunder and lightning cracking above, and spoke to the ocean and myself:

“I survived this year and all its challenges. Financially, I don’t have as much as I used to, but I’m grateful I can go wherever I want, whenever I want, on my scooter. I know I’ll thrive again, starting tomorrow. But until midnight, let me soak in my regrets, throw a pity party for the last time, and wipe away these salty tears mixed with the ocean’s salt water. I need to acknowledge and accept this year’s failures. Only then I can leave them behind.”

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I promised myself that starting tomorrow, I’ll make time to talk to my Pandora’s box. Because what’s inside it—those lessons born of pain—are still precious. They’ll guide me toward being a better person. I’m done looking for answers outside myself when I know they’re within me.

Here’s to a better version of us next year. Cheers.

Tulamben, 31st December 2024

"Sailor Song" -Gigi Perez