Ocean

Okay, so for those of you who didn't get to see my solo performance, I'm posting it here! Noted, it's a work in progress. Hope you enjoy! Comments welcome :)

Ocean by Carlee Beth

 

Pt. 1

Sometimes, when I get the chance, I go out to the shore. I let my feet sink further and further into the sand with every wash of the waves. And I just stare out, trying to find the end of the water and beginning of sky. Of course I realize how pretentious I must seem. Privileged little white girl staring out in the distance searching for meaning in my pithy existence. I know this. But I also know the beauty of standing in the ocean, letting each wave consume me.

I let the water crash into my legs. It engulfs me, and pulls me toward the vast open waters. And then it leaves. Again and again the waves crash, caress, and leave. Crash, caress, leave. Crash, caress, leave. The ocean hits me with brute force, leaving me breathless. It wraps around me feeling so cold, yet so comforting. Then it leaves me more alone than I had been before. Repeatedly bruising me. But I can’t help but want it. I want the ocean to beat me to a pulp, to drag me under and leave me washed up on shore. Because that’s what it all means! At least for me.

 

I love the water. Be it the ocean, sea, or a lake, I am infatuated with the pulse. The anticipation of the wave. The incredible feeling you get on the first touch. It’s intoxicating. But I’ve never waded in past my knees. I always make sure my feet are solidly planted on the sand. Yes, the water moves me, but I’m always in control. It can’t take me anywhere I don’t want to go. I keep my lungs full of air, and I don’t dare get my hair wet. Of course I don’t enjoy being this much of a control freak. I want to dive in, but not until I find the one that’s worth the dive. I want to jump in at the deepest part of the Atlantic and sink down to the ballroom of the Titanic. I want to share in a beautiful dance with someone who is in over his head just as much as I am. But I’m terrified of drowning. I’m scared of letting go because that means throwing out my life jacket. Nothing could keep me afloat but the arms of my love, and that’s a lot of trust to give another imperfect human being. I mean, we saw what happened to Jack and that door.  So, for now, I stick to the shallow end. It’s impossible to drown when you’re covered in cushions of air.

 

*She sits down and begins drawing waves on the stage with chalk. She does this for a bit without speaking, and then begins without stopping her drawing*

 

Pt. 2

The ocean never stops. There’s no handy off-button to give a smoke break to the pelted sand. Its perceived stillness is just a tool of deception. It keeps crashing without regard to the people or things in its way. If only I were the moon, maybe I could have a say, but no.  He’s just one big selfish bastard, aren’t you?! *She throws the chalk*

I can’t catch a break. The tide rolls out, and I’m washed up. Battered. Bruised in fourteen different ways. And now the ocean has shown me his dark side. And the worst part isn’t the undertow. It isn’t the tempestuous waves. It’s the absence. I want to feel that salt water in these jagged cuts. I want that sharp pain in my exposed flesh. I want to be crashed into again, because at least then I won’t be alone. At least I’ll feel something on this never-ending barren shore.

It seems like the shore reaches for eternity on either side. I could walk for days and miles and sunsets, but I’d never get any closer to it. The shore is safe. It’s easy to stay on the dusty path and just wander. I know, I’ve done it for years. I’ve kept on the sand because the water scared me. I can’t be scared anymore. It is my choice on how to live my life and I’m not going to waste it, idly wandering the solid and known land. I have to make up my mind and go after what I want. The ocean isn’t going to leap past the beach to find me. If I want it, I have to go out and take it. Which is terrifying. But the sand doesn’t give me anything, it doesn’t get me anywhere, it’s just there. It’s firm and safe, and stagnant. It’s what any reasonable person would choose.  

 

*She moves about in a different way, walking away from the audience singing this on repeat*

 

Pero tú, amigo mio

Eres todo lo que vio

No quiero otro

Te quiero solo, oh oh.

 

Pt. 3

Sometimes, I forget I’m not Spanish. I find myself blaming Franco for social issues, and saying “we” when referring to the Republicans in the Spanish Civil War. There are two major reasons why this is not even slightly normal. 1. I was approximately negative fifty-six years old when the war broke out. 2. I had no idea there even was a Spanish Civil War until my Civilization and Culture class at Barcelona International College. See, that’s the funny thing about study abroad; you become so involved with the culture and people with which you study and work and live, that you start to believe that you’re a local. I know that sounds ridiculous, especially since there is not even a speck of southern European blood in my body. My ancestors are a mix of English, Irish, Scottish, and Welsh (which explains my insatiable need to rule the world and my inability to keep a tan).  My forefathers and mothers settled in the exciting land of central Illinois, and were content to remain there, to a creepy extent. Growing up, my sister and I learned to tell our mom about the boys we liked, so she could warn us if we were related to them. That’s my childhood, like a slightly skewed Norman Rockwell.

I didn’t even know any Spanish until I went on a mission trip to Juarez when I was fifteen. It was broken, and didn’t make a whole lot of sense, but I loved the way the words tasted in my mouth; sabe al mar. And even more than that? I loved opening myself up to a completely new group of people.

The more Spanish I took, the more that florita grew and blossomed in me. Suddenly, the world map changed. I had seen it a million times, the different and strange shapes of land, all connected by this immense blue grid.  But it wasn’t something I just studied anymore. It was a challenge; this big blue ball of cultures and people begging to be explored. I didn’t want to sit in a classroom memorizing capitals, I wanted to travel to Quito, climb Machu Pichu, barter in Colombia, and make art in Spain. The more Spanish I learned, the more languages I wanted to know! I want to discuss politics with Moroccans, see Indian films, learn mahjong in China, and argue with a French person about how Picasso actually belongs to us! *beat* I mean… Spain.  I wanted to experience the entire endless globe, not study a finite map. In that tiny brick, windowless classroom in DeWitt County, I discovered the world. And just a few short years later, I would begin my journey.

 

I flew into El Prat Airport on August 29^th, 2012. Some people look at religious baptism as their rebirth. I count Barcelona as mine. Once I stepped into the warm Spanish sun, I knew my life would never be the same. I knew I was going to fall in love there. Even if my señora didn’t let me wear heels out. “Los chicos no quieren casar con una torre.” “Si, mamá. I’ll wear my sandals to the club.”

I learned how to let go. How to drink and dance until the sun came up. To soak in the salty air, and to stop worrying about things.  But most importantly, I learned to float. At the Barceloneta, there is a section of beach that juts out close to the breaker. I would bury my bag, take off my top, and force myself upon the water. The waves sparkled with flecks of glitter. Even if that glitter was actually some kind of native algae, it didn’t make it any less magical! Because that huge, vast sea was mine. I’d swim out past the rocks and just float. I stopped fighting the current, and let the water lead me. My body became one with el mar. I would lay out there and dream. And think about how one day it would all just be a distant memory. That was my rebirth. The salty seawater of the Mediterranean anointed me. It was in that same water that I shared secrets, memories, kisses, and big decisions.

 

The ocean knows more than you’d think. It’s seen the rise and fall of great empires. It has spared and killed many men. It selfishly holds the treasures of the world. And it moves us. Shakes us imperceptibly. It drives people to do the unadvisable, the dangerous, the exciting. It drove me to abandon my safety net for a life of passion and uncertainty. It drives me daily to move, to be moved, and to make waves! Because a life inside the safety and comfort of shore is a life I have no interest in living. Vaminos!