EEE

The cancer was not quick by any means,

. but it was sudden for us, so there was
work to be done. Still, | found it odd how

_ my family interacted around me once we
knew of the coming death. Their subtle
changes in conversation, the topics
avoided, made me feel like the illness
affecting my grandfather had stolen their
air too. More than once | would enter
a room to stifled murmurs of his name,
causing me to wonder if they thought | did
not know what was happening to him. |
have never been one to pull voices out of
others, so instead of using speech for a
resolution, | would make my peace with
the stifling atmosphere and walk out the
door.

| began leaving whenever possible, |
partly not to be a burden of unwanted
interaction, partly to explore the shoreline
and whatever ocean aliens were to be
found on it. Usually on my outings |

would be accompanied by a sketchbook
and some pencils. | had always loved to
sketch; in fact, | cannot remember a time
in my life without someone commenting
on my artistic ability, but | never really
saw it as anything with purpose, just
another way to pass the time. Rapidly
over the few weeks | spent living on the
coast my hobby of drawing was amplified.
Perhaps it was because | felt isolated,
perhaps because | had wanted to give
my grandfather a filled sketchbook before
he died or simply there was nothing else
for me to communicate through, but |
began drawing every moment | was near
the shore. At the time | was unsure why

it captivated me so much, so | began
sketching and falling for every misshapen,
algae crusted pebble | could find.

It was 4A.M. when | woke up to the sun
and to the precipitated awakening of my
future, fluent in a visual dialect as an
artist. | knew if | left the house fast enough
the tide would still be fully out, a sight |
could not wait to witness, and it proved
to be worth the early wake up. To this
day, | have never experienced a place
so intimately or been more awestruck by
my surroundings. It was like the sea was
breathing with each tidal ebb and flow: if
the ocean had lungs, they were filling with
air. It was here | experienced one of the
most happily melancholic premonitions in
my life. Everything here leaked life and |
began thinking the ground had pores which
were in a constant state of cold sweats.
No wonder the ocean is called a body of
water. | learned to love the salt water, even
though it could give a breeze the ability to
rip you down to your skeleton in seconds. |
never feel more alive, then in the presence
of the Pacific. Here the earth sweats
and breathes heavy, here it is active.

To everyone else, it is infinitesimal and
insignificant, a moment a child was looking
over tidal pools at 4 A.M. in the middle of

May; however, for me, it will always be one
of my everything moments, when | realised
that movement, the feeling, sound, air, and
sense of a place could be my medium of
communication. the epiphany hit me as if
the ocean was sending love notes.

| was subconsciously falling in love with
the landscape of life, while trying to escape
the bitter stench of death that was lingering
in my life. | had been trying to capture
some of the world’s immortality with a
pencil. Even though | had no voice, no one
to talk to, | had life communicate to me

via landscape. | have always been called
an artist, but | think in that brief moment

| became one. Now | know the sea has

a heartbeat, how lucky am | to be able to
sense it.

sed
2
c=
ae
3
sal
ts
z
3
Ps

ial
~

eee ee