I folded a paper boat from a torn page of my worn notebook. It was uneven, the corners were far from perfect, yet to me, it was the best ship I've ever built.
I held it gently and placed it on the sea. Then a wave came.
It was not the kind of wave that makes people scream. Not a giant one. Just a gentle and simple wave that rolled onto the shore, and it pulled my paper boat when it returned to the sea.
The little girl in me chased after it. I can still vividly feel the panic in my chest as I watched it slowly disappear from my . I remember how much I cried as if I had lost something valuable, something irreplaceable.
My mother, who was sitting on the nearby shore, came closer to me and asked me why I was crying. Between my sobs, I told her my paper boat was gone.
She gave me a knowing smile and said, "The sea takes what it can." Years have passed but I can still recall my curious face as she said those words. I stared at her for a longer time, hoping she would explain what she meant. Instead, she just looked at the sea and whispered, "But it never takes everything."
Years later, I thought I did understand what she meant. But then life happened.
At first, the sea took my childhood. Slow and gradual. It slipped away quietly like a tide retreating from the shore. Every year that passed felt like a wave pulling me farther from the person I used to be, and even farther from the person I wanted to become.
That is not how it ends because the sea . Its wave carried people farther from me. The sea took my people. Not through death, not always.
A friend who promised they would stay forever. A classmate I had long grown to love. A loved one I thought would be there when I grew old.
The sea had taken them. Or at least that was what I believed.
As I grew older, the waves became rougher. The tide slowly placed distance between me and the versions of my future I was sure would happen. It felt like every time I managed to build something meaningful, another wave would arrive and leave it in ruins. And I hated it. I hated how the vast ocean never asked me whether I was ready. Most of all, I hated how it made me feel like I had no control over anything.
That frustration drove me back to the same shore. And suddenly, I remembered my mother's words.
The important thing is knowing what the sea cannot take.
Not everything survives, and that is the truth. Some things are meant to leave. Some things belong in the deepest of the ocean.
Still, there are things the waves cannot carry away. Perhaps that is why the shore never looks the same after the storm. Not because it was destroyed, but because it was changed.
The waves will return tomorrow. They always do. New storms will form beyond the horizon. And there will be more things to lose and more things to let go of.
But there will also be things it cannot take. The lessons my mother taught me on that shore. The kindness I learned from people who eventually left. Like the parts of me that learned, loved, and endured.
When the next storm comes, I know people will once again look at the ocean and ask what it stole. As for me, I think I will walk the shore instead because I want to see what remains.
Written by Micas Losande
Micas Losande is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
