Somewhere in the first month, somewhere in the middle of the ocean I got a letter from my sister with a small glass pot in it. It was destined to be filled up with moments, sand and shells.
These are the last miles, days, sand and shells. They are miles, days, sand and shells. Every mile and every day has opened up a few of the little big drawers in my head and heart. Drawers to unknown spectacularly infinite skies, which are milkshakes of realities and worlds.
The world of freedom is one of them, the world of walls and lockers is another one. The world of poverty and richness. World of small or big. World of the moon, world of the sun. World of staying or leaving. World of believing. World of the present, future or the past. World of humans, animals or nature. World of living and world of existing.
Among all of these worlds there is one other milkshake, which is me. I, as a milkshake, am a unique combination of flavors. Maybe around winter time, chocolate comes up, among every other flavor. Summer, raspberry. Spring, mint or kiwi.
School at Sea taught me, or is teaching me, I am not a chocolate milkshake, nor raspberry, mint or kiwi. I am a milkshake who sometimes tastes like chocolate, raspberry, mint or kiwi.
School at Sea is teaching me there are stories, backgrounds and contexts and when we look at people while seeing them, when we listen while hearing, we find out there is so much we don’t know, so much we can learn.
School at Sea is teaching me to watch a sunset over a movie, to appreciate the warm water of dish washing at 4 in the morning, to love a 9 m2 room, a hammock more than a bed, rain showers and salty clothes.
School at Sea is teaching me to see a day as one opportunity for a 1000 moments.
Somewhere in this present month, somewhere in the middle of the ocean, we reached this moment, we reached the last 300 miles of the 12 000 we’ve been sailing. We are living the last few days of the 183. Each of them, each mile and each day is “the mile” and “the day”.
School at Sea is the glass pot I got in the letter from my sister somewhere in the first month, somewhere in the middle of the ocean. It is the glass pot with moments, sand and shells and I’ve learned to make each moment, each grain and each shell count.
I’ve learned to live here and to appreciate the empty, half full and over floating glass pot.
Mimi at Sea