Don't Blink!

Seashell

"When you take from the ocean, the ocean takes back," my mother would often warn me when I was a little girl. But as a child, I couldn't resist collecting seashells by the shore of our beach house. I couldn't help but mesmerize the intricate designs of shells, corals, fishes, and everything that the sea has to offer. Therefore, I followed in my parents' footsteps as a marine biologist.

I grew up smelling the saline air and hearing the waves tumble. It became a part of my life until I ceased to pay attention to it. Just like the lessons my parents imparted: "If you take from the ocean, you must return it." This lesson was reiterated when my father lost his keys in the ocean.

I watched him, my father, dove into the sea to find it. I almost thought he would never come back. "Found it!" he exclaimed triumphantly, emerging with the keys clutched tightly in his hand. I think it fueled my stubbornness, the belief that anything taken from the ocean could be reclaimed.

As I grew older, I embraced being a marine biologist with the same passion as my parents. The ocean became both my playground and workplace, and I felt an unspoken connection to the vast, mysterious world beneath the waves.

I delved into the depths, studying marine life, and contributing to the collective knowledge of the ocean. It was a fulfilling but demanding career, one that required dedication and a deep understanding of the delicate balance within the aquatic ecosystem.

In time, I became a parent myself, passing down the wisdom of my childhood to my own daughter. She, too, reveled in the ocean's wonders, collecting seashells and building sandcastles by the shore. I saw in her the same enchantment I once felt.

Or perhaps it was I who lacked discipline and responsibility. As my daughter grew, so did her curiosity. She, like her parents, couldn't resist the allure of the sea. And, like me, she collected seashells with a childlike wonder.

Then came the day when the unthinkable happened. My daughter, in her eagerness to explore, ventured too far into the waves. Panic set in as the ocean, once a source of joy and fascination turned into a merciless force. I dove in after her, desperately searching for any sign of her in the tumultuous waters.

If I return everything I took we will find her, just like my Daddy's keys. But the sea, in its vastness and unpredictability, had claimed her. I resurfaced, gasping for air, and the realization hit me like a tidal wave – I had taken so much from the ocean, and now it had taken the most precious thing in my life.

It took her away, it can bring her back, I thought. Desperation fueled my every breath as I clung to the hope that somehow, the ocean would relent. If I returned every seashell, every memory collected over the years, would the sea give her back? The painful truth began to sink in – the sea doesn't operate on the principles of fairness or reciprocity.

But in the end, the sea is cruel, unforgiving, and ruthlessly unceasing. As the waves continued to crash against the shore, I stood there, a grieving mother who had learned the harshest lesson of all. In the quiet emptiness that followed, seashells scattered at my feet, remnants of a once-joyful connection that had turned into a heart-wrenching tragedy. The ocean, a force both beautiful and merciless, had taken away more than I could ever return.