The color of the ocean

There is an indescribable ocean in everyone's heart, both bitter and sweet. That ocean seems to be silent in people's hearts and will always be a mystery!

What color is the sea? Maybe you would say it is blue without hesitation, but is it really blue? Maybe! But have you ever discovered that even if the ocean is blue, different oceans have different blue colors! This is not surprising at all! When you look carefully, the sea in Haikou and the sea in Sanya. Then think again, the sea in Sydney and the sea in Melbourne. It's strange, why are these blues different? These different blues are really indescribable deep in the human heart. This is life. Life has the same initial impression, but at the same time it has different ups and downs.

Take me for example, in my life I have seen the ocean in different places. I have lived in Hainan Island for almost twenty years. During these twenty years, I have been almost with the sea, facing the sea and enjoying the warmth of spring and the blooming flowers. However, what I don’t understand the most about myself is that, facing the sea every day, why is my heart always in turmoil? The ocean is so mysterious to me. It is more than just a photograph, a novel or even a painting in front of me. To me, the ocean is an eternal stream that flows to countless thoughts in my life. Maybe this is the reason why I kept choosing to leave during my youth?

For me, the most unforgettable sea is the sea in Australia. This period of sea-viewing life happened in my post-adolescence period. Although when I was in my early twenties, I traveled to many countries and saw many oceans. However, the ocean I saw this time was the most profound for me in my life! Especially when I was suffering from severe depression, the ocean became a philosophical issue for me. When I lived in Sydney, I often went to Bondi Beach in Sydney to watch the sea quietly by myself. What’s incredible is that I’m not the only one who watches the sea. For Australians, watching the sea is an important part of their daily lives. Men, women, old and young sit in rows and rows in the grass on the beach. Some sit on the beach with a piece of cloth and watch the sea, some wear swimsuits and trunks and lie on the beach to bask in the sun, and some sit relatively dangerously on the edge of the cliff and watch the sea. So when I look at the sea alone, I don't feel so lonely. When I sit in a corner and quietly look at the sea, what makes me curious is not only the light blue sea in front of me, which is like the sky, but also the people who are also looking at the sea in front of me.

Because Australia is a country of immigrants, people from different countries, different skin colors, and different races from all over the world live in this Oceania country. What caught my attention was the part of the Arabs who were watching the sea at the beach. Perhaps some of these Arabs were from Afghanistan, some from Syria, some from Palestine and so on. What makes me think deeply at this moment is the way these Arabs look at the sea. Their eyes are quite different from others. Their eyes seem to be full of sadness and anxiety. Are they the kite runners in Khaled Hosseini's novels? At this moment, an old Arab turned his head, saw me, nodded and smiled at me, which seemed to mean: "God bless you"! I wonder, when facing the ocean, where are their thoughts? Is it the hometown that has been suffering from years of war and social turmoil and cannot return to? Maybe they all have a kite in their hearts, flying with the sea breeze in the direction that God guides them. Maybe to them the color of the ocean is the color of the wind!

On the other side of my eyes, sitting on the beach is an old man with a white beard who looks like Hemingway. He seems to come here often. Anyway, every time I come to see the sea, I see him. Sometimes we would pass each other while walking on the beach, and I could vaguely hear him say Bravo! while he was on the phone. Well, he's Italian! This time when I saw him, something like this happened. He took out a black and white photo, and I quietly walked up and took a closer look. The photo showed a young and handsome Western guy and a girl who looked very much like Saoirse Ronan at Bondi Beach. Take a photo. The old man suddenly realized that I was peeking at the photo he took out, but he didn't hide it. He put the photo in front of my eyes so that I could see it more clearly. So I asked him, "Is this handsome guy in the picture you, sir?" He smiled and nodded! Then I continued to ask him: "What about this girl? Is she your wife?" He replied: "Well, this was many, many years ago! I am still unmarried!" At this moment, I wanted to ask again, but he He stopped me and said: "Everyone has a story!" I said at this moment: "The story must be beautiful"! The old man pouted proudly, and then laughed! The conversation between us ended like this. At that moment, I didn’t want to disturb him anymore. It was really fun to reminisce about the beautiful memories at the beach! It’s no different than drinking red wine while looking at the sea! Just looking at the sea like this, you can see the color of love!

At that time, I once again pondered, what is the reason why I look at the sea? Because of depression, the sea in front of me is no longer blue! Sometimes it's gray, sometimes it's white! Facing the ocean, I seemed to have fallen into the despair that the illness had brought me! But in this loss, every time I face the sea, I will think about many ultimate questions in life! For example, who am I, issues of life and death, etc. It's incredible, but this is what happens when one's body enters a limiting state.

At the same time, it is often this pessimistic limitation that causes me to lament the ocean. Perhaps, the gray ocean in front of me just reminds me of the original color of the ocean. Even if I forget the taste of happiness and the surging passion, the ocean in front of me is like myself, with ebb and flow and no end. And doesn’t all this philosophy about the ocean reflect on everyone who looks at the ocean?

So, when I think of Hemingway, what does the ocean in Hemingway’s heart look like? In my mind, Hemingway's ocean is like a glass of strong foreign wine. After drinking it in one gulp, he slammed the glass on the wine table and wrote "The Old Man and the Sea". The feeling of alcohol in his stomach was like the final fight between the old man and the big fish in his novel. Hemingway never believed in fate, even if the war caused him mental devastation! He and fate are like the old man and the big fish. The old man and the big fish fought for three days and three nights, and they were exhausted. In the end, the big fish jumped out of the sea, just to see what kind of person the man who had been fighting with it for three days and three nights was like. At that moment, the big fish was poked by the old man and was conquered by the old man. However, isn’t this the battle between man and destiny? Hemingway's ocean is red, dyed red by the blood spilled from the fight between the old man and the big fish. Even though what the old man finally brought ashore was a large fish bone with only the head left, and was subsequently laughed at by the world, only the old man himself knows whether he has ever conquered that sea. This spirit is exactly the immortal ocean spirit in Hemingway’s heart!

Who can understand the feeling of looking at the sea? Especially after traveling through thousands of mountains and rivers just to see the sea! Compared to Sanmao's Sahara Ocean, my ocean seems to have returned to my original mood. It's a confused mood. After I experienced two Western universities, the Forbidden City, and the Louvre, I came back here to see the sea.

Behind human civilization, isn’t it this ocean bred by nature? I don’t want to understand the sea in front of me, and I will never understand it! Just like that, I return to my original self, the original ocean, and the color of the original ocean!