At times, life feels like the stage it is misconceptually shown as. It seems as though even not narrating daily life in my head in a British accent in third person (etcetera) changes the fact that we write and speak as if for an audience somewhere. Maybe we're not aware, or not even being watched, but we still strive to do what we should do to be viewed as the character we would like to be. What brings upon our decision to become who we are? Our environment, whether mental, physical, or something in between is the greatest factor in how we develop in both senses as well. This is how being back in Yugoslavia (fine, former Yugoslavia) is changing me for the better, or so the refined judges of character my conscience and mother are saying.
A factor of change to any individual is the ocean. As vast as it is, and as many of them as we have, none are the same. Salt levels, location, marine life, the list goes on. As humans, we are earth creatures, legs walk on land and not on water. Yet there is still hope for us in the form of swimming and diving with limited underwater breathing and venture. Physically, it promotes good excercise, breathing, and muscle toning and weight loss. Mentally it relaxes, harmonizes, and is the main reason people come to view the living wonder of the shoreline. Fascination of the unknown and curiosity are gut feelings, traits of instinct that many of us lose after childhood or after being exposed to something so often that we take it for granted.
What compels us to search for this is just who we are, and we are born and made to be. The ocean has other health effects thanks to the mineral and salt content the water contains. It restores the moisture balance and shine of your hair, skin, and nails. Medical conditions are cured or greatly aided by contact with the water. Amazing what nature has and gives us, and we ignore for special creams and chemicals and pollute later on one day. We will never realize what we have until we lose it. Maybe now I sound convincing enough of a salesman, but the point of my pondering is more along the lines of telling myself to wake up and listen to what so many people are missing, and I could be missing as well.
And so, dearest journal, I have betrayed you. It's not like it seems, you were enough for me, but then I realized how much I was missing. Words are wonderful, and so are photos, but the creative part of me couldn't stand watching the same format being typed into and altered. There's another journal. A sunshine yellow hardcover lined notebook that will be filled eventually with love. But it won't ever replace you, of course not. You are for written expression, and it will be filled with quotes randomly and cutouts from magaziness, newspapers, and anything 2D and gluable or attachable. It'll work out in the end, I promise; there's enough for two of you, or maybe you will both merge in the end to create something even more wholesome and beautiful.