There was a time I stood staring across the ocean, watching waves crash from distant shores — chaotic histories colliding with the stillness of the present. And I wonder, how far am I from the unknown?
The ocean stretches 12,700 kilometres in diameter, covering 70% of the Earth’s surface. Its essence is chemical — chlorine, sodium, H₂O. Because of how light scatters across the atmosphere, the sea appears blue. But once that water is removed from the ocean, it’s no longer blue. The waves fall silent.
Between sea and sky lies the horizon, a destination visible but unreachable. And yet, the horizon has a measurable distance. If you know the radius of the Earth and your eye level above the ground, you can calculate how far it lies. So, there is an absolute 4.52 kilometres I cannot reach in this world, veiled behind a translucent curtain.
Have you ever truly seen the colour of the ocean?
Even if I used every word and equation I know, I could never fully describe it. The ocean isn’t just a body of water, it’s a concept. The blue, the horizon — illusions shaped by perception. The sea is too vast to belong to anyone. It’s a lost object too immense for any Lost and Found.
Time ends. Years fade. But the sea remains endless, solitary, exquisite. Sometimes, I want to leave this city. But no matter where I go, it’s all the same. At times, I suspect that I will never come back. The horizon is always just out of reach, and perhaps, we never truly belong anywhere.
The human eye functions like a camera, forming an inverted image on the retina. Our brain flips that image to what we see, and constantly estimates our place in the world. We can perceive about ten million colours, yet our experience of them is entirely subjective. Unlike a camera, every memory is a process of reconstruction. And we only get one exposure in this lifetime.
I remember my first glimpse of the ocean. Are the coconut trees in that photo still there? Sometimes I catch the scent of coconut oil and wonder if it's a hallucination. At night, the waves roar like thunder. Sometimes I dream of being submerged. A blank sheet of paper lies on the desk, recording the crash of waves, the high tide at dawn, the low tide at dusk. The moon’s pull and the whisper of the wind are compiling the song.
July 29, 2019. I took the plane at 2:00 a.m. Half asleep for an hour and was awakened by the lights on the plane. A piece of cloud outside the window is missing. I can't sleep anyway.
【隨筆】
有一段時間每當望著大海的另一邊，海浪由無限的遠方拍打過來，混沌的歷史和眼前的現在。我便想像我和未知的距離。海洋的直徑一萬二千七百公里。包覆着百分之七十的地球表面，主要的成份有氯、鈉和 H2O。因為與天空的散射關係，大海是湛藍色的。但當海水離開了大海之後就不再是藍色，也沒有波濤洶湧。大海與天空之間隔着了一條海平線，一個可以看見但不會觸及到的目的地。但海平線的距離其實是可以被計算的，只要你知道地球的半徑和地面到眼睛的高度就可以計算到自己和海平線的距離。
所以這個世界上是有一個絕對的4.52公里是我無辦法可以接觸到。你有沒有真的看過大海的顔色？我們就算用盡文字數理也不能將大海描述清楚。大海是一種概念，藍色和海平線也只是顔色的錯覺。而且因為大海太大，沒有人可以擁有海洋，它是一個巨大的失物。
歲月有時終，大海永無止境，而且永遠孤寂而美麗。有段時間很想離開這個城市，但去哪裏好像都差不多。有時懷疑自己一直在別處沒有回過來，反正哪裏的海平線也一樣遙不可及，哪裏都不屬於我們。人的眼睛的原理就像相機，接觸到光映在視網膜上的倒立虛像，再經由大腦將影像再倒轉變成我們所看到的。我們的眼睛不斷在測量著自己於世界的距離。眼睛可以分辨約一千萬種顏色，但人對顏色的感知是主觀的經驗。而且和相機不同的是，每一次的憶想都是個建構的過程，而我們一生只有一次的曝光時間。
記起小時候第一次接觸海洋的記憶，相片中的椰樹還在嗎？有時候會聞到椰子油的味道，不知道是不是幻覺。晚上的海浪聲特別大聲，作夢時有時會被海水淹沒。桌上的空白五線譜，記錄着浪濤聲。日出的時候是漲潮，日落的時候退潮，月亮的引力和風在編曲。二零一九年七月二十九日，乘搭了凌晨兩點的飛機半睡半醒的狀態睡了一小時，被飛機上突然開的燈光弄醒了。窗外天空少了一片雲。也罷，反正睡不了。