For the past few weeks, whenever there’s a low tide – usually when I go to work in the morning – I’d see a couple of sizeable rocks lined up in a straight line on the shore, as if they were purposely arranged in this manner. Isolated, uniquely located in the sand of a beach seemingly devoid of life but definitely of activity, I personally find it a beautiful sight: the neatly lined up irregularly shaped rocks resembled the ruins of a bridge or an aqueduct leading to a forgotten world, long awash and consumed by the endless expanse of the blue-green sea.
The unfathomable waters permit a glimpse of these rocks during low tide, goading me into harbouring the hope that perhaps, if I ventured deeper into the depths of uncertainty, I’d find the lost city of Atlantis thriving on the unknown, unexplored seabed. It’ a ludicrous thought, uncovering the likes of ATLANTIS residing beneath my local waters. But with each day I walk past those rocks, I can’t help but daydream that this fantastical idea of mine is true. I guess this Walter Mitty moment of mine that occurs almost daily, aptly personifies me: a hopelessly hopeful adolescent – the result of having no clear direction in life or motivation and thus I amuse myself with such absurdity.
But I take comfort in this picturesque sight: the neatly lined up irregularly shaped rocks, uniquely placed in the sand on the shore I pass by to work. “Ruins of a Bridge – the path to the lost city of Atlantis”.
(I saw a silver strip like creature surfacing and quickly submerging back into the water from the corner of my eye once on the way home. And I wasn’t the only one who did.)