Lost on the Shore

by Cindy Liang, graduating in '26

January 6, 2021

Untitled artwork by Amy Ge, Torrey Pines High School '22

Those who are lost become found. Those who are found become lost. We all count on someone to guide us back into the sunshine. But most of the time, an individual should be his own savior, finding and pushing himself forward, carving a path through the seemingly impenetrable journey ahead. Other times, a person really needs someone to find him out. To take care of him. To guide him. To bring him back to where he belongs. I am that lost soul. ​ I do not know my name. I do not know my age. I do not know my occupation. I do not know who I am. Even if someone told me, I would remember it momentarily, but eventually forget. There is a bright lanyard around my neck. When people see it, they become solemn and sorrowful, distant and sympathetic. I wish I could take it off, but the last time I did, Mom and Jonas had a fit, or so they say. I forgot. If only Jonas always cared for me that much. ​ As a child, I loved the ocean. I know this because Dad made me record everything I did. It was captivating. But when I was 12 years old, one visit gave me a taste of the horrors that lay within the ever-changing ecosystem that resided in the vast Pacific Ocean. Golden sand shone under the rays of the blistering sun, clinging to the sole of my feet. The lapping waves tossed back and forth in an endless refrain. As I looked up from the smooth, algae-covered rocks, I saw the waves break and crash against the rocks, protruding like brave soldiers guarding the coast. Veils of water swirl at the mercy of the push of the currents. Light shone through the petals of water in the flower of the sea, making the water shine with an unearthly glow. As I let myself drift around in the tidepool, I heard a shout from Jonas. ​ “Look at this crab. A huge one. Come over here!” ​ I swam over instantly. ​ “Where is it?” ​ He smiled devilishly. “Right under you.” ​ I burst up with a scream as the enormous crab raised its hulking claws, its foaming mouth whipping towards me. I swam away as fast as I could with the crab’s claws snapping at my feet. I knew it could chase me on land, so I leapt into the ocean in the heat of the moment. I thought I was safe until I noticed the furious stingray someone was reeling in. By the time I registered that, I was bleeding. The stingray’s tail had risen up and stung me around my ankle. Jonas was screaming his head off and trying to get me back to shore. ​ “Jonas! Never do that to your sister again!” ​ I remember staring at the barb-like it was about to leap out of my mom’s outstretched hand. I never thought about the ocean with the same reverence that I had before. That was 60 years ago.

The welcoming warmth from the sunlight streamed through my window as I dozed in an Egyptian blue armchair. Sable, my affectionate Siberian cat, pawed at the gentle curves and folds of my glassy blue skirt. She was always fascinated by water. Or was it a he? Her green-gold eyes tracked my movements as I stood up and shuffled over to the window. The curtains stirred as a salty sea breeze pushed them away from the window. A picture of the ocean, in all its glory hung quietly beside the glass pane. The ocean. Those two words brought back a whirlwind of indistinct voices and faces. What did that ocean do to me? A memory wormed its way through the fog of confusion. A snapping crab and a shimmering tide pool. Fear that felt like an animal, tearing apart my rational thinking. A thrashing grey tail, whipping towards my leg, and the pain, intense and cruel and unforgiving. Pain that was merciless and hateful and relentless. Pain that was ruthless and burning and excruciating. I gasped for air as I pulled away from that perturbing memory. A soft meow broke my thoughts, and I found Sable pawing her water bowl. A shiver passed through me as I shambled over to the sink to get her some water. Standing before the billowing lilac folds, I saw the ocean. Its golden sand is dull and grey without its usual shine and glimmer. The waves crashing against the rocks in explosions of foam and water, pelting the sand as bullets instead of water. The rolling waves smashed against the rocks, shattering like a broken mirror. Nestled under the eaves, a raven crowed its pleasure and thanks for being out of the cold, misted clouds. But all I could see was the twirling tidepool, alive under the crests of the waves. All I could hear was the roar of the waves slamming against the rocks, and Sable’s soft purring. In a moment’s decision, I bounced up, slipped into a coat, and barreled out the door and into the freedom of the lagoon. I dashed down the slippery stairs, worn away by centuries of sand and wind and rain. At the last few steps, I slid down the slope, and came to a stop at the foot of a pile of rocks that had been tossed onto the beach and worn away by the ravages of time. A distant memory compelled me towards the largest tide pool, and I climbed over the rocks and lurched over coils of seaweed. Finally, I reached my destination. Slivers of fish darted around and algae lined the edges of the urchin-infested rocks. Crabs the size of my fingernails scuttled about, and seaweed twisted with the currents. I took a tentative step forward. Then another, and another, until I was up to my thighs in the deep water. The current that had pushed the seaweed was stronger than I thought it was. It rammed past my legs, tossing me back and forth with each move. After a few more steps, I was caught in the push and pull of the tide and even if I tried, I couldn’t break free of my prison of water. I stood there, in a trance. ​ What did I come here for? Why am I in the middle of a tidepool? How did I get here? A flash of blue raced past the window of my house and disappeared behind the wall, only to reappear on the stairs. Before I knew it, I was pulled from the water by Jonas. ​ “You’re safe now, Sis. Alzheimer’s must be hard for you.” Now, I sit in that same armchair, contemplating. Sable is old now, and it has been a year since that incident. As I stroke her, I rub my fingers against the smooth paper of my calendar. Life has struggles, but there are always ways to overcome them. Those challenges will never stop until you have no more goals, but even then, some will come back to haunt you. As people grow and nourish talents, interminable challenges will bombard them. They will be lost, and they will have to haul themselves out of the mess and start again. Other people will need someone to lead them back. I do not know my name. I do not know my age. I do not know my occupation. I do not know who I am. However, I do know that there are people who can help me through the grueling times and lead me forward to where I belong.