The sea calls

Did humans really come from water? My husband calls me 

"The woman obsessed with the ocean.”

If you keep driving past Jones Beach on Long Island, you’ll eventually reach Robert Moses Beach. Even there, I prefer to go further to the stretch of shore near the Fire Island lighthouse. That’s my favorite spot.

On a clear late-summer day, when the sea has been warmed all season long, if the ocean calls me, I can’t help but go.

It feels a bit like taking a shot of soju on an empty stomach—suddenly light and floating. When I surrender myself to the incoming waves, they gently lift me up and softly set me down again. That moment of weightlessness, followed by the soft sand beneath my toes, fills me with joy—and I ride the waves.

I wait for the big waves to roll in. Bracing myself so I don’t miss them, I let the water toss me up like a feather and drop me down again. Repeatedly. My body grows limp, drunk on waves. Soaked in ocean water, perfectly salted like pickles in brine, even the mosquito bites from summer start to heal as I begin to long for next summer.

The endless stretch of white sand, touching the blue sky above, carries me past the white lighthouse, past the drifting clouds back to childhood. The rhythmic pounding of the waves, once harsh like a whip, now sounds like my mother’s lullaby. The warm breeze feels like her gentle touch. With sand as my pillow, I drift off to sleep.

A sunbaked middle-aged woman, perfectly tanned, suddenly strips off all her clothes—except a V-shaped thong—and walks confidently into the sea, bare-chested and unbothered. I reach for my glasses to get a clearer look.

All around, rainbow-striped cloths symbols of the LGBTQ+ community—flutter as makeshift privacy screens. Naked people stroll about, chatting and enjoying the end-of-summer beach. In the next mesh tent, a woman is napping completely nude.

“What are you looking at so closely, even putting on your glasses?” my husband teases. “You spent college years surrounded by nude models in art studios. Don't act surprised now.”
Like a bird that can't just fly past the mill, he can't help but make a comment.

The human body without clothes actually looks more natural. In fact, the brightly colored swimsuits feel more distracting. Naked bodies, under the blue sky, lying on the sand or floating in the waves, look like trees—just another quiet part of nature. I turn my gaze away, lost in thought.

But still, I wonder—Why is the ocean water so salty? And how did it come to be this way?