“Woah,” Kai quietly breathed beside me as we stared off into the inky ocean. Taking a deep breath, I felt the grainy, soft sand underneath my bare feet shift slightly. The pleasantly tepid water lapped at my toes as the gentle waves created a swirl of small shells, corals, and sand with each of Mother Nature’s rhythms. I slowly moved my gaze to the right.

“You see that cliff?” I asked.

“Yeah, I do. Barely,” Kai replied. The steep cliff that looked like a solid rectangular block of blackness jutting out of the ocean floor blended in with the black sky and the black sea. I could not see anything but different shades of black, but I could hear everything. Everything. The ocean in front of us was stygian, but I heard every single susurration of the water. The horizon in the distance did not exist, but I heard every single gust of wind that made up the sky and heard every single low rumble of the ocean. The ocean, the sky, they were singing to us. They were the Greek Sirens. Beautiful, alluring, enchanting. Dangerously beautiful, alluring, enchanting.

“Look, stars,” Kai said. I arched my neck back and breathed in awe. The small yet bright spots in the pitch-black sky gleamed down on us. They looked… luxurious. I thought I was seeing diamonds floating in the sky.

“There’s no moon,” I commented. I heard Kai spin around on the sand next to me as he scanned the night sky. 

“Yeah, woah. There’s no moon,” Kai said.

“So that’s why it’s so dark.”

“Makes sense, yeah.”

I turned my attention back to the ocean. With no light source or any other people around us, the dark night’s silence was deafening. Suddenly, I heard a rush of water quietly crashing on the sand in front of me, before it slowly flowed up the shore much more than it’d previously had, completely submerging my feet in the mildly cool and salty water. 

“High tide.” 

I closed my eyes.

I remembered a little scene from when I was maybe around six years old. I was at a beautiful beach with my family during a summer vacation. Where? I do not recall. Perhaps it was in Bali. Perhaps somewhere in Japan. Or maybe it was a beach somewhere in the US. Or my memory was deceiving me, and it was a combination of all of them. Wherever it was, I still remember the beach vividly. The sand was the finest I had ever seen or felt. The water was a little too cold for my liking, but it felt pleasant to cool off in it after playing in the hot sand with the sun beating down on my sunscreen-covered shoulders. My father and brother were going to swim where the water was deep to see if they could see the fish underneath them, and I wanted to join them. 

“溺れるなよ”

Don’t you dare drown

I remember my mother telling me while shooting a cautionary glance at my father. He smiled, said, 

“大丈夫。溺れさせないから” 

Don’t worry; I won’t let you drown,

and ruffled my hair. I beamed up at my mother. I remember wading into the ocean, holding my father’s hands. The sky was still, and I heard the birds chirping behind me. The crystal clear water whispered into my ears, the soft white foam crashing lightly against my chest. I closed my eyes, relaxed my body, and let my father pull me in. The ocean sounded beautiful. Alluring. Enchanting. I inhaled the salty, cool summer breeze and couldn’t help but smile. 

But then, a crash. 

Darkness. Chaos. A big wave suddenly slammed into me, and my head bobbed underwater. I heard the ocean cackling at me as I flailed my arms wildly, losing my father’s grip. Saltwater shot up my nose, stinging my brain. I opened my eyes wide in terror, only to be blinded by the unforgiving waves. I slammed my eyes shut. Kicking my legs as hard as I could, I somehow resurfaced long enough for a single gulp of the summer air. But just as quickly, I went under. I sank like a rock. Panic. Panic. Panic. My heart hammered against my rib cage, and for a split second, I thought to myself, I’m gonna die. 

Later, my father told me I only went under for barely five seconds, and my mother laughed and called me a “drama queen.” No way it was five seconds, though.

“死ぬかと思った” 

I thought I was gonna die.

“大袈裟だよ” 

You’re overexaggerating. 

That was when I was six. Now, eleven years later, I’m still afraid of the ocean. The ocean sings enchanting melodies, seducing people to come to enjoy the beauty of Mother Nature. And just when its victims are least expecting it, just when its victims let down their guard, it strikes, sinking its fangs inside their necks, slashing their bodies into pieces with its claws. I’ve never told anyone, though. I’ve never told anyone I am scared of the ocean. But I am. Whenever I go to the beach, I’d have to ignore the uncontrollable pounding against my chest. I’d have to force myself to breathe slowly to not hyperventilate. I’d have to ignore the panic that rushes through my entire body whenever my legs can’t reach the ocean floor. 

I opened my eyes.

“Yeah, high tide.”

“Feels nice,” Kai said.

“Yeah,” I replied.

I felt my heartbeat quicken as the tide slowly rose to cover my ankles, my shins, and then my knees. Fear slowly rose within my body. 

But I let it rise. I let it flood my body. 

I let myself be scared. 

I took a shaky deep breath in and stared at the ocean; now that my eyes had adjusted to the dark, I could make out some of the individual waves rolling gracefully toward me. Then, I heard a low rumble off in the distance. 

“Thunderstorm,” Kai said.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“I can’t see it, but I hear it. I feel it,” he said in awe.

“I feel it, too.”

Instead of moving, though, we remained standing there. With the tide still rising and the storm rolling towards us, we remained standing there, mesmerized by the beauty and power of Mother Nature. Mesmerized by the beauty and power of the Sirens.