The TGIF weekend lineup differs from the societal mores or our sincerely piqued interest in frivolous diversions during these politically wild and tumultuous times. This week, we plunge into the mysterious turquoise ocean and her parallels to womanhood and girlhood. Get into it below.
The ocean has consumed my intrigue for countless years, since a young kid with a mermaid fascination. I’ve felt a strong and inexplicable pull toward the ocean, like the moon; feeling closer to something unknown always left me wanting to learn as much as possible about both. An unrealized spiritual connection between the two never connected with me until much later, learning more about myself as both have been a strong everlasting presence in my life. For the very recent readers, welcome my beloveds, and those familiar with Youthquake— or my social media, I often mention an adoration of La Luna and all her splendor.
The moon knows our sincere secrets that we ruminate over during our nightly routines or escapes that we carry to our slumber; she also creates the ocean’s tidal bulges due to the Earth’s gravitational pull. Working with the ocean— the cradle of life— is an extraordinary team-up of formidable feminine forces, as the enigmatic ocean also rules over seventy percent of the Earth’s surface. Nonetheless, it’s challenging not to be spellbound by such powerful might, which is exquisite and feminine as fuck.
Although La Luna is embedded in me as a Cancerian, the ocean calls my soul. The latter has captivated me since I was a kid daydreaming while swimming or floating in any body of water whenever possible— until one of my numerous cousins obsessed with Power Rangers or Ninja Turtles would terrorize my primas and me by throwing mud or sand at the girls like Neanderthals, ruining our whimsical escapes. Still, I made sure to always get my well-planned revenge as they found out quickly that with me when you fuck around, you will find out— don’t disrupt my connection to water as the ocean and sea are meditative happy places.
Being near water soothes my soul like a balm from the brutality of life’s existence; it’s an immersive recharge that jolts me once again to deal with the soul-crushing mundane. Despite a previous oceanic hyper fixation, my one-time backup dream of a kid wanting to be a marine biologist would never have worked out for me since I avoid any large vessel involving the ocean with any invite— plainly, I’m not a cruise kind of Lady. However, my lovely friend Emily somehow got me on a river cruise for lunch on the River Thames in London in 2014. Still, I don’t think she noticed my apprehension or inner panic— out of immense respect and adoration, I fear the ocean. Thus, I bestow the ocean and the seas the utmost respect and leave her to her own accord.
It’s been famously stated that “A woman’s heart is a deep ocean of secrets,” nevertheless, I think the ocean truly encapsulates feminine energy in all its beauty and even carnage alongside the perplexities that consume us. Such feminine energy isn’t binary despite the name; its chaotic, mysterious, and creative characteristics help balance us. Deep-diving and understanding such surfaces depends on the person, yet either can be cathartic and lovely or filled with crushing devastation.
Mystifying and enchanting, the ocean has an uncontrollable capacity with such vigor and majestic beauty which can be serene or moody in a snap, complete with almost vengeful-like storms that can dissipate any glimmering hope during its destructive capabilities. Even all-conquering defeats with puzzling and neverending mysteries, it’s no wonder why such an infinitely wondrous place is akin to girl and womanhood herself— either obliterating or blessing, even both, as they’re not mutually exclusive. It all depends on a sunny disposition, mood, and outside occurrences.
Unchartered oceanic layers are like present or various past versions of ourselves that we traverse, even get lost in, as the spiraling channels we inwardly preserve and sometimes revisit are the multitudes of who we are— even those unbeknownst echelons in the Abyssal zone of ourselves that we didn’t know were there.
Chasmic and fathomless trenches behold secretive or uncultivated gut-wrenching experiences we consume deep to our core that unlock various unseen or camouflaged depths that have adapted toward a directionless way of life— gatekeeping such expansive secrets until we feel the pressure can be handled respectfully and gracefully. It’s learning to move on with a continued open heart, easier said than done since, akin to the Mariana Trench, the multitudes and depths of who I am have been predominantly unexplored. Such heavy pressures require cunning skills and the right person, which has yet to be revealed— I suppose my jagged intimidating, or off-putting energy is far too intense, or so I’ve heard— who knew?
Adapting and learning to shapeshift comparably to the ocean while understanding the power within has helped me morph or even flow through life’s challenges and patterns with age instead of simply moving along like before— despite the stocky pressurized depths women acclimate to. Like the leaden perceived societal expectations that girls and women overwhelmingly face alongside the heavy anchors of looming dread among the existential void which gruelingly weighs us down— birthdays particularly can be somber occasions, but more on that later.
My girlhood anchor previously held me down in unexpected depths and naivety. However, it presently unlocks and frees my survival mode of hellish days of enduring the past end of my girlish youth, which can be entirely precarious. Now I weather through womanhood, being more in sync with the universe forging the force of nature herself. Parting but often revisiting the cruel brutish mishandling and manhandling voyage that girls experience through girlhood with reckless ease as a child does— my nieces and nephews help my inner child in such unexpected ways that I’d destroy anyone who tries to harm them— sugar and spice may be assumed to be what little girls are made of. Still, we’re also cutting and sharp while engulfing.
Deviating to wander at times, flailing evolving into my future failures, I conduct my expedition much better and continue freely on my terms. Embracing my authentic self means not yielding the wilding free flow of my inner being to stroke or appease unhealed patriarchal miscreants. Wayfaring alone may be just that, but being a natural hermit isn’t weak like the unproven male-controlled claims. Welcoming the unknown is frightening yet freeing now into my thirty-something self, even if the rites of passage tend to sting like fire coral, but the emotional scars are prized battle wounds of continued existence.
I’ve been willingly on a voyage of exploration that seems as endless as the open ocean. Still drifting inwardly occasionally, my ocean-fearing-but-respecting adaptability learned to navigate the stormy wildness around— and within me— even with my most recent birthday last week, which was unexpectedly heartwarming for someone that doesn’t love their birthday.
When I was younger, I often felt alienatingly adrift and ultimately lost in a sea of people who never attempted to fathom me for who I am. Seeing others from a young age led to being a responsible, observant precocious child moving carefully through adult-led spaces. However, a downfall was misinterpreting the oceanic tides within myself, which could help shape and mold girlhood with the shores of knowing when it came down to inner emotional work.
Instead, I self-destructed within. I hadn’t yet learned to maneuver through the emotional tsunamis, underutilizing the moon and her phases as the waters chased me, leading to an unequal battle with the ocean. Working against the tidal waves as opposed to working alongside the currents that shift within me contrarily than being taken in by a rip current, ceding, and shrinking into myself. Alas, hindsight hits you when you’re wiser.
Daunting yet journeying such deep dark ocean waters with the glimmering golden rays shining down on the memories of girlhood can overwhelm anyone time after time. Shadowy slivers hide and haunt the opaque unrest of our entrenched depths until it’s just a solitary glowing line misknowing the thinner it gets as it no longer separates the child from tragedies throughout the perilous acts of being a woman or relating to feminine energy— it’s a pilgrimage of many sorts with the high tides of life. Such a quest can beguile even the most clever of us till realizing we can and should establish our own identities within womanhood— not what others perceive a woman to be or look like; we’re not a monolith. Retrospectively, I further understand the aptitude within the multilayers of femininity, especially in our ongoing global state of perpetual unrest.
More than ever, we’re learning not to disrespect feminine forces or the ocean because of our capability to sting like the Australian box jellyfish. Our equal temperament is sensitive and magnificent with annihilation or distinction. Just as the ocean remains untamed and open, so should women be— wildly free to explore until their choosing. Flippantly comparing myself to the youths with being a ‘teenage girl in her thirties,’ the legendary Britney Spears perfectly encapsulates the oscillation with her previous underrated gem Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman, as a maiden continuing to trek on her terms.
📽️ Film Playlist
Having an enchantment with films and music comes in handy when recommending prospects, and who am I to deny the possibilities for an oceanic double-feature moment?
For subaquatic life aboard a vessel in a Wes Anderson and James Cameron double feature:
The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004) // The Abyss (1989)
The perils of sea voyages and interrupting local oceanic residents:
Leviathan (1989) // The Cave (2005)
Orca (1977) // Jaws (1975)
Master and Commander: the Far Side of the World (2003) // The Perfect Storm (2000)
The Deep (1977) // Underwater (2020)
All Is Lost (2013) // Adrift (2018)
47 Meters Down (2017) // The Shallows (2016)
Open Water (2003) // The Reef (2010)
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea (1954) // Life of Pi (2012)
Sphere (1998) // Deep Rising (1998)
Bonus pairing additions, mermaid edition:
Mr. Peabody and the Mermaid (1948)
Miranda (1948)
Night Tide (1961)
Splash (1984)
Coming-of-age films, mermaid ed:
Mermaids (1990)— often recommended since Cher, Winona Ryder, and Christina Ricci with Bob Haskins, enough said.
The Thirteenth Year (1999)— iconic Disney Channel film in its golden age.
Aquamarine (2006)— I remember taking my little sister to this in theaters. It’s so cheesily comforting.
Lastly is a double feature of Ponyo (2006) and The Shape of Water (2017) for obvious reasons.
Is it even Youthquake without a dedicated playlist? I have an ocean-faring-themed accompanying playlist.
For Apple Music, HERE.
The ocean and her mysteries are comparable exodus of womanhood and girlhood with an incalculable abundance of lores between the lakes of our vested interest, vague intrigue, and curiosity. The delight in my petite contribution to escapism with my writing can somehow aid or entertain anyone that connects to Youthquake and my mishaps or misadventures in writing in the archives.
An uptick of chaos has pulled me away from writing but enjoying a social life that I rarely get to experience simply for the luxury of time, which I can’t afford. Forgetting how much it centers me and comforts the creativity I desperately desire more of— also, it helps to decenter the men loosely in my orbit to better focus on myself and less online with those dreadful adaptations of our favorite dying social media apps.
For those who’ve somehow found their way to Youthquake and have stayed here, it’s been an absolute honor to messily entertain— I take that jester’s privilege with esteem finding a home in the writing bits in whatever vulnerable or cheeky manner and any other tale in between as I ride the waves where it takes me.
Con Amor,
Naomi xx