Did you know that salt has a smell? You wouldn’t think so, but after having spent an entire afternoon jumping into the sea, I can objectively tell you that it does indeed have a smell. Think of the last time you went to a beach. As you go down to near the shore, a certain tangy smell fills your nostrils. I’ve always put that smell down to just the smell of diesel intermingled with the ambient scent of human population, but it turns out that salt makes an appearance too. Perhaps I’m just stupid, but I was very surprised by this.
I write this blog not to comment on the scents of specific condiments, but rather about jumping off things. Yes, this post is going to be exactly as strange as it sounds. Ever since I was a wee lad, I’ve held a peculiar fascination for jumping off, over, or onto things. Even today, I find a perverse joy in hurdling a fence, much to the displeasure of my parents who believe that I’ll somehow break every bone in my body doing just that.
The jump from the boat to the sea was about 4 metres, but I’m terrible at estimating distances, so that figure could be complete rubbish. Regardless, as you’re about to leap into the great unknown, there’s always this moment of hesitation as you consider mortality, spirituality and what it means to be human. Granted, my thoughts were more along the lines of whether or not I felt like another cup of coke, but I like to think I’m more intellectual than that. The point is, when you finally jump out, away from safety, you feel an exhilaration like no other. You’re superman for a second. Nothing can touch you, you’re invulnerable and you’re caught in the glorious abyss of infinite possibility. Before you know it, you start falling and you’ve exploded into the sea, with water filling your nostrils, forcing its way into your mouth, and bubbles tickling every exposed part of your skin.
This feeling is an addicting one, so it’s no surprise that I continued to jump off the boat, each time dedicating my jump to a specific teacher or celebrity (as you do). The feeling never got old. There’s always that fear that instead of penetrating the water like a pencil, you’ll bellyflop. There’s always that expectation that the jump is going to take longer each time. Once you’re in the air, you always try to finish a word or sentence, but there’s never enough time. Once you reach the water, you don’t want to come out from its warm embrace. Eventually, you break the surface, gasping for breath, before you climb out again, only to repeat the process.
Yes, I did just write a post about jumping off a boat into the sea. I told you I was weird.
Abzonnian Ramblings 