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jellyfish and what they mean to you
When I think of jellyfish, I’m sent back to my primary school days. Every year we had to do a couple of weeks of swimming lessons as part of the curriculum. Many schools did them at the swimming pools, but mine did not—we did them at the beach instead because we were within walking distance and it didn’t cost parents a cent.
Anyway, the swimming lessons themselves were fun enough—sometimes dolphins even swam nearby. But when I think of jellyfish I think of the rare days where the beach was absolutely swarmed by them, so we had to do our lesson on the sand instead. How did we do that? Well, we would go over theory stuff (like what to do in specific situations) and the instructor would also have us demonstrate certain swimming strokes. These days didn’t happen often at all. On most days the risk factor wasn’t overwhelmingly high; yes, people sometimes got stung but they were taken care of properly.
Despite all the swimming I did at the beach when I was younger, I can only recall one time where I actually got stung. It was at the dog beach, and the marks the stings left were across my chest and stomach. But as expected, I healed up just fine.
What do jellyfish mean to me? Well, now they’re a reminder of a different time—a childhood memory. Beautiful and sometimes deadly (Box jellyfish, Irukandji jellyfish) but they will remain forever fascinating to observe.
remember a moment that’s both nostalgic and visceral. it can be old or new, but something that feels both vague and like you can still feel it in your skin, muscle, and bones. write about it however feels right.
It doesn’t matter how old or unfit I get, I still feel the rapid beat of my heart and the adrenaline coursing through me whenever I recall or witness athletic events.
It’s strange. I haven’t competed in a 200m race since I was 13, yet I can still remember in vivid detail the moments before the starting gun would go off. I would shake out my legs, giving them and my arms a last minute stretch, and then I would approach the line and crouch down into the starting position. I was usually positioned in the middle lanes, so I would glance up and see the rest of the competitors getting ready too. I would then refocus, looking at the detail on my sneakers before looking ahead, and by this point my heartbeat had rapidly escalated. When the gun went off, I would shoot out as fast as I could, but those moments after aren’t as vivid in my memory.
It’s funny though, the 200m was my least favourite of the sprints, yet I remember those starting moments more than I do for the 100m or 400m. And it’s not because I dreaded the 200m—I never dreaded a race back then—but, well, I honestly can’t think of an explanation for it.
I was very competitive in sports when I was younger, but I’ve found that drive doesn’t really leave you. For example, yesterday I was reading a novel featuring F1 racing and I found my heart accelerating during a race scene. It happens often and can be a little distressing but I guess in a weird way I’m grateful for it. It shows that I have the capacity to care intensely about something, even if it is just a fictional sporting event!
I would love to be able to run 100m in 14 seconds like my 13 year old self did, but yeah, those days are over. Now it’s time for the new generation; time for me to cheer my nephew and nieces on instead! And I just know I’m going to be very invested in watching them try their best too!
look for patterns in chaotic & ‘random’ events, experiences, behaviors, etc. these could be in nature, in our own emotions & actions (or inactions), in the structure of a city, in a computer, in a body. do these patterns uncover an underlying order or meaning? are they coincidental?
Sometimes I see the behaviours I exhibit in my own life as subscribing to a very repetitive pattern. One that seems extremely difficult to escape. Every time I try to escape, I’m just helping the pattern come full circle. It’s peculiar how that works. Just how much does it take to break the pattern? If we don’t attempt to break the pattern, are we still subscribing to it or would that itself be a form of escape, or perhaps lend creation to a deviated version of the pattern? I’m not sure. Too many questions. But I know I am not alone in feeling like this—about one’s behaviours in life.
I think of society, generally, and how the majority of people have to work to live and how that itself is a pattern. I think about the fact that we all blindly abide by this life rule like it’s a universal truth (and maybe it is? Or maybe we’re all so forcibly indoctrinated by capitalism?). Our collective acceptance of this seems to lay in the unspoken trust we place in our loved ones and the world around us, the repetitive nature of human history, and the inherent patterns of human behaviour.
Anyway, not sure if there is a point to this; these are just some poorly thought out and sleepy musings.