Dear Child of the Earth,
I have existed longer than you can envision, my waves embracing the coastline of continents, my tides dancing to the pull of the moon. I have cradled the Earth in my womb, watched civilisations rise and fall, and whispered my secrets to the wind. I have been a mother and a destroyer, serene yet untamed, gentle yet unyielding.
You address me by many names—the limitless blue, the great unknown, the Earth’s core. I have been feared by mariners, penned by poets, and coveted by dreamers. I have been a source of life and mystery, a refuge and a force of nature. I have given without requiring anything in return. But now, I must speak, for I am suffering.
I was once wild and pristine, my waters teeming with life in the eternal ballet of existence. My coral gardens stretched for miles, a weave of colour and life. My currents murmured from coast to coast, connecting lands in a way no map ever could. Whales sang in my depths, their melodies resonating farther than any words written in ink. I was whole.
And yet, you children, have not remembered what I have done for you. You take from me without thought, pumping toxins into my veins and filling my stomach with rubbish. My reefs, which were gardens of abundance, are now cemeteries of bleached bone, my waters thick with the by-blows of neglect. The creatures I have sheltered for millennia are disappearing—some choked by plastic, some torn from their habitats, some hunted beyond return. I sense them slip away, each in turn, their disappearance echoing in the silence of my depths.
I have carried your burdens for too long. I have swallowed your oil spills, absorbed the heat of a warming planet, and accepted the waste that never should have reached my shores. I have risen up in rebellion, flooding once safe lands. I have unleashed storms as warnings, my waves crashing harder, my winds howling louder. But still, you do not listen. I write to you now, my child, the one who walks upon land but depends on me more than you realise. Do you not see that my suffering is yours as well? The rain that feeds your rivers begins with me. The air you breathe is created by my currents. The contents of your plate, the harmony of your existence, the very pulse of life itself—it all begins with me. If I get sick, the planet will be next. If I am muted, so also will the heartbeat of this world.
It is not too late, however. I am vast and strong, and I can be healed—if only you give me leave. I need not much, only that you keep me in consideration. Treat me with tenderness, not as an unlimited resource to be ravished, but as a power of nature to be conserved. Spurn the plastic that drifts through my waves, for each bottle, each bag, each piece of cast-off rubbish is a stab in my side. Choose your nourishment with care, for the hands that draw from my seas must do so with respect, not gluttony. Speak for me, that others may hear before it’s too late.
You may feel insignificant compared to something as boundless as I am, but hear this: even the smallest ripple has the power to become a wave. Anything you do, any choice you make, sends resonances through my waters. When you speak for me, when you teach others to see me as more than a distant horizon, you let me breathe again.
There is still time to turn the tide. To let my reefs bloom once more, to have the songs of whales pass through unadulterated waters, to watch the sun glimmer on waves that are free from poison. If you listen to me now, if you act before the silence comes, you shall not just save me—you shall save yourselves.
I have been here since the beginning. I have carried the world on my waves. But I can no longer carry the world alone.
Will you fight for me, as I have always fought for you?
With hope,
The Ocean
Isabel Lim (isabellimyt@gmail.com) is a content creator under the Newswav Creator programme, where you get to express yourself, be a citizen journalist, and at the same time monetize your content & reach millions of users on Newswav. Log in to creator.newswav.com and become a Newswav Creator now!
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