Top 10 Best Essays About the Sea

I am not from Central Vietnam, but the pain of a mother from the region resonates deeply within me...

I arrived in Central Vietnam on a scorching day, still with a heart full of grief, unable to bring my mother back from this world. In my escape, I sought the comfort of the sea. I yearned to dive and immerse myself, hoping the waves would carry away my sorrow. Strangely, as I stood before the vast and forgiving sea, I felt my mother’s presence, as if she was there, watching over me, holding me in her embrace...

I am not young anymore, yet the pain of losing my mother still haunts me, as though I’ve fallen into a different world—lost and empty. My heart has bled for countless days. I call to her in my dreams… but only find myself drenched in tears. That night, I wandered between the edges of dreams and reality...

I jumped up in the early hours of the morning, rushing toward the sea. There it was—mother sea, vast, gentle, and forgiving. My heart raced. I thought, just a little more, and I would be in her embrace, holding the hand that had slipped away from mine all these years. Hurry! Hurry! I urged my clumsy feet as they stumbled and collapsed onto the sandy shore. I rose again and continued running. Never before had I longed to meet my mother like this. I ran desperately, like a child yearning to drown in her arms. The white waves from afar surged towards me, as if urging me to hurry! Hurry, young woman!

Mother! I saw her! Yes, it was her! My beloved mother. She was sitting there, on the sand, by the shore, silent, waiting. Her posture, waiting with longing, seemed etched into the very sky. Her stillness, eternal, seemed to freeze time and space. The sea held its breath. The waves didn’t stir. The wind stopped blowing. The clouds ceased drifting. The sky seemed to collapse.

All that remained was my mother’s silhouette, and the glowing light rising from the horizon.

The glow intensified, growing more radiant and magical. There was only the heartbeat of my mother and mine. Mother! I stretched out my hand to reach her, but something stopped my heart in its tracks...

No! That wasn’t my mother.

The woman turned to me: 'I’ve been waiting for my son to return! He has been at sea for fifty years and never came back.'

I was speechless. My heart turned to stone. I stood there, motionless, silent. The orphaned child within me suddenly felt lost. Oh, the mother of the sea! Could it really be? Fifty years of waiting for her child at dawn. That’s why she came to the sea. She arrived even before I did. I’m not sure when.

All I knew was that at that moment, the sea and sky were still, quietly listening to the heartbeat of this mother...

Fifty years. The woman’s hair had turned to the clouds. Fifty years. Her tears had turned to ash. Her sitting form had worn down a quiet space in time. Yet, her gaze remained distant, still searching, still waiting. Fifty years. Her heart still swelled like the sea, never tiring, never cooling. I wonder how many mothers in the world are like her? How many mothers wait for their children to return? I saw a halo of light surrounding that mother from Central Vietnam.

Suddenly, I saw her. Yes, it was my mother! Mother! My mother!

I grasped her frail, worn hand. I held her. The sea and sky were still... quietly, gently. It seemed as though the sea was crying. Perhaps the sea could hear my sobs, the breaking heart within me. The waves whispered softly, like a lullaby after a moment of complete silence.

The waves gently sang, the song of dawn, the song of a new day.

The sea glowed red. Countless rays of light danced on the waves. Mother looked out toward the sea, her eyes filled with excitement. I, too, looked toward the sun rising from the ocean, feeling something stir within me.

And the journey was left behind. But before me, in my heart, still stands the image of my mother, silently sitting on the shore.

Mother, what did you whisper to the sea, that it cried, so that the sea’s salt remains on my lips forever?

And Sun, could it be that the Sun rose because of her sitting there? Could it be that the Sun shines so brightly because of her?

Oh, the mother of Central Vietnam! The mother of the sea, my mother!

Dương Châu Giang

Far away, the world of sand and sun stirs. The wind still sits on the evening's back, lazily drifting like the cool breeze of autumn. The lighthouse flickers, its light reflecting in your eyes, as if the sea itself is watching over you, its gaze as soft as a mother's love. I never knew when I started calling it the sea's eyes.

At seven years old, I stood before the sea of Diêm Điền at sunset, with a flock of birds calling their friends. My gaze drifted toward Hòn Dấu, Đồ Sơn, Hải Phòng, where the lighthouse's light flickered in the distance.

At seven, with dreams that seemed endless, I promised myself that one day I would visit that lighthouse. Back then, I learned from the elders that lighthouses guide ships through distant, unknown waters, helping them fulfill their adventures and desires for far-off places. But as I grew older and experienced life, I began to realize that lighthouses also guide people back home.

As a maritime officer traveling from port to port, I often realized that the world is small. Only the lighthouses, the eyes of the sea, remain open and ever-watchful, guiding ships back home, guiding the men to return to their women.

Sometimes, it feels as if you are holding a compass, but standing in the wrong place, at the north pole, and the only thing that can help you find your way is the voice of the heart. That light that illuminates your path comes from those who hold your soul at home... That is the greatest lighthouse in your life.

Traveling from north to south, from east to west, from the coasts of Vietnam to many other countries, I saw the eyes of the sea everywhere, watching over the ships. The sea’s eyes are sometimes grand and majestic, sometimes solitary, sometimes angry for no reason. But no matter where I went, I always felt the warmth of each lighthouse.

By day, these lighthouses are silent, lifeless. But when the evening sighs on the leaves, on the waves, on the rhythm of time, the lighthouse becomes something familiar, almost like a soul.

However, as sailors approach the shore, they often mistake the light of the lighthouse for the countless other shimmering lights on the horizon. I call them parasitic lights.

Yes, they are parasitic lights. They can easily deceive the eyes of sailors, men who are brave in the face of storms, but who may crumble when they reach shore. The storms at sea are different from the traps that lie on land. Only the light of the lighthouse, the eyes of the sea, can save their souls.

When I see the lighthouse flash, and hope floods into my heart, it feels like the light is an aching heartbeat, like a woman’s heart stopping for a moment, thinking her husband is finally returning home. That’s why, every time I see a lighthouse, I feel like a woman waiting for her husband’s return.

There is no greater wait than the wait of a wife for her husband. A girl waiting for her lover will eventually let go, lost to the waves. A friend waiting for another will fade into the wind. But only a wife’s wait will become eternal light, an immortal light. That is the eyes of the sea. When I see the flickering light, I feel the gaze of a loving wife.

After years of wandering, I chose Vũng Tàu as my home, for the long days of rain and sunshine, for the quiet nights spent searching for something, for love, for peace of mind, for the path never lost. The autumn air rises on forgotten hills, as if to embrace someone lost, while the winding road up to the Vũng Tàu lighthouse calls out, beckoning me.

The Vũng Tàu lighthouse, built by the French in 1862 on Tao Phùng Hill, stands at 149 meters above sea level. In 1913, the French rebuilt the lighthouse, raising it to 170 meters. It is one of the oldest lighthouses in Vietnam and Southeast Asia.

If you ever visit our small city and forget to notice the lighthouse, it will be a regret you will carry forever.

As the day fades, the winding roads lead up to the lighthouse. From here, looking out over the city and the endless ocean, Vũng Tàu feels like a woman with curves and grace, lying humbly by the sea.

As the lighthouse lights up, the city lights up, the eyes of the girls light up, the eyes of the wives light up, my eyes light up. Amidst the hustle of life, amidst the daily struggles and familiar longing, do you ever look toward the eyes of the sea?

No, when you think you’re looking toward the eyes of the sea, remember this: from ancient times, from the future, from all the countless stories of love, the sea’s eyes have been looking toward you. When I stand on the ship's deck, looking toward the lighthouses, in my heart, in my sometimes whimsical imaginings, the place where the lighthouse stands seems so small.

But today, tomorrow, and the days to come, when I stand here, at this old lighthouse, watching the ships go by, the waves trailing behind them, the sailors who live each day with their souls hanging on the masts, I realize that the place where I stand is vast. Yes, the wait is always great.

Never forget that when you leave, there will always be a light calling you back to your home. And no one else but your wife, who lights the hearth every evening, keeping the light burning for you—that is the greatest lighthouse of all...

Hồ Huy

Do you love the sea? What makes you love it? For me, my connection to the sea started through the movie 'The Ocean Girl' – where I first saw its beauty through the screen. From that moment, the sea gently entered my soul, becoming as familiar as an old friend. It’s one of the films that defined my childhood.

I was born in a poor rural area, far from the sea, so I never knew what it was like. My childhood was filled with images of the sea through black and white, and later, color TVs. I saw the sea’s beauty, its vast blue waters that fascinated me. Even now, as an adult, I’ve traveled to many places, but the color I love the most is the deep blue of the sea. The sight of crystal-clear waters or the sight of deep blue waves meeting a stretch of white sand beneath the sun still feels indescribable to me. I absolutely love the sea.

When you visit the sea, what do you like to do? Swim, watch the sunrise and sunset, surf, or sail? For many people, going to the sea means swimming, but for me, it’s about watching the sea. I enjoy waking up early to walk along the shore and witness the sunrise, or to watch the sunset as the day fades into evening. I love observing the waves crashing on the shore, their foamy crests. Sometimes, I just sit on the beach, soaking in the sea's essence. I love the scent of the sea, the breeze that carries its salty, fresh fragrance. Far in the distance, a fishing boat drifts slowly on the vast ocean.

At night, I love walking along the beach. It’s a comforting feeling. I’m like a child again, jumping over waves. The waves crash against the shore, their foam splashing in the air, and I forget the usual stresses of life, playfully jumping along with them. Looking at the vast night ocean, dark and uncertain, I feel as if it mirrors my life. Like many of us, I don’t always know where my path lies. We continue walking, uncertain, but firm in our dreams and ambitions. Lying on the beach, I see the moon and stars above, so distant and small, and I realize how insignificant I am in this grand world. I often wonder what I’m supposed to do in this life, what places I need to visit, and what I want to achieve. Standing before the ocean’s dark night, I crave even a tiny spark of hope, something to guide me towards tomorrow. Lost in thought, I am surrounded by the endless quiet of the sea. Occasionally, a faint light flickers far away, lonely in the vast dark.

For me, the most memorable experience with the sea happened when I went with colleagues from work. During the day, I walked along the beach, enjoying the view. In the evening, I played in the waves, strolling along the shore with friends. Later, we lay on the beach, sang karaoke, and gazed at the high moon. It was a wonderful feeling, leaving me with emotions I can’t quite describe. We didn’t think about tomorrow; we were simply living in the moment. Perhaps we’ll never experience that again. But deep down, I hope for a day when we can all be together once more, lying on the beach, reminiscing about the past. Especially now, when we’ve drifted apart due to life’s demands, the wish becomes even stronger.

Today, as I sit before my computer screen, those memories flood my mind. I suddenly crave the smell of the sea, the breeze, and the salty taste of the water. It all comes back to me as a beautiful, unforgettable picture. The sea has always had a special place in my heart, and my love for it has never changed, always growing as time passes.

-TTKD-

Who has ever visited the coastal land in autumn and not recalled the pure, serene beauty of the sky, with gentle clouds drifting after the rain, the soft fragrance of frangipani flowers by the hills, and the vast winds sweeping across the Pineapple Beach road?

I first fell in love with this place when I left the lecture halls, stepping into a foreign land with a blue sea, white sand, winding paths full of flowers and wild grass. Back then, Vung Tau was still untouched. I wandered along the quiet roads, where there were no bustling streets, no towering buildings, no parks or entertainment centers. The coastal town was simple, peaceful, like a modest girl unfamiliar with luxury or adornments. In the afternoons, we would ride bikes to enjoy the breeze, sitting on the rocky shore, watching the waves chase each other, listening to the rustling sounds of coconut palm leaves on Front Beach, dreaming of a tranquil life here.

I remember my first rainy season as a resident of this southern land. The sky, once brightly sunny, would suddenly darken, black clouds would gather, and the wind would howl before the rain poured down heavily. My office, located next to Big Mountain, seemed to experience more rain, sometimes multiple downpours in a day. Yet, after the rain, the sun would emerge immediately, and the trees in the courtyard seemed to still carry droplets of water, while the golden sunlight cast rays down the path. The afternoon sea was still green, the beach was filled with laughter, and the sky was as wide as the autumn sky in the north.

Decades have passed, and our city has changed. The wide roads stretch far, the massive, modern buildings have risen, and the coastal road winding around Small and Big Mountains has expanded into several lanes. Anyone who visited the coastal city in the 80s and now returns will be astonished at how the “country girl” has transformed beyond recognition. Outsiders see it like this, but the locals still find moments of peace, spaciousness, and tranquility with the mountains and sea. Nature has blessed Vung Tau with both mountains and the sea. The southern autumn is also the rainy season, so the mountains are covered in lush green. The roads up Big Mountain and Small Mountain are winding, with white reeds swaying in the wind, and here and there, the red dots of phoenix flowers linger, a reminder of summer passing. I’ve walked these mountain paths thousands of times, yet every time I feel an excitement for new discoveries. A wild flower, a distant bird call, the chattering of monkeys in the trees blending with the wind, the sound of pine trees whispering in the purple twilight—how could I not feel moved by it? Vung Tau still maintains its slow rhythm, its quiet and peaceful space, though at times it seems lost as the city modernizes.

There are autumn mornings by the sea when the waves gently lap against the rocky shore. The people of Vung Tau love to swim in the early morning. Before sunrise, the air is still misty, the sea pure and untrodden, the golden sand still sleepy, soft and patiently waiting for the crabs and snails to wash ashore and wake it up. After swimming, it’s common to pick up litter, branches, and debris washed onto the beach, gathering them for the cleaning staff. This scene is a familiar sight to the residents of Vung Tau. I love the morning atmosphere on the beach, with the light breeze misting tiny water droplets onto my skin, burying my feet in the wet sand, waiting for the sun to rise. Then, as the sunlight fills the sky, the sound of conversation, laughter, and the joy of latecomers—the tourists who bring a new, lively energy to the sea. On some days, when the sun is high, I still linger just to gaze at the sky, clouds, and water, feeling my soul stretch like the vast sky and sea, lucky and content to live in this wonderful, open space.

I love Vung Tau, I love the serene, gentle sea on calm days, and I love the wild, powerful waves during storms. The sky seems lower, the clouds dark and heavy, and the sea seems to bend under the weight of its pain... but I know that after the storm, the sea will be clear, the sky will be full of light, and the white clouds will float gently like musical notes in the warm southern melody of earth and sky. I love the mountains, the ancient silent mountains beside the sea. The mountains that are barren in the dry season, only to be covered in lush green when the rains come. The mountains have paths full of wild flowers, and during the season of Mai Anh Dao, the bright pink flowers announce the arrival of spring.

After more than forty years of living in this coastal city, our age now is at the end of autumn… Still, like the old days, I cherish the moments riding my bike along the coastal road, hearing the wind rustle through the palm trees, listening to the waves roar, the air fragrant with frangipani—the flower I believe can’t be found as abundantly anywhere else. Youth may be gone, and the dreams of the past may fade, but the coastal city will always be my love, always carrying the sweet emotions that will stay with me through the years. The autumn of the coastal town, the autumn of life... the vast, enduring love of autumn.

Nguyen Minh Nguyet

The memories of my childhood by the sea are vivid, as I could see friends everywhere—whether in the lifeless sails, a drifting cloud, the whispering waves, the hesitant seagulls soaring in the sky, or the watchful eyes of the sandpipers.

The sea has its own rhythm, with the water rising and falling in a cycle tied to the moon. When the tide is 'fragrant,' as the experienced fishermen say, the fish gather in abundance, easy to catch. 'Fish die from still waters, and birds perish from the stagnant wind,' they claim. When the water is 'fragrant,' it means the fish are ready to be harvested, and the fishermen time their nets with the flowing tide. The sea gives birth to the tide, yet this tide, unlike childhood, is born with wisdom and full of life lessons.

I grew up swaddled in the hammock of my father, just as the opening verses of a later-written sea poem describe: 'The first hammock to rock me was a piece of net my father cut from a fish-scaled net/ In my dreams, there were no insects/ Only the fish thrashing as they swam through the waves...' The tiny waves mixed with my hair and veins, becoming the ripples that would spread through my memories. Children by the sea loved to sleep in hammocks and nets. On hot summer nights, when even the sky seemed to break out in hives, we would go to the pier, climb onto boats shaped like turtle shells, and line up to sleep on both sides. Our heads would touch, our feet pressed against the boat's edge to keep from sliding off, while our eyes gazed at the vast sky, breathing in the cool sea breeze. And we would tell each other stories of mermaids, sea serpents, and enchanted creatures. The boat was like a giant cradle, lifting us high...

Our first-grade classroom often had windows that opened to multiple directions, welcoming the sea breeze. We would learn the alphabet, with the letter A resembling a mountain peak or a sail, as we listened to the rustling of the pine trees. The green pine trees rooted deeply into the earth, protecting the village. Their dry leaves turned into soft round mattresses, as comfortable as golden hay, where children would nap soundly like chicks under their mother's wing. The most treasured treat for children by the sea was grilled fish. Even today, after visiting countless villages and tasting different regional specialties, I can never forget those grilled fish we shared during class. Grilled fish is truly a sea delicacy.

From a young age, we learned the value of community by watching the adults sing as they pushed boats and pulled nets. They taught us folk songs and games, such as chasing each other in the sand. Even the 'fish eyes' became a lesson: 'Fish eyes grow on your feet/ To remind you not to lose your way.' We learned the names of different fish and turned them into rhyming games, 'Choose a close friend/ And never call the wrong fish.'

The waves of memory are like a timeless song, always with us. In every fisherman, there is a child who signals the birth of the next tide. I realize that, even as I've grown, left, and returned, both in me and in them, there still resides: 'A wild child/ Who runs after them all their life/ Oh, the sea! Oh, the sea!'

NGUYỄN NGỌC PHÚ

The sun dips towards the west, casting vibrant streaks of red across the evening sky, a final show of glory before surrendering to the vast, dark night. The evening breeze brushes past my mother's slender shoulders, carrying the salty scent of the sea. The tide recedes. Waves gently lap at the foot of the embankment, revealing soft, smooth sand enriched with silt. The embankment road feels narrow and precarious. The wind tousles my hair, and I press my cheek against my mother's back to shield myself from the gusts. Her back is drenched in sweat, though I hadn't noticed when. The mingling scent of her sweat and the briny sea air, an unmistakable aroma, somehow tastes sweet and addictive. As a child, I had inhaled this scent nestled in my mother's embrace. Only later did I realize that it nourished me, helping me grow strong, resilient through life's storms.

The sea breeze blows harder, my eyes sting. I try to follow the path of the seagulls soaring above, their wings cutting through the sky before disappearing into the vast ocean. In the distance, a boat bobs up and down, tiny against the rolling waves, seemingly on the brink of being swallowed whole. As the day nears its end, the boats begin returning to shore. Following the embankment, my mother and I reach the pier, where boats laden with the sea's treasures prepare to be offered to the land. We stop the bike. The evening wind grows stronger, carrying the pungent scent of fish, unmistakably sharp. To outsiders, this smell might be off-putting, but to me, it's ingrained in my skin, an essential part of my childhood, forever etched in my memory, no matter where life takes me. The pier is bustling with activity, yet I find a strange sense of peace. The baskets of fresh fish gleam under the fading sun, their silver and golden hues catching the light. Women and mothers rush to buy the freshest, best fish at the best price. There's chatter—questions about the price of pomfret, compliments about the freshness of the squid eggs, complaints about the small size of the shrimp today. Some women, still undecided, stand at the water's edge, waiting for more boats. Others wave fans and discuss the business of the day. The calls of pricing, bargaining, and greetings echo across the pier. My mother and I hurry through the crowd, selecting the freshest basket of squid and fish. The bargaining is swift—if we're not quick, someone else will grab the best one, offering a higher price. My mother quickly cleans the fish, placing them in the basket, and we hurry to the evening market. The rickety motorbike carries the fresh fish to market, but it also carries my dreams, hopes, and my future.

As my mother and I arrive at the market, the evening glow has painted the entire stretch of water in shades of red. Across the embankment, the once-green grassland has darkened, fading into the evening. A few buffaloes still lazily graze, and children play in a circle, pretending to be horses. From the embankment, the small houses in the village look like little toy homes, tucked behind towering casuarina trees. The smell of burning straw drifts from someone's kitchen, the smoke curling up in the cool evening air, giving the village a soft, nostalgic feel. The peaceful coastal village makes me wish time could slow down so I could savor every moment. At the market, the last rays of sunlight are fading. The fish my mother brought are still fresh, and in no time, they're sold out. I see my mother's face light up with a smile of happiness. Her sun-kissed skin, darkened by the sea breeze, but her eyes—bright, warm, like stars. I understand now that her joy isn't just for herself; it’s all for me.

The darkness begins to spill over the embankment. The sky turns a deep purple. A few early stars twinkle in the velvet sky. The sea mirrors the sky, turning dark. It's hard to spot the distant fishing boats on the horizon, their lights flickering like stars in the night sky. Some boats dock, while others head out to sea, bringing back fresh catches. Somewhere out there is the boat my mother waits for. Tomorrow and the days to come. The waves continue their gentle rhythm. The sails, full of wind, sail out once more. The sun will rise again, lighting up the sea before quietly resting at day’s end. The dawn will always be radiant. The sunset will always be enchanting. But I know, some waves, some sunsets, will never return in this lifetime...

Nguyễn Minh

Someone once shared the endless emotions that come with autumn—the golden leaves falling on quiet streets bathed in soft sunlight... Someone once couldn’t hide their deep passion as they inhaled the intoxicating scent of milk flowers or gazed longingly at the lake, letting their spirit wander with the swaying willow trees...

Autumn has arrived, bringing with it the warmth of sunlight and the scent of the wind, enchanting the familiar streets and corners. My heart stirs unexpectedly, and on one such day, I find myself walking toward the sea, unaware that autumn had already settled in without my notice. Here, the feeling of autumn lingers gently, fresh and romantic, even though the landscape is not painted with golden leaves or the fragrance of autumn flowers that many cherish as a seasonal treasure. I want to tell you about the sea, about an autumn so tender in a city leaning gently by the waves.

It begins on a pure morning, when the sun just rises over the horizon by the sea. I walk casually with the crowd, savoring the freshness of the bustling air. Each breeze from the sea touches my skin, flowing through my hair, gently caressing... I feel my soul lighten, calm, as if in a peaceful trance. It’s the first strokes of a new day, with a clear sky, smooth sea, a bit of sunlight, a bit of gentle wind... and the salty taste carried across the open space.

You once asked, why haven't I written poetry for the sea in so long? After all, more than any other place, the sea is a canvas for poetry, a muse to craft words?

Don’t you know, it’s not that my sea has lost its embrace of passion, or that its sweet, clear whispers have drifted into the past. It’s not that my sea is no longer captivating. Rather, it is that my humble words, small and hesitant, felt too tiny against the boundless, soft complexities of the sea whispering with autumn. My poetic expressions fell silent, retreating shyly before the grand, forgiving expanse of the sea.

The autumn sea is graceful, gentle, beautiful like a love poem. And so, I will pour my feelings into every page I write, perhaps fuller, richer during these bright days, as I find myself swept up in the gentle rhythm of each wave, brushing the shore only to softly dissipate. And so, over time, the sea becomes my autumn lover—romantic, waiting, tenderly loving, with just a hint of jealousy and longing. The sea has become a perfect love poem, speaking for all of us, whispering timeless messages of love. The purple flowers bloom from ancient tales, swaying, continuing the story of today—one of love and devotion, a love that endures through many long years of promises.

The night at the sea. Stars seem to descend closer, illuminating faces. A long, yearning love song stretches between the vast sea and sky, resonating deeply. Amidst the soft sounds blending with the rhythm of the waves, the quiet, steady scuttle of crabs adds their ancient melody, as they tirelessly carry out their work.

The city lights flicker on. The sea borrows the rare light from the city to paint itself in a magical, fairy-tale hue, shimmering with enchanted colors. The breeze still softly weaves through, carrying the subtle fragrance of the season.

Autumn by the sea, my love, is truly magnificent!

Ngô Thế Lâm

My house lies about 10 kilometers to the east of the sea. Whenever I feel overwhelmed, I return to the shore, a habit I’ve always had. My companions are my husband, my child, my friends, and sometimes, I wander alone.

The sea in my hometown isn’t a popular tourist destination. It’s humble and untouched, much like the souls of the people here.

Just like any other coastal region, my sea is lively in the summer and quiet in the winter. But no matter what, I love it, I cherish it deeply. On hot June nights, I love riding through the dark green woods with someone, heading toward the sea.

During that time, the beach becomes a celebration. Shops bustle, groups of friends gather for small parties, bonfires are lit with music and cheers, creating a mini festival... Yet, I’m not drawn to that lively atmosphere. I prefer to find a quiet stretch of dike, where only the waves, the wind, and the sound of casuarina trees rustling greet me.

I sit on the beach, gazing at the vast ocean, searching for something unnameable in its depths. On a moonlit night, the sea shimmers with silvery patches, waves crashing relentlessly against the shore. I think about the childhood dreams I once had, realizing that the beauty of those dreams still lingers in some deep corner of my soul. And now, as I face the vastness again, it returns with a sense of longing and melancholy.

Sometimes, I rest my head on the man I love, and we sit in silence, watching the sea. In that moment, I know each of us is lost in our own thoughts. I drift into memories, while perhaps he’s reminiscing about the past, thinking of the women who’ve come and gone. For in the presence of the sea, people often become vulnerable...

But there’s another fear I have. The fear of things not being eternal. Sometimes, I wish I could do something to preserve those sweet, beautiful moments in time. But then I realize, they slip away from me coldly, often without reason. During those times, I return to the sea. The sea comforts me, understands me, and shares my pain. It answers me with the sound of waves and the cool breeze that sweeps away the stifling heat of summer nights. In those moments, silence is enough to calm my soul...

The sea’s appearance and those summer evenings change like a girl changing clothes. The shops become more lively, people sing passionately, others set up camp along the casuarina trees by the beach, and some splash around in the refreshing water... The sea feels rejuvenated with the festive atmosphere. At that time, finding solitude is quite difficult...

When people think of the sea, they usually associate it with summer. But for me, the sea in winter is also wonderful. The quiet, soothing air, combined with the biting cold, is sometimes exactly what we need to fully embrace our loneliness, to realize that we are not the only ones left feeling solitary...

After the ferocious storms, the sea seems more solitary than ever, as if it alone listens to the infinite silence of the winter universe, with humanity nowhere to be found, leaving only the cold, gray skies, the water, and the eternal whisper of the pine trees. The sea gives itself entirely, sharing in the human heartache, and when winter comes, it embraces all the sorrow in the world.

I was born in a village near the sea, grew up in the land of salt, sun, and wind. I’ve deeply felt the bitter struggle of survival. I understand why the people here, both men and women, are so resilient and courageous. They live off the waves, speak of the winds, work hard, and face the misfortunes of fate without fear. The children here, with their sun-kissed skin, spend more time on the shore than at home, and we grow up like that—innocent, carefree, embraced by the sun, the wind, and the salty taste of the ocean...

Through it all, the sea nourishes them, comforts them, loves them, protects them. And as for me, I still hold onto the habit of returning to the sea whenever my heart is heavy, whenever I need comfort.

Dang Mai Phuong

I am deeply in love with the sea, consumed by it.

More than half my life has passed, yet the desire to return to the sea stirs in me like a restless tide, never allowing me peace. I crave the feeling of standing before the sea at dawn, when it feels as if my soul is being cleansed, my worries and thoughts disappearing into lightness. My spirit becomes as pure as the endless sky stretching before me. The waves whisper softly, just enough to stir the deepest emotions. The air is thick with the salty scent of the sea, gently brushing against my skin.

One cannot resist; before the sea, one cannot simply stand still. I long to spread my arms wide, to embrace the boundless beauty surrounding me. My heart swells with life, longing to inhale deeply and shout to the sky, feeling the vibrations ripple through the blue. The sky, the sea—both merging, carrying me to the farthest reaches of feeling. The sand cools my bare feet, still wet from the night’s dew. The waves play shyly with my footprints. The crabs watch, puzzled, as grains of sand vanish quietly beneath the water.

As a child, I was filled with excitement and awe at the vastness of the sea. Even in the scorching heat, the burning sand could not deter my tiny feet from rushing toward the waves. It felt as though the waves and I were old friends—the sea welcomed my feet, lifting them with its playful embrace. I leapt and laughed as the waves laughed with me. Then, both tired, we retreated to the cool sand, lying back and dozing off...

Now, years later, my steps slow, deliberate. The waves still play at my feet, tugging me into their playful dance. My toes dig into the sand, feeling the depth of the earth beneath me. The waves, sensing my hesitation, become gentle, rocking me with a soothing rhythm. Together, we drift further from the shore.

The sky remains blue, the water still as vivid as ever, but the sea seems saltier now. For thousands of years, the waves have whispered the love stories of the ocean. Long ago, a young man went to sea, saying goodbye to the girl he loved, never to return. She waited for him every morning, her heart aching, her body growing weaker. He could not return, but he sent his tears through the waves, comforting her. The waves swelled with grief, stirring storms within the stillness. She immersed herself in the salty waters, her love eternal. The waves still sing their endless song, the love song of the sea... the love song of the people.

At night, the sea feels so close, as though it resides within my heart. It aches, longing. The wind spreads my silver hair across the horizon. The deep hum of the waves vibrates in the cold night. The waves still bring love to the shore, unceasing. Yet, I yearn to set sail, to find the man who left with tears of love. To rediscover the desires lost in time. To witness the “ultimate blue”… through hasty journeys.

Though my legs tremble with age, as my feet touch the sand, the waves still play with me like old friends. Though my skin has lost its smoothness, the sea still caresses me with affection. Though my eyes blur, the sea remains before me, etched in my heart.

Humans may yearn to explore, but the sea always feels as if it ends just beyond the horizon.

Tears fall from my eyes, and suddenly I realize—they are not as salty as the waters of the sea!

V.N.K.P