For a friend

There's a memory I have of the most recent trip to the Maldives.

We are on the Mashibaru and the wind is blowing the hair away form my face and when the shout goes up, we turn and at first I don't see anything. Then something breaks through the dune-like waves and a flipper shows, and then suddenly there are more, and I see the sleek, satin backs of several somethings moving beneath the water. At first the cry of 'dolphin!' goes up, but these are too big, and their dorsal fins are not shaped like those of dolphins. And then the realization sinks in, that we are looking at whales slipping through the water near our boat, bullet-shaped heads cresting and then dipping below the rippling surface. It is as though the realization is the trigger that sets the sea to offer up its riches, because the dolphins we had been looking for days spin out of the water on our port side, slicing effortlessly through the water as though in challenge to their slower, more stately pilot whale cousins. The sense of joy, of playful speed is impossible to convey.

And then the school of tuna appears in the distance in a whirl of spray and sunlight glistening along scaled sides that shimmer like aquatic diamond. And everyone is shouting, screaming. Except me, because I found that my throat has closed up because it is more beautiful than I would have ever believed. Each fish is about the size of the desk I sit at now, each one flashing silver and gold and catching brilliant light as their sleek sickle-shaped fins and up-pointed barbs slice effortlessly through the water. They rip through the water faster and sharper than any manmade vehicle could ever maneuver, unconstrained by gravity or mechanics, and the fury of their chase and the effortless aquatic leaps literally stops the breath in my throat and I cough and only then realize that I have actually been brought to tears by how unexpectedly magnificent they are. Though we chase them, they easily outpace the boat.

A little over an hour later, one of them lies dead on the back of the boat, gutted and flayed open, and the rest have long disappeared in a froth of furious color.

And that, my friend, is exactly what love is like. All we can do is hang on to the memories of what was good and try and let the rest go. Hang in there, dear.