Far from the Deep

I visited a maritime museum recently — one filled with artifacts: fragments of ships, rusted compasses, delicate glass bottles...

Each relic carried the weight of stories that once sailed and then sank into silence.

There’s something hauntingly beautiful about shipwrecks — they are reminders of both human ambition and nature’s quiet authority.

As I walked among the exhibits, I found myself imagining the hands that built these vessels. Each bolt and plank once part of a dream — to cross horizons, to map the unknown, to trust the sea.

I felt an echo of that same curiosity within me. I once thought about becoming a naval architect, designing the bodies that carry people across the ocean. Standing there, it almost felt as if that version of myself was still somewhere in those waters — sketching hulls and masts, tracing the balance between form and function.

Leaving the museum, I carried with me a renewed sense of awe — for the craftsmanship, the adventure, and the fragility of it all. The sea remains both muse and mystery, and perhaps that’s why it continues to inspire me: it reflects the human spirit so perfectly — brave, searching, and forever drawn toward the unknown.