Tuesday Dec 18

Seto Samantha Seto graduated with a B.A. as a Writing Seminars major and History of Art minor at the Johns Hopkins University. Samantha has published writing in many journals including Ceremony, Soul Fountain, The Harvard Ichthus, The Yale Logos, Cornerstone Magazine, Scarlet Leaf Review, Chicago Literati, The Compulsive Reader, North of Oxford, and The Los Angeles Review. She lives with her cat in Washington, D.C.
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Walking Along the Water


The clear blue waters wash over the sandy pebbles along the sun-drenched Grecian beach. Sea salt is rubbed into the roots of my dark brown hair. I walk along the brown rocks, collecting seashells near the dock where men catch fish. I stare at my lavender painted toenails brushing the foamy current. I want to soak my body in water like a mermaid.


This is not at all like an American beach. I feel happy to be far away from home for the first time. I breathe in. I dream of traveling to all the places that are dearly close to my heart. Of taking every moment to truly live my life.

I need it, this chance to breathe. I have always suffered with this beautiful struggle of finding worth in life. Nothing comes very naturally to me. I often face challenges. Adversity weighs heavy, inflicting pain and stress. It is hard to cope with. Sometimes I find myself alone.

But in this moment, the world is full of wonder.

I listen to the waves and the steady beating of my heart. Walking at the oceanside anchors me.

With a kind heart, I can work for the common good to make a difference. I serve a purpose and it matters. The world has a lot to offer and for that I am thankful.

I read Plath’s The Bell Jar sitting on the sand under an umbrella. This book coincidentally is a tragedy, as if it originates from the drama of the Greek tragedy. I’m traveling with family, my sister and Dad. We stay in a cave-like room in Santorini. I visit museums, the homes of artifacts and precious objects. I learn of the stories of Greek and Roman myths that tell the tales of the gods on Mount Olympus, of Ovid’s Metamorphoses.These epics withstand the test of time, captivating me into the mythic world that I can make-believe.

Taking photographs keeps all of the memories. I remember passing by French girls wearing bandanas and talking softly with an accent at the Acropolis. I remember sitting down against colorful mosaic walls. Little restaurants filled with villagers at tables outdoors. Elderly men sitting outside, carrying worry beads in their palms.

But what I remember most is walking along the sea on the Greek isle. Sometimes I dream about getting on the airplane back to Greece just to sunbathe or walk through the waves. The sunshine on ever-blue waters carries my heart with it.