sol.ace_r

My journey continued.
After facing myself in the deep darkness of the abyss, after returning to the restless sea and choosing to create my own current instead of being carried by the currents of other whales, time moved on. The hardships of the restless sea remained, but I was no longer who I used to be. Massive waves still surged, and other whales still raced forward with relentless force, yet the way I looked at them had changed. Instead of shrinking beneath their speed or struggling not to lose my voice to their songs, I kept protecting my own pace and my lost song. Each morning, as I left the cold rocky cave, hesitation had not disappeared entirely—but the insight gained in the abyss and the voice within me had become a firm strength, pushing me forward.

As I swam while shaping my own current, my song slowly grew stronger and clearer. The faint melody I had first heard in the abyss once felt fragile and pitiful whenever I tried to sing it again amid the noise of the restless sea. But as I refused to give up and continued to raise my voice, the melody gradually sharpened, and confidence began to settle into my sound. I no longer tried desperately to keep my voice from being drowned out by the powerful songs of other whales. I simply sang in my own voice, my own melody. It was still clumsy at times, still unstable—but because it was my song, I felt no shame. With every song, I felt something inside me being filled. The terrible emptiness I had known in the abyss seemed to fade, little by little. The very sensation of my voice resonating within my body breathed life back into me.

Along this journey, I came to an important realization.
The true me was not the version of myself from before the abyss, swimming perfectly and swiftly like the other whales in the restless sea. Nor was it the version of myself lost in despair within the abyss, believing everything had been taken away. The true me was the one being shaped now—the self that passed through the abyss and was struggling forward through the restless sea in my own way. Wounded, exhausted, sometimes lost—yet all of those moments were gathering to form who I was. My wounds were not weaknesses, but marks that allowed me to understand myself more deeply and grow stronger. My exhaustion was not an end, but a pause—a moment to catch my breath and look toward the next direction. My wandering was not being lost, but the process of finding my own path. All of these experiences added depth to my song.

I no longer compared myself to other whales. Their speed, their songs—those belonged to them. They would continue forward without rest, for their own reasons. And I would continue forward for mine, at my own pace. I had my own speed, and I had my own song. The moment I accepted that as it was, I finally felt a true sense of freedom. I no longer wavered under the gazes of other whales or the judgments of the world. Whatever they thought of me was their concern. My worth was something I defined myself. My happiness did not depend on their approval, but on my speed and my song.

Within my own current, amid the song I sang in my own voice, I began to discover meaning that belonged only to me. The beauty of the world—once invisible when I rushed forward without rest—enriched my journey. The intricate, delicate structures of nameless corals blooming deep in the sea. The free dance of colorful schools of small fish. The breathtaking beams of sunlight pouring down from above. All of it became inspiration for my song. My song was no longer a lonely echo. It became a conversation with myself, a communion with this vast and diverse sea. At times, schools of small fish gathered nearby, drawn by my song. Mysterious creatures revealed themselves. They did not mock my song. They simply listened, as it was. Their presence itself seemed to speak to me of the beauty of difference.

My song grew stronger still. The faint melody I had once heard in the abyss was now fully restored through my own voice. It was a song that held sorrow and joy, loneliness and hope, weariness and courage—all of my experiences and emotions woven together. A song meant only for me. A song for myself. Each time I sang it, I felt clearly that I was alive, that I was me. This song became my reason for being, the force that carried me forward. It was no longer a song meant to be recognized by other whales. It was comfort, encouragement, and love spoken to myself—my most honest story.

My journey was not over. The restless sea would continue to move without rest, and new challenges might still await me—unpredictable currents, unforeseen dangers. But I would no longer lose my way. The inner compass I gained by passing through the abyss, the current I had shaped at my own pace, and the song that held my true self would guide me. My song was no longer a faint whisper. It had become a clear resonance, spreading through a sea that belonged to me. Whether other whales heard it or not no longer mattered. This song was for me. And perhaps—just perhaps—it might become a small echo for other weary whales somewhere in this restless sea. A quiet seed of hope, whispering, You are not alone. Find your own song.

And so I moved forward, steadily, as my true self, within a sea of my own making. Cutting through hopeful currents. My song echoed into the depths, and that resonance gave me strength. I was no longer merely part of the restless sea. I was creating my own sea—at my own speed, with my own song. And there, at last, I was free.

My journey will continue.
Singing my song.
Carving my current.
Sailing my own sea.

And along that path, I will keep finding myself—
and keep becoming who I am meant to be.