Author: Anonymous
It is always the places that can so easily overpower me that somehow make me feel at peace. The mountain that could so easily isolate me, the snow that could so easily freeze me, the water that could so easily swallow me up. As unpredictable as these places can be, they remind me that I am a part of something bigger and that my existence relies on my surroundings. I am at their mercy. Whether it is walking through the snow, the flakes crunching beneath my feet, through a trail in the woods, on a mountaintop, or swimming through the water, the silence in these places is loud and full.
Instinctively, I would say that the land that means the most to me is up in the mountains or by the lake. There is something about the mountainous lakeside that is so very Switzerland, that is so very me. Despite being born abroad and only in Switzerland by chance, the Swiss landscapes have become an integral part of my identity. With countless hours spent hiking, skiing, and relaxing by the lake, it would be a lie to say that this environment has not shaped me. The place I visit the most, however, is the lakeside. In the summertime, the lake’s glittering surface is reminiscent of all the good that the world has to offer—the light reflecting off the rippling water, a perfect image of hope. The mountains surrounding the body of water bring a sense of peace that the often-revered seaside does not. The lake-side peace is accompanied by the cheerful chatter of people around me, no doubt relaxing after their busy days. A summer day by the lakeside helps me feel grounded. The grass beneath my legs as I sit, the rocks under my feet as I climb over them to reach the water, the sun burning my skin; the land envelops me, welcoming me into its world. Making me not just a part of the world but a part of nature, too. The gentle, rhythmic lapping of the waves, the splashing of the swimmers, and the chirping of the birds quiet my endless thoughts.
The lakeside is, however, not always entirely peaceful. The turbulent surface crashing on the lakeside rocks during a summer storm reminds me just how powerful the water can be.
The muted blue of the storm clouds and the splashing of the waves – always so much higher than I could ever imagine – remind me that nature is not always forgiving. It reminds me that being part of nature means that I owe it my respect in return. If I do not treat my surroundings as they deserve to be treated, if I act bigger than I am, I will be reminded of just how insignificant my day-to-day can be. Watching the angry lake fight the sharp rocks and the birds take cover reminds me that my daily anxieties and obsessions are not a finality. That the world goes on beyond my internal storm. A storm, which I witness mirrored in front of me as the forces of nature war against one another. The storm I watch, with thunder crashing around me and the water roaring, though, subsides. This shows me that no matter how angry, or how turbulent, the sun will always shine through the clouds. Both in nature, by the lakeside, and in its reflection in my soul.
Upon reflection, though, the place where I feel most at peace is not only the lakeside but also in the water. I am unsure what it is about the water that makes me feel so at home in it. Whether it is that I grew up swimming, or if it is the endless possibilities it offers, the water has always welcomed me. It doesn’t come without its apprehensions, the water. I can feel its power, its ability to throw me around, the total darkness and disorientation as soon as my head goes under. The eternal tightening in my chest causes a sense of urgency almost immediately. But as soon as I open my eyes, as soon as I see the pale green blurriness of the lake water around me, the bright light shining through the surface, and the almost eternal expansion of blue, I feel in control. My body allows me to appreciate my surroundings – albeit for a limited time – before the breathlessness makes itself known once again and forces me to resurface. To regain strength before I can dive again. Before I can delve back into this wonderfully unfamiliar world.
While many speak of the terror of the depths of the waters, the endlessness has always fascinated me. These depths that are so often equated to anxiety almost always make my grounded life feel two-dimensional. In the water, I am no longer bound by gravity. In the water, I become capable of exploring the dimension all around me, rather than being limited to observing from afar. In the water, I can fly. It allows me to feel everything that I look for in sports, but in water, I am no longer at the mercy of the apparatus. I no longer need to swing, I no longer need to race towards a trampoline or ski through powder to feel weightless. To explore the true potential of the world’s three-dimensionality. In the water, I can be everywhere, and I can be nowhere.
In the water, everything slows down. My surroundings, my movements, and my thoughts. In the water, I am free of all my earth-bound responsibilities. I get to feel the cold currents wrap themselves around my legs without having to fit into society’s glass slipper. In the water, my hair flows around my face, never weighed down by the air’s dryness, its pressure. In the water, I am free.
Comments by the jury:
“I enjoyed the way the lake symbolized their inner self, and the way the water freed them.”
“The use of figures of speech (the various anaphoras, oxymorons, personification) was masterful, I deeply enjoyed it!”
