Location: Tahiti
Some people must think we are crazy to bob and weave in a seemingly endless sea. Nothing in sight for miles except the end of our bow sprit. Those people are a bunch of stupid idiot-faced dummies. There is so much out here in the Pacific, and I am not even talking about the waves of bioluminescence that tickle the bow like a blanket of stars, or the swarms of birds that tantalize us with hopes of marine mammals, or even the schools of tuna that bite Ben’s lines without committing fully. I’m talking about the 31 people bouncing with the motion of the ocean. Living our lives, doing mental math to figure out what watch was on next, pestering the head chef for what the day’s culinary adventure will be, or the delusional 3 am moments when we debate whether or not a blue whale could make a 56-meter wave if dropped from a certain height from a C-17 airplane. If there is anything I’ve learned from Sea|mester (spoiler alert: I’ve learned a lot over my many years here at Sea|mester), it’s that no matter how much people say they don’t like passage, they fall in love with the sunsets, the routine, having no service, the ramen, and they always find joy in the small things. Those small things are what make this boat us. Fo’c’sle raves, movie nights, Hunger Games mock-ups, singing Roxanne at the top of your lungs, eating a snack at any point in the late night/early morning, making bread that expands past the big bowl, or even having half your brownies burnt while half are raw because of the heel of the boat. There will always be flying fish smacking people in the head, sail handling, watches, and classes, but there will never be this group of 31 people together again. And though this is some people’s worst nightmare, with no cell phone service, no AC 24/7, living dorm style with 30 people trapped on a 112-foot boat, we make the most of it. Letting our busy lives slow down, simplify, and force our bubble of influence to decrease drastically. We may fight like siblings, be exhausted from a 12-4 am watch, or stub a toe on a D-ring, but we will always have our friends to support us and the moon to guide our way as we helm an eternal course of 240 towards Tahiti.
As we get closer and closer to Tahiti, we also get closer and closer to the inevitable day 90. When at noon, all of us will go our separate ways. Some will stay in Tahiti to experience the culture, waves, and some friends. Others will go home, where they will find their favorite foods, hug a dog, and lay in a bed bigger than them. And still, more of us will stay on board Vela to get her ready to sail to Fiji, where we will get ready for our next group of students. No matter where we end up, we appreciate the laughs, the cries, and the 2 am boat checks to keep us awake, and we dream of the times we had and the stars that lit up the sky and questioned whether it was all real.