ii. dreaming of the ocean

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• Finding Respite in Chaos (Waves of Sentiments) by Danielle Poon (visual art)

• The Sailor by Ashley Muñoz (poetry) 

• Harbour by Yan An Tan (poetry) 

• A Goddess in Mee Sua by Su Myat Naing (fiction) 

• Voyage of Dreams by Pranavi Choudhary (visual art) 

Finding Respite in Chaos (Waves of Sentiments), 2024

80 Ø
Alcohol Inks, 24k Gold Leaf on Treated Canvas
by Danielle Poon
 

Finding Respite in Chaos (Waves of Sentiments) encapsulates the delicate balance between tumult and tranquility. Rich hues weave through the composition; these intersecting and diverging mark-makings as metaphor to the capriciousness of life's journey.
 

Traversing the surface, the pigments gradually soften and dissipate into a clearing of white, momentarily easing into peace and clarity. Serving as a vessel, the tondo enhances its cyclic sense of continuity necessary for healing. The artwork invites viewers into a visual sanctuary where they can pause, reflect, and find solace amidst the bedlam of daily life.
 

Danielle is an award-winning Singaporean artist working across mixed-media object-making, painting and photography. She draws from natural and psychological phenomena, and is keen on creating art which functions as vessels for growth and healing. Danielle is a graduate of LASALLE College of the Arts, with a BA (Honours) in Fine Arts. 

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The Sailor by Ashley Muñoz

The sailboat rocks                                as ocean glistens
Overhead, seagulls soar
 

Rain slashes down
Trepidation seizes
Our north wind tears                            into pieces

What choice do we have but to carry on?

We carry on:
Tiger on boat, small fire in my soul;
It was almost but not quite
Quenched by the elements. 

Ashley writes poetry on The Noble Colon (@thenoblecolon). 

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Harbour by Yan An Tan

We met in stories, waves gathering on shore,
each word drifted back, soft as a plum.
You spoke of islands—seas unknown, implored,
and I listened, my heart pulled like tides into you.
 

Each word drifted back, soft as a plum;
we made paper boats and let them sail free.
I listened, my heart pulled like tides into you,
while words lapped quietly, anchoring me.
 

We made paper boats and let them sail free,
watching them sway, a hymn in the tide.
While words lapped quietly, anchoring me,
we gathered small shells and promises tied.
 

Watching them sway, a hymn in the tide,
you spoke of voyages, places unseen.
We gathered small shells and promises tied—
each tale a stitch in this fabric between.
 

You spoke of journeys, places unseen.
We met in stories, waves gathering on shore,
each tale a stitch in this fabric between—
the past, a tide that returns to us once more. 

Yan An enjoys exploring literature, sci-fi, and storytelling. He spends his time catching up with friends, cloud-watching, and drinking black coffee, in search of the small moments. 

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A Goddess in Mee Sua by Su Myat Naing

​​2000, Mee Sua in Maxwell Hawker Centre 
 

“Do you believe in God?” Qiheng asked, mid-chew. His eyes sparkled with unbridled curiosity as he waited for my reply.

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I wanted to give a clichéd answer – that God existed in every one of us. Or that I believed in God because it had led to us meeting. But I knew it would be disingenuous. A memory struck me like an electric current. Mazu. The truth was that I was in every way shape and form connected to this Goddess, and had been from my youth to my present. I had an overwhelming resonance with her. I touched my hair, which had been neatly put in an updo with a pin tied to a talisman. Taking a deep breath, I prepared to tell the story of my encounter with Mazu. I had been twelve years old. 
 

1992, Fishing in Meijiang District, Meizhou, Guangdong Province, China
 

The sea called out to me, with its alluring tide lurching back and forth. I would breathe in the salty air with my tongue out, tasting the brininess and savouring it. Delicately, I would slip my toes under the wet sand and wait for the water to seep in, relishing the cooling sensation of my toes in the slurry mixture. The rays of the sun cast a golden glow on the wooden boats that bobbed up and down in the restless motion of the tidal waves. This was the landscape of my childhood.

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Since I was eight, I had always asked, “Papa, can I go with you?” My Pa would look out to the waves crashing against the rocks, its jagged edges sculpted by the consistent flow of the tide. A solemn grin would appear on his face and he would shake his head slowly. “When it is time, we can go,” he would reply. This statement frustrated me greatly. This ‘time’ was unquantifiable and never seemed to arrive. As a young child, I did not understand why. The sea provided me with plentiful fish and seashells to play with, and was a source of comfort for me. Why was he so adamant on keeping us apart? With each passing day, I tried my luck and posed the same question, hoping that the special day would arrive – the day when I could accompany my father on his fishing trip. 

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On an unassuming Tuesday morning, it arrived. I was gathering seashells to adorn my kingdom of fortified sand when he called me from his fishing boat.

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“Mingze! Get your talisman and your hat, you’re coming with me today,” Pa announced. 

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I sprung up. I scuttered as fast as my stubby legs could manage and grabbed the sacred items for my voyage. Before leaving, I made eye contact with Mazu, the goddess of the sea. She was embodied in the golden idol sitting grandly on the altar. Today was my lucky day indeed.

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The wooden sampan creaked upon contact with my feet, and the slabs of wood let out grimaces of discomfort that came with age. A strong breeze passed by, sending goosebumps down my spine. I buttoned my jacket, insulating myself from the wind. 

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 “Meimei, have you paid your respect to Mazu?” he asked.

“…yes,” I answered, with hesitation. He raised an eyebrow.

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“Don’t lie, let’s do it together now,” my father said firmly.

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I wanted to jump into the arms of the ocean and not spare a minute to waste. I had spent my whole twelve years waiting for this moment. But begrudgingly, I did as I was told. With my eyes shut, a quick rehearsed prayer escaped my quivering lips. I peeked halfway through and saw my father doing the same, his face relaxed with his crow’s feet making an appearance on his serene countenance. There was a palpable concentration in his invocation, a vulnerable side that my stoic father had never showed me before. 

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My father then released the rope that tethered our boat to the pier. We set off on the undulating waves, the vast ocean welcoming us in its embrace. The sky was a large open space, where streaks of white clouds were pervaded with a dreamy languor. Where did the sky end and the ocean start? They seemed to converge into one, an endless supply of water and air, the two elements coexisting within each other. I sat at the edge of the boat, running my fingers through the languid turquoise stream, creating ridges of my imprint and disrupting the smooth body of water. 

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I felt ecstatic. It was my first time out at sea. I was no longer at the periphery, stealing wistful glances at the outstretched horizon. I felt one with the ocean. Its tranquil calmness enveloped me, leaving me in a trance of perpetual peace. I exhaled an easy breath and let the mist escape from my mouth. In the encompassing body of water, I felt like I could be anyone, be anything. Here on this wooden boat, I, Tan Mingze, was not the daughter of a fisherman. No, I was a sojourner at the precipice of discovery! Maybe I could find a treasure box, or even better, spot the elusive shen (蜃) that was said to reside underneath the mysterious surface.

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Out of the corner of my eye, an amorphous shadow caught my attention. I inspected it more closely. It was a strange-looking fish with wings at the side of its slender, streamlined body. What a funny looking thing! I had not seen anything like it before. It surprised me to see a solitary fish. Didn’t fishes always swim in schools? I inched closer and closer with acute stillness lest I alerted this bird-fish creature. The light bouncing off the blue sheen of its scales made it seem ethereal and unworldly.

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I turned, excited to announce my discovery. Before me, I saw my fatigued father who was paddling relentlessly with his worn-out oar. My eyes fell on his empty bucket. An idea came to mind: I should capture the fish! If I could show my father how useful I could be on his fishing trips, he would surely bring me along more often. 

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With the great scheme in mind, I stretched out my arms to capture my first victim. But to my dismay, the fish was gone. I frantically looked around the surrounding area for ripples. Then I saw it, with its wings stuck to the edge of the sampan, flailing wildly against the bow. Seeing the elegant creature now subdued to this piddling figure evoked my pity. Were these animals always subjected to humans’ needs and desires? It occurred to me that even a humble fisherman was able to disrupt the flow of nature. I cupped my hands into the sea, and with much gentleness, removed the magical fish from its mired position. It was calm in my hands. Slimy, and cold to the touch. Still, I felt an overwhelming sense of adoration for it. But something in me overtook that sentiment. Was it desire for possession? Was it power passed off as piety? I was not sure. All I knew was that I wanted to keep the fish.

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I cautiously released the fish into a bucket, which I then quickly filled up with water.

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All of a sudden, a surge in the water jolted the sampan. I lost my balance and almost fell face-down at the gunwale.

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“Mingze, get away from the edge, the tides are strong!” Pa hollered at me. 

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I wanted to retort, and challenge his perception of the sea as a dangerous entity. Before I could get the words out, a strong wave inundated my senses. The assailed attack went down my throat and I sputtered out the salty seawater. I looked upon my father for comfort but saw him engaged in a tug-of-war with the sea. With his biceps tensed, he exerted his entire body weight to push the paddle against the ravaging tide. I gawked in awe and fear. The once-still currents were now launching attacks on our feeble vessel. A flash of light illuminated the sky as distant lightning struck. The reverberations of thunder shook me to my core. I scuttled over to my father for refuge. Darkened sky was accompanied by heavy clouds which unleashed their rage in forceful pelts of droplets. Water started to seep into our boat and I helplessly scrambled to empty the flood with the buckets we had on board.

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I had never thought of myself as a believer. In fact, I only passively recited the mantras after my father. But at that moment, I started to chant the sacred words with religious fervour, imploring the higher deity above to look after us, as I squeezed my talisman with clammy hands: 

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Like day and night, 

this blight shall pass before bright. 

Opposing the sea amidst fright, 

in which Mazu shall arrive in a flash of light.

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I opened my eyes. Nothing happened.

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A deafening roar of the ocean waves filled my ears, as if mocking me for my witless faith in a higher power. A strong gust of wind capsized the puny boat, catapulting us into the tumultuous waves. The menacing ocean had taken over my entire frame. Salt. Ice. Weed. Sensations pierced my body as I was absorbed into the saltwater, which stung my eyes and nose. Strips of algae and moss smothered my body, acting as the ocean’s embodied arms keeping me tethered and unmoving. My teeth started chattering and my body involuntarily shuddered. I wanted to scream but it felt like my throat was infested with razor-sharp seashells that echoed my muffled scream back to me. A familiar red plastic bucket floated near me. I willed my numb arms to propel myself towards the bucket, hoping to use it as a float. I peered in and there it was! The flying fish I had entrapped earlier! It was thrashing wildly, its dorsal fins writhing in protest. In hindsight, it was an ironic sight. Here I was, overwhelmed by the influx of water, while the fish was still stuck in the bucket, walled by the plastic from accessing its home. Seeing the fish struggle, there was a moment of recognition of our brittle and paralleled lives in this universe. I flipped over the bucket and released the fish from its cell. 

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The fish, upon reunion with its home, rose in elation. It flapped its wings and flew over the debris of our boat. I witnessed the levitating fish defying the laws of gravity. A red flash of light emanated from above, a beacon of hope – Mazu. Without warning, the rapacious torrent that had been demolishing the wooden slabs eased into docile waves. A vibrant sun then emerged from the clouds and the filtered light rays hit the oceans, giving clarity to the sight of wreckage before us and the disintegrated pieces of wood. The ferocious storm had ceased, and the only evidence of its presence was the absence of our sampan.

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My father quickly swam to me and held my shoulders to his chest. I did not know whether it was tears or seawater that streaked his pale face. I looked down at my hands and the talisman I had held tightly glowed a bright red. That was Mazu, I was sure of it. The memory of my father and I, bobbing up and down in the pacified waters of the ocean, holding each other tight on a wooden raft, would be etched in my mind for as long as I lived. 

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It was then that I realised my folly. We were not the subjugators of the natural order. How fragile we humans were. It was us humans that were subject to the caprice of the environment, and the mercy of the deities.
 

960AD, The Birth of a Goddess in Meizhou Island, Fujian Province
 

Lin Yuan and his wife, Wang, visited the temple and prayed to the Gods for another male child. Shortly after, Wang was pregnant. 

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On the twenty-third day of the third lunar month, a baby girl was born into the Lin family. Born without a cry, she was named Lin Mo. Her nickname was Mo Niang, which translated to ‘silent girl’. The family, initially disappointed with the gender of their child, was then pleasantly surprised by the capabilities of this unassuming girl.

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She was a precocious child, and was able to understand classic Confucianist texts on first reading. She was not only intelligent but had a heart of gold, often applying her knowledge of medicine to cure the sick and injured.  

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When Mo Niang was thirteen, a Taoist priest saw her supernatural potential and decided to teach her the ‘Xuan Wei Secret Method’. This enabled her to expand her spiritual abilities and provide aid to her villagers. While staying at home, her spirit could roam across the seas, tame the oceans and avert crises. The only catch was that she had to weave looms at home when using her spiritual powers. 

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When Mo Niang came of age for marriage, she insisted on being single to focus on doing good for her people. This was unprecedented, as it went against the patriarchal Confucianist norms, but her parents yielded. 

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One morning, Mo Niang’s father, brother, and sister decided to go on a fishing trip. Mo Niang felt that something was amiss and begged them not to leave, but they did not heed her advice. Lin Yuan pointed out that the current was still and calm, casting doubt on her words. She passed her father a pair of chopsticks encased in red paper, instructing him to tear off the paper when he needed aid. 

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Sure enough, when the trio went out to sea, the water turned rogue. The tempestuous deluge capsized the boat and inundated them. Lin Yuan remembered his daughter’s words and quickly tore the red paper. A flash of light emanated from the sky above, signalling Mo Niang’s arrival in spirit to rescue them. Her physical body was still in the Lin household, furiously weaving looms with her eyes shut. At this moment, her mother, Wang, saw her rapid movements and was worried for her daughter’s safety. She shook her abruptly. This startled Mo Niang and woke her up from her trance. As a result, she was unable to save her brother, who drowned. 

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Mo Niang felt an insurmountable guilt at his funeral. She recovered his remaining humble possessions, which included his prized noodles. Her brother, who loved noodles, always made sure to bring them along on his fishing trips as he claimed that having them dipped in seawater made them more delicious. She cried and cried and her teardrops fell onto the wheat noodles. To pay tribute to him, she started to weave them into elongated strands. Once the loom was full, she lifted the woven noodles and hung them on a clothes rack. The noodles were drenched in saltwater and Mo Niang’s tears, giving them a salty taste. 

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Later on, these noodles came to be known as Mian Xian or mee sua. Also known as longevity noodles, they were commonly eaten by the Chinese for good luck and prosperity. 

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2000, Mee Sua in Maxwell Hawker Centre

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By the time I finished the story, the noodles had settled in our stomachs. The saltiness of the noodles and the richness of the chicken broth mixed with Chinese wine lingered on our tongues. 

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“I would like to thank Mazu for keeping you safe so that I could meet you,” Qiheng said, teasingly. I only smiled in response. 

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I was far from home, a voyage away from my roots. However, I felt an unshakable connection to my small fishing village. The wheat noodles were a tribute to our ancestors, evoking memories of those who braved uncertain waters in search of a better future, stringing the past and present through a dish that transcended time.

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Su Myat Naing is a student at NTU and a full-time storyteller. By blending mythology and historical phenomena, she explores the human condition, aiming to compose narratives that unite fiction and reality in a visceral experience. 

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iii. earth and ash