Apa e elementul meu

Water is my native element.

I was born into it, wrapped in its hush, suspended in my mother’s womb, long before breath ever kissed my lungs. And maybe I never truly left. Maybe part of me still floats there, weightless, unformed, waiting.

The sea has called me back ever since, a longing carved into bone. I’ve spent years answering it, living with the sway of waves beneath my feet, the salt in my blood rising every time I catch its scent. On boats, on shores, in dreams, I’ve returned to water like a daughter finding her mother’s arms.

Water taught me more than any God ever dared:

That what nourishes can also ruin.
That what cradles can also crush.

I’ve seen it feed the smallest sprout, and I’ve watched it split open earth like it owed it nothing. I've floated in its calm, and I've prayed inside its rage.

Water gives.
Water takes.
Without warning.
Without apology.

And in that, I’ve learned how to live.

To be fluid. To take the shape of what holds me, without losing myself inside it. To find silence without surrender. To move with grace, and when grace no longer serves, to rise, to strike, to swallow whole.

I am not afraid to drown.

I know the language of the deep. I know the beauty in going under. I’ve been held there. I’ve been remade there.

Water is not weakness.
It is the power to choose softness, until softness is no longer enough.

And when it isn’t,
it becomes the storm.

Inside me live both the stream and the storm. I am the quiet sip and the flood.

The healing and the hunger.

To flow is to surrender, to move without needing to know the destination.

It is to trust gravity, intuition, God.

And in that surrender,
I always find my power.