The Tides

My mother often told me stories of her life on the island.

Sharing a room with my twin sister, we'd implore our mother with incessant cries to enthrall us in the little stories of her childhood before the lights went out.

My mother’s family was chief of an island named Chuuk. Though small in size and futile in the expansive economy, Chuuk returned its colorful populace with splendors of coconut groves, history and rich culture, and a tide that brought forth the stories which finally invited sleep.

The tales created from the recollections of my mother’s youth were creatively woven with lessons, morals that I cannot forget. It’s a true gift, I think, to satisfy my sister and me while secretively etching ambiguous messages for us to deter in later years.

It is now that I will return to the tides on the island of Chuuk.

Mother described the tides with an air of both admiration and fear. She explained how the tides contributed to the phases of the moon, as well as recurrent adaptations to the sun and the moon. The tides were personified as a lively thing, capable of sinking ships or bringing families joyously to its shores.

In her curious days, my mother would venture off, not too far from view’s eye. She’d find aquatic treasures of shelled crabs, washed-up jellyfish, and sea urchins. My mother was never indifferent to the creatures of the sea. She rather enjoyed their promising stories, for surely she’d run to pappa and tell him all about her boyish adventures.

However, one day, my mother and a few of her cousins ran to the beach in exultation. Never minding the rocks and broken shells littering the beach, she stepped on a prickly evil sea urchin. The sting caused her to wince in pain, exclaiming to all her family what horror fell upon her.

How quickly this event had changed her perception of the waters and all its inhabitants.

But, days after this accident, mother was seen again trampling on the shores of the ocean, without a care in mind. Her countenance expressed no sense of trepidation or fear, notwithstanding the uproar and blotted face that advanced after the stingers’ prick. Her mother had warned her to be cautious and watchful of the waters, and so she was.

Another day, the cheerful island explored sunshiny weather, with a breeze that cooled the toughest skin. Uncles frying up fish and barbequing amongst the wives and primp ladies. A few elders were seen enjoying the day on their motorboats, talking; and the children splashing against the waters.

My mother could not resist the temptation of such a wondrous day. Setting aside the incident which seemed miles away now, she walked along the shore, and keeping an eye out for her watchful parents, swiftly swam to greet her cousins in the depths of the sea. They had much fun, treading the water and playing childish games. It was then that an eel grasped hold of my mother’s hand, hanging tight on her pinky finger.

The powerful bite sent her uncle diving off of his boat, cradling the young girl all the way to shore. The pair were met with fearful aunties and young mothers and sent the children out of the waters quickly.

Here, my mom paused, showing us her right hand, and the evidence of the terrible crime the eel had committed.

Mother was stubborn. As stubborn as a child can be in their youth. Given her mother’s solemn advice, she swam to the deep end regardless and suffered the consequence.

I hadn’t welcomed the idea of hidden morals and messages until I experienced them myself. The tide was a story that taught my mother the lesson of accountability (a lesson I learned after a cold 4th-grade experiment). I recall my mother’s bedtime stories and the matrix of her words now as a semi-adult.

I hope to pass down renditions of these stories, from my experiences likewise, to my children one day. I wish for them to hear and retell the formative lessons they learned to their children as simple enjoyable bedtime stories.