The Old Man and the Sea

My memory of consuming the must-read translated version as a kid is blurry. Perhaps, I was too young to understand that scenario in which an elder but proud fisherman eventually had to accept the fact that he was losing his strength with age. It seemed to be a plain voyage of an old man fighting for his life against a fish in the ocean the whole time; however, the most gripping part for me was the descriptive writing, so vivid that I could visualise how the skiff was being dragged by the hooked fish underwater through the slant line against the bow. It felt like shooting an epic scene with an IMAX camera, capturing every wrinkle on the old man’s hands, the sound of the tail splashing up and down astern, and the glint on the tips of the raised gaff under the sun. Floating along the waves, his whispered monologue seemed aloud, as if I were sitting there on the stern listening to him and watching everything closely.

The old man’s true enemy was not the fish, but his own deteriorating body. The ageing process is inevitable; no living creature can be spared from it. Singers may find themselves unable to reach the high notes that once came effortlessly in their youth; athletes often face short career spans due to the immense physical demands; and people like us may one day find that even the simplest daily tasks have become unachievable. In those moments, it is our maturity and wisdom that guide us to decide when to push our limits and when to accept them.

The Old Man and the Sea is such a short yet profound piece of literature, depressing yet inspiring. Although it is far from an exciting and dramatic tale, I genuinely found it to be an enjoyable narrative over the past few days. It truly resonates with me in a way it reveals that we are not perfect, and that we might as well embrace that imperfection as a gift given by nature. We are only human, after all.