That afternoon, I decided to set foot towards the coast, a place about thirty minutes from where I live. The sky slowly turned golden orange, reflecting its rays on the calm water. A gentle breeze carried the salty scent of the sea and the sound of crashing waves accompanied my steps. I had not greeted this expanse of blue for a long time, and this time it felt like returning to a familiar embrace.
As soon as I arrived, my gaze fell on a row of wooden ships leaning on the edge. The ships came in various sizes, from large to small, with engines that looked sturdy and ready to challenge the waves. Various colors decorated the wooden bodies: bright red, bright blue, dark green, to golden yellow. Each ship seemed to have its own personality, telling a different story about their journey at sea.
Not wanting this moment to pass me by, I took my smartphone out of my pocket. With that small lens, I tried to capture the beauty of the coast and its ships. Each shot seemed to freeze the stories of the waves they had conquered and the wind that had pushed them to the distant horizon. It felt like every click of the camera was a silent conversation between me and the ocean.
I realized that behind the beauty of the ships, there was the hard work of fishermen who depended on their courage to brave the storm. Peeling paint, worn ropes, and scratches on the hull of the ship were silent witnesses to their struggle. This sea was not only a place for them to fish, but also an arena for fighting with nature that knew no compromise.
When dusk began to fall and the orange color faded to dark, I walked home with a full heart. The photos were small memories, but the message was much bigger. The ships on the coast of Aceh were not just inanimate objects; they were symbols of resilience, courage, and untold stories that lived in every wave that greeted the beach.