Why is it so difficult to let go?

Ship: Regina Maris
Date: 12th of April 2025
Position: North Atlantic Ocean
Geographical Position: 46°46.701‘N 018°06.707‘W
Etmal: 174 nm
Total: 11,727 nm

„The closer we get to Amsterdam, the farther I wish it away.“

Yesterday, I said that exact sentence to Antonio on watch. We were talking about our feelings at the end of the voyage and whether we are looking forward to Amsterdam or not. In itself, that is no unusual question. I’ve spoken to many people about this topic already.

The opinions I’ve heard range from the „I don’t want it to end at all“-part of the spectrum up to „I am very much looking forward to home.“ I’m sure that some, if not most of us, have been changing their minds about Amsterdam and what it means constantly; and I am no exception to that.

But now that we face our return home directly and not just from months away, my feelings (or one certain feeling) have become clearer: The feeling of grief.

A type of sadness that only saying goodbye brings, the type that feels oh so bittersweet.

It is obvious that we are saying goodbye to many things: To the warm weather of the Caribbean, the excitement of seeing a new piece of land after having been on the water for a long time, to the way we learned to see the world — like it was a place for us to explore and have fun in.

But also, of course, to the people. To the ones whose deepest secrets we knew before their last names, the ones we lived with 24/7 in minimal space, the ones who don’t feel like normal friends anymore but like family.

But how do I explain something that you can only understand if you’ve been there yourself?

In my conversation with Antonio, I tried to find the right words to describe the difference between friendship on board and friendship at home. To me, the friendships at home feel almost professional compared to what we have here. My friends at home I usually see in school (or wherever I see them) and not that often outside of that space.

Of course, I still see the ones that matter to me more often, but compared to how often I see the people here — that’s nothing, really.

Living on top of one another changes the way you see each other in many, many ways.

Physically as well, we have become less materialistic and superficial, for our styles have changed: My personal go-to outfit consists of my right wool sock made by Omi (greetings!) and my left Christmas merino-wool sock or socks that Anna gave to me yesterday, rubber boots, sweatpants, and one sweater with a dirty shirt beneath it.

After all, I don’t need to look like a pageant princess for anyone here, do I?

But it isn’t just that. Due to the closeness of everything, we have seen each other in any outfit, in any mood, in any situation.
Excited after one more stupid idea, looking forward to every new day because of what it might have to offer, loving towards their loved ones and in love with life.

But I’ve also seen them shattered after a fight with somebody else, empty because of heartache, in pain because they miss that one person from home.

On a ship, you can barely escape other people — especially the ones that care about you.

I’ve written about that dilemma in another daily report some time ago, but there I focused on spending private time with one other person. Finding time and space alone when you’re not feeling well is difficult. But the good thing about that is that you’re never alone.

Your friends will know when you’re down and will be there for you — after all, we are all we have when we’re in the middle of the ocean.
I can say that I feel like I’ve gotten that last piece of the jigsaw puzzle someone is when I’ve seen them cry.

I talked about this with Marilen once and she said that she had felt true affection and a true connection to me when I had been crying quite heavily one really bad day (long story, not meant for the internet). In return, I remember one day when everything got too much for her and she was the one crying. We sat down in the same cabin we sat in that other day and I understood then what she meant.

I realized that there are different types of crying.

Everybody cries sometimes — out of frustration, anger, sadness, regret, even joy. It is proof of somebody’s trust when they’re crying in front of you, don’t get me wrong. But to have someone full-on weeping in your arms, telling you about whatever happened that hit them this hard and eventually even opening up about their past and how it still affects them in certain moments like this one — that is something entirely else.

Normally, this deeper type of crying is beared alone in the safety of isolation. But that is impossible here, so we get to see people feeling broken.

The trust of someone deciding that you are allowed to see them like this speaks of the truest form of friendship.

It connects, makes the bond between you even stronger and shows you that this person trusts you with their deepest secret: themselves in a dark place.

But of course, it’s not just the bad days that matter. We don’t have normal friendships because together, we’ve done so much more than we ever have, seen so much more of the world and learned more about ourselves. Alongside the kids and adults here, I’ve grown so much and that obviously connects.

But I also have seen paradise — the Caribbean, Central America, so many islands and towns. I’m only 16 and have travelled the world — how crazy is that?

Sometimes, it doesn’t seem as absurd as it is, because I’m doing the same thing that 31 other teens are doing, but in the end, I’ve lived the dream for the past six months and I’m still holding onto it — for it is not yet over.

The point is, though, that I haven’t been alone on this voyage. No, I’ve experienced it with others.

I have so many beautiful memories — here a Free Shore Leave with these few and there another Free Shore Leave with those other few someplace entirely different. I’ll always remember Ocean College not just for the places we’ve seen, but also for the people it has given me.

Can I call them ’normal friends‘ if they don’t feel like my past definition of friendship, but like something more?

Antonio’s answer to all of that was: „Now you know what siblings feel like.“ I suppose it makes sense. After all, we tease each other constantly, get into little physical fights, see each other always — in any and every mood — and feel like a closely knit community that belongs together.

And now it’s supposed to end? Even though we have done so much together?

That feels completely wrong and doesn’t make any sense. Those people are my family now; they belong in my life. But they all live somewhere else — between half an hour to ten hours.

That’s why I have mixed feelings towards Amsterdam: Because while it means that I can see my parents — and soon after, my friends — again, it also means that the time with my friends is over. It will never come back, never again will I see them all together in this combination.

Both my travels and my time with them will be over. And that is just really, really painful. How am I supposed to let this part of my life go? I don’t know that yet. But I guess I’ll have to figure it out, don’t?

After all, I’ll be home soon. Too soon. In about a week.

Just a few more days with the ones I learned to love — and I’m sure that I want to make them count. It’s all I have left, isn’t it?

So I want to seize those last few days, last evenings, last late-night talks, last nights without sleep, last times working in silence next to each other, last times I’ll chat with them, last times I’ll have them next to me…

…because it is the last time I can do it. And I want to use that as best as I can.

Notes:

Talea: Hi Mina, ob du’s glaubst oder nicht — ich habe heute Spätzle gemacht! Bis bald in Amsterdam! Hab‘ euch alle lieb…

Marie: Alles Gute zum Geburtstag nachträglich, Papi!

Can: Hallo Chabos, ich freue mich, heute die erste Nacht auf See durchgeschlafen zu haben und kann sagen, dass ich mich nach einer Woche langsam daran gewöhnt habe, in den Schlaf geschaukelt zu werden 😀

Chris: Wow, die letzte Zeit ist verflogen… Ich freue mich schon, euch alle bald wiederzusehen!!

Niklas: I like to popel in the nose and also I am 29+1, so 30.

Ella: Mama und Papa, eure Post ins Peter Café Sport ist leider nicht mehr rechtzeitig angekommen. Freue mich auf euch in fünf Tagen!