At the port that morning, everything felt different. The sun was rising slowly, painting the water in golden reflections, but my heart was pounding — I was the youngest seafarer on KRITI RUBY, ready for my very first voyage.

KRITI RUBY stood before me, imposing: endless meters of steel deck, an engine that hid rhythms and stories, tanks filled with cargo — and with memories of other people. People who had become attached, who had loved, struggled, dreamed, and embraced life in the solitude and intensity of the sea.

In that moment, I realized that “anchoring” was not just about anchors. It was about tethering one’s soul to the ship. It was as if I had to dive deep into the currents of time and salty wind, becoming part of KRITI RUBY itself.

The crew was a small society. People from different places, with different stories, different values. But at sea, differences dissolve — all equal under the same sky, sharing the same watches, the same sweat, and the same anxiety when the weather turns rough.

The captain — calm but stern — told me something I would never forget: “On KRITI RUBY you are never alone, even when you feel alone. The ship itself speaks to you. You must learn to listen to it.”

Hours passed as we completed loading. My first watch found me on the bridge, watching the water opening before us and closing behind us — like wounds that heal slowly, leaving scars. Every wave brought thoughts — about what I left behind, about what I feared ahead.

As night fell over the deck, I realized that the true anchoring of my soul was not in the port we had departed from, but on KRITI RUBY — which from that day became a second home. On KRITI RUBY, that made me feel both grand and small; strong and fragile; free and bound.

My first journey had barely begun, yet I already knew I had anchored — deep inside myself.