The Young Woman and the Sea

When I lived in Malaysia, I used to sit on the covered balcony of my beach hut and watch the storms far out to sea. You could see lightning bouncing off the water, and the place where the sky changed abruptly from blue to grey. On a really good day, you could watch the storm move in towards you, until the first rainspots hit. Once they did, I would move inside and sit cross legged on my narrow bed under the window, watching the raindrops spatter on the glass, turning the sea black and the sand dirty brown. But afterwards, the sky would be bluer, the air crisper despite the heat, and I would grab my dive gear and go and sit on a wrecked fishing boat eight metres beneath the surface, watching the marine life settle and adapt to changes in the sea floor. I would sit there, air perfectly balanced, motionless, and let the fish get on with it. It was a meditation. Quiet and still, and otherwordly.

That’s kind of how I feel today. The mental storm of the weekend has passed, and I am sitting at my desk, having done next to no work today, eating a Jordan’s Crunchy cereal bar, and feeling… calm.