The closest I could get to a beach is the bathtub. No beautiful sunrises and rustic sunsets, no comfy relaxing sand beneath my tired feet, no fresh and salty air to fill my lungs. This saddens me, I long for the beach. I miss the sound of waves crashing into rocks. I miss swimming, floating in the water like I am burden-free and weightless. I miss gazing at the blackest sky beaded by stars like diamonds. But I have to make do with this small stone mould filled to the brim with warm water and little bubbles which marry the smell of chamomile and sweet, sweet soap. I couldn’t dive in but I made sure my entire body’s soaked and covered with the softest, whitest foams. I even created big and small waves through my hands and legs. I imagined the light bulb is the sun shining bright on me minus the tan. Yes, I’m in a cramped apartment bathroom and it’s a far cry from the sea and its beautiful, breath-taking horizon. But this ain’t bad either. How many times did I wish for a tub two years back? How often did I get to have bubble baths in the past? I guess I just have to accept that I can’t always be where I desire to be and that I should not feel trapped when I find myself somewhere else. ‘Cause there’s beauty everywhere. ‘Cause my beach can be found wherever I decide to put my feet down, take in the scenery, and rest. My beach is where I am, so long as I carry the tranquility the sea creates in me. Not a bad life, it’s still very sunny where I wade after all.