I climb up a mountain with my friends. They gather young coconuts for its juice and meat. I stay at the shanty and read until I fall asleep. When I wake up, we're off to our next destination.
Then I go swimming with my friends. They play with the water like children in the summer, toss plastic bottles, laugh. I dip myself slowly until all of my body is wet then get off and sit silently on a rock, watching. When they do another round of swimming, I dry myself and go back to the cottage.
Then we go home at dusk. The moment my back hit the bed, I am fast asleep. I wake up before midnight and I write this vanity script.
I write about how pleasurable it is for me to be sitting idly in a shanty on top of a mountain facing the vast sea, feeling the gentle wind whisper its journey in my ears. How exciting it is for me to read a book when I'm closer to the sky and how rewarding it is to take an energizing nap away from the hustle-bustle of the polluted city.
I write about how I am able to have my own moments of silence amid the peals of laughter and gushing water while sitting in a rock and trembling with the cold. How much I enjoy watching the happiness of my friends, how the clear waters overwhelm me and render me silent so that I can hear myself telling me what I need to do with my life.
It may not be bursting with energy or done in the most cheerful of ways but that is how I unwind. After all, enjoyment is not measured by the extravagance of the get-away or the decibels of your laughter and merry-making. Rather, it is gauged upon the silent realization that when you go home, your heart becomes lighter when it once was too heavy.
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