- When my family goes on holidays abroad to coastal destinations, we tend to buy three sets of snorkels at around 10 euros each for myself, my sister and my dad to be able to admire the fish. From time to time, I would get overwhelmed by the sounds of children screaming and couples splashing around in the water and the generally loud sounds that come with a beach. In response, I would simply adorn my snorkel and lay my face flat against the water surface so my ears were below it but the back of my head above. I can guarantee I looked a little out of place simply standing up straight, with only my head in the water. But it was one of the calmest states I have ever felt. The gentle sway of the waves splashing over the back of my head as though their only purpose was to comfort me. My steady breathing being the only thing I could hear which made me feel totally in control. The ability to completely mute everything and everyone else and replace it with the sound of the thing that keeps me alive and steady felt so powerful yet oddly calming at the same time. And I was guaranteed to force a smile past that plastic tube in my mouth when I saw the small fish absentmindedly swimming past me, consumed by their world, in the same way each of us is everyday.
- When I wake up really early on a cold, winter morning from the sounds of the harsh winds billowing against the dying leaves and accompanying them on their dance to the ground. I take a look at the time and realise I don’t have to get up for another few hours. I pull my blankets closer to me and slowly drift back to sleep, with the sounds of the uneven pitter-patter of rain tapping against my window.
