By Mariah Anderson

They say a human is made up of 70% water and that the ocean makes up roughly 71% of the entire planet. If the ocean makes up the majority of our home, then why has only 5% been uncovered? This single question is racing in my mind as I look out into the open sea. I’m the only person on this beach. Granted, it’s nighttime and there’s a slight chill in the air. The sand is grainy and rocky, so I can see why this isn’t a super popular spot, but I like that I have a moment of solitude. Although I am alone, I don’t feel it. The moon is above me and it is seamlessly working with the tides, just for my pure tranquility. I quickly let go of that thought as I realized they would’ve been doing that anyway, that I am a trivial factor to this experience. Surprisingly that eases me, as I am confronted with my insignificance. I let this sink in as I stare up at the moon amidst the clouds painted a midnight blue. I dig into the pockets of my sweater, bringing up with my hand a pill box. It’s one of those with the small, semi-transparent fragments labeled M, T, W, and so on for the rest of the week. The rattling of the pills in the box annoys me, so I throw them in the body of water in front of me, along with my phone that is in my other pocket. I know, I know, I even feel a pang of guilt as I do it, knowing that it won’t make this pollution problem any better. But I’m tired—very—and with the smidge of solace that act provided me with, I feel almost a little justified. I end up just taking off my sweater and throwing it beside me. It’s a really nice sweater—Scottish cashmere, I believe. It did run a little small on me though. It was gifted to me 10 years ago for my birthday by my mom. She was so happy that I liked it because she went on a huge hunt to find one in this exact shade of blue that would be my size. A year later, when I was faced with the fact that that was my last birthday with her, I guess I held onto it for a little longer than expected. I bet my 12-year-old self didn’t expect that, one day, the right pocket, the one mom would stuff my gloves into whenever it got cold, would be holding a pill box. I bet the only thing younger me wouldn’t be surprised by about my life now would be that I still love the ocean. Whether it was the hot summer days in the water or the cloudy spring-day-picnics with mom on the rocky sand, the beach, the ocean, her—that was my home. I’m brought back to this present moment when I feel a warm tear trickling down my cheek. I realize how cold it’s gotten and I hastily try to get my sweater again. But as I take a look at it, I realize that if I’m not doing it now, then I never will. I scrunch up the sweater and put it against my face, taking in a last smell, feeling the soft fabric in between my fingers. I put it beside me again and stand up. Inhibited, I start to undress and look around to see if anyone is there. Of course, no one is. I focus my attention on the sweeping sea ahead of me and think for a second, if the moon has the power to sway this water, then could it have the power to control the 70% of my body that is made up of exactly this? That leaves me with a slight smile. As I walk out and the piercing water gets deeper, I feel a sense of serenity as I’m going back home, to which one, I don’t know yet.

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I’m Mariah, I’m from Chicago, and I love to watch movies and read and trying new restaurants.