Beach side story: sketch #21


Yearning to feel the sand on our toes.

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A bright morning. The sharp light of the sun fought its way through the blinds and coated the couch, table and the carpet with a soft yellow glow. Sipping a hot cup of Earl Grey tea at the patio, I caught sight of a tree that looked like a bunch of pink cotton candies strewn together. It has begun. Spring is finally here. Maybe it’s the tree, or the woman who was walking her pet, or simply the sugar in the tea, I turned to my husband, and said, “Let’s hit the beach”.

An hour later, we found ourselves in the car, dressed in shorts and airy shirts, and with a heavy bag containing snacks, beach mat, and lots of Calamansi juice. An excellent drive under the vast expanse of never ending cloudless skies. The sun was right above our heads, and the wind…ooh, the wind was a little chilly. Never mind, we thought, and rolled up the windows, and kept driving. But as we got closer to Rehoboth beach, and saw groups of people walking by, every single one in at least two layers of clothing, we realized that maybe, just maybe, it was not the best time to hit the beach.

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We parked the car, stepped outside, and in response to the first wave of cool air, thousands of goosebumps sprouted on our exposed skin. So we gingerly walked to the boardwalk — two under-clothed specimens, objects of everyone’s stare — and took two wide shots of the beach, before hopping back into the air-conditioned warmth of our car. From the rear view mirror we saw the pure blue of the Atlantic Ocean outlined by a strip of yellow brown sand. An enticing image, which like everything else in life, can only be enjoyed after a good amount of wait.

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This sketch is inspired by an illustration by Danish artist Zindy SD Nielsen. To see more of her works, click here.

Keep it burning: sketch #17


Make this your best day yet.


There might be times when you feel like a wreck. Crumbling under the weight of a wrecking ball that is life. Shards of glass run over by cogwheels. A tambourine without jingles. A guitar without strings… But rise you must from the dreck. Fight the drudgery like a candle in the wind. And believe you must in the shine of your wick, for if it dies, so do all the characters in the book that it lights.

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