Slowly, I sink down feeling the hot water engulf me, almost like I am being carefully wrapped in a comforting blanket. I situate myself, allowing my back to lay against the bottom of the tub, resting on the bumpy yet familiar texture beneath me. Somehow, I continue to go deeper, submerging my head by tilting it back. My hair, once a unique shade of orange, turns dark brown as it swims, picking up the water and warming my scalp with it. I heave a sigh of relief and gently close my eyes. 

I’ve always been one to mock the art of meditation. The idea strikes me as odd and impossible to achieve. How could someone ever sit quietly for so long? How could they rest in silence without their stresses and anxieties driving them crazy? My mind has always been the restless kind, yet here, in this place, it begins to slow down, just like a downpour eases into a mere sprinkle on a rainy day. Call me a hypocrite, but as I lay down against the tub, I enter a nearly meditative state. I experience all that cheesy stuff you read about mindfulness in articles online: I am calm and full of simple joy and I can accept my anxieties as they are. I don’t need to worry here. 

I pour soap directly into the stream of running water exiting the silver faucet and heaps of bubbles providing incredible scents begin to appear. I smell ylang-ylang and lavender, followed shortly by the subtle sweetness of coconut and grapefruit. These may seem like a bizarre array of scents to an outsider, but to me, the combination smells like home, like tranquility itself. The bubbles of soap drift atop the water like miniature clouds floating within a boundless horizon, giving me the liberty of being able to swim through the air, as free as a bird. Once again, I lay back down and breathe. I feel each breath I take reach the very bottom of my lungs, each as cool, fresh, and invigorating as the last. It’s rare for me to feel so at ease, so I dare not take even a second of it for granted.
A tall black speaker is resting on the white porcelain countertop a few feet away from me. The music it plays is so loud, I can feel the vibrations of the soundwaves through the floor. I bet the music is so loud that my parents can recognize the lyrics from all the way downstairs, but I don’t care. I’m laying there, smiling ear to ear as I belt the words to my favorite songs. I despise the idea of people being able to hear me sing, but right now, I choose to ignore that would even be a possibility. How could anyone be able to hear me from the clouds, anyway?

I sink down again, submerging half of my head in the heated water, my nose, eyes, and mouth just barely above the surface, allowing my effortlessly full breaths to continue to come to me just as easily as before. Each song is so powerful that I can still make out the words even though my ears are underwater. I keep singing as another smile sweeps across my face. I laugh as hear my voice in a distortion; it doesn’t sound like my own, but rather like a voice you’d hear in a children’s cartoon: absurd yet amusing. Despite the strangeness, I feel nothing but pure joy, and my song continues.

Eventually, my throat starts to ache, so my singing ceases. I silently sit up and start to look around with curious eyes. I examine the bottles on the silver rack above the faucet: A short white bottle holding a coconut-scented shampoo, an even shorter white tub holding an exfoliant, and a green squeeze bottle holding a cream that I use to style each wave on my head every night. Then there are two hairbrushes, one pink and one black, a comb that I’ve never used, and finally, two tall black bottles each wrapped in a metallic blue foil. These always have a tendency to catch my eye simply because the shiny blue wrappings of the bottles present a distorted reflection. I often stare into these glossy surfaces and see my stretched, blurry face follow my exact movements, much like a child at a carnival would if they were to gaze into a funhouse mirror. I am very easily entertained.

The steam rises from the shower head. My bathroom has been transformed into a rainforest, ridden with dense fog. Much like a humidifier would, the air inside the shower helps to ease my breathing, and now each breath flows in and out, more effortless than ever before. The hot steam condensates as it meets the cold porcelain walls surrounding me. The droplets run down the wall, appearing just as raindrops would as they race down a car windshield. It seems almost like the droplets themselves are sweating just as I am. Although I despise sweating and the heat that brings it, this particular warmth is so soothing that it is worth every unpleasant bead of perspiration that it may bring.

After what feels like hours of soaking up steam, I begin to do what I came here to do. I lather shampoo carefully in my hands and apply it to my scalp. If I listen with intent, I can hear the bubbles make a sound that can only be described as a sizzle, vaguely like pancake batter hitting a frying pan as it is poured. It’s almost ticklish and I can’t help but smile as I continue to fold the suds between strands of hair. At this point, the music is back on and I ignore the ache in the back of my throat as I sing with more passion than ever. My smile, much like sunbeams, fills my personal sky with radiant light and joy. I’m floating up with the soapy clouds and I truly feel untouchable. My day-to-day worries and cares can’t reach me during this daily thirty-minute flight through the air.