As I stepped foot onto the worn deck of the research vessel, the salty sea air enveloped me like a damp shroud. I had been assigned to this cabin, nestled in the ship’s hull, to take a ‘sailing intermission’ – a euphemism for ‘ emotional leave’. My last falling out with Dr. Rodriguez, the lead scientist, had left me reeling, and my colleagues had deemed it best for everyone if I took some time to collect myself.

The cabin was dimly lit, the only sound the creaking of the wooden walls as the ship rode the swells. I retreated into its quiet solitude, seeking refuge from the scrutiny of those around me. But as the hours ticked by, the isolation began to seep into my bones like the chill of the surrounding waters.

I thought back to the incident – Dr. Rodriguez catching me exploring areas of the ship she had explicitly deemed off-limits. She had seen it as a betrayal, and I couldn’t say she was wrong. But that had been a moment of weakness, a lapse in judgment brought on by desperation and the desperation fueled a need for the ocean itself.

The ocean that flowed through the ship’s hull like a constant heartbeat. It was part of me now – as invasive a part as a scalpel wielded by an unskilled proctor. I began to see my own flaws as contradictions equally impactful as the waves that crashed against the stern of the ship.