Once upon a camping dream
- Khwahish Punjabi
- Sep 25
- 3 min read
In the wonderland of adventure!
RAZAN AL BARWANI
BRIGHTON COLLEGE, DUBAI
I ’m sitting under the cover of the tent’s fabric, its delicate material fluttering under the cool breeze, creating ripples that fold in and out of the small air space I’ve made by cupping my hand against the upside of the shelter. The tent is blue, just dark enough to blend into the night sky but pass for the color of a deep sea bank, making it seem as though it’s not fabric dancing but waves crashing over my palms and spraying the finicky desert sands across my skin like sea salt and foam. My fingers drift slowly across the image like sea serpents. In some areas, the fabric is thicker than in others, and its soft scratch against the overarch of my nails makes a hissing sound high enough to sound like a water snake. It’s so easy to get lost in the fairytale of it all. I want time to still and just let me breathe. Slowly, I turn to the tent’s entrance, invited by the high howling notes of the wind, feeling like a snake charmer’s pet, and I rise. The space is small but less cramped than swaddling and seems to pull me back by the ankles, pleading for me to stay within the comforts of the familiar, and something tugs at my heartstrings like a lazy violin. Contesting this, however, is the wind warbling a tune so desperate its woodwind song swells to the level of an entire orchestra.
When I sigh, I know it in a pitch much lower and quieter than the airy wailing outside. I’m about to give in. It doesn’t feel so bad, the decision fluttering around in my head like a bird let free of a cage for the first time. Leaving the tent, I feel less like the bars themselves and more like the precious singing creature inside them. I look down at my arms; they feel longer and heavier standing up. The hair on their skin stands up on goosebumps triggered by the cold shock of the wind. It feels prickly and oddly pleasing, its sensation varying in intensity by skin thickness in the limb or digit. My fingers fare worse than my forearm; their sting is bright and painful- as vivid as the stars contrast to the inky black color of the sky. It’s a gorgeous view; thousands of millions litter the sky and shine so brightly. I don’t notice as the pain subsides, but my hand is worryingly multicolored. For instance, a pale, sickly cream from the base of my thumb sits next to an ugly mottled green at the second knuckle, under a gross transition into an unevenly painted marine blue. They stand out against the warm color emanating from the bright red joints connecting my fingers to my hands’ lower half. Blood vessel spasms are visible from underneath the thinness of my skin, swelling slowly and stretching the cracked layers that rest above it.
“ I inhale the crisp scent of the desert night, mingled with the faint aroma of candy melting on my tongue. ”
Instinctually, I place it into the pocket of my pants. Diving through the fabric, searching for warmth. The fine unraveling threads embed themselves behind my nails, hurting me a little, but my head’s still turned to the stars. A meteor goes by too quickly to make a wish, but I blink and think of one anyway, and the afterimage of its trail flickers in my mind, burning itself painfully into the backs of my eyelids the same way it blazes its gaseous form. The thought is still fresh in my mind, and I picture thousands more like it—each a new dazzling color representing the intensity of its heat. Reds so deep they dive back into the navy trenches of my little tent’s oceanic hue and blindingly warm whites. The heat creeps slowl
y from my mind into my hands, smoothening my fingerprints ticklishly. When I returned to my tent, the mattress was still warm from when I sat on it. Small chips of candy are left from when I settled in earlier, and I pick one up, dropping it into my mouth absentmindedly. It’s a sharp, sweet burst against my tongue- a contrast to the chilly night air lingering on my skin. Wrapping myself in the blanket, I lie down, feeling the gentle sway of the tent as the wind continues its nocturnal dance outside. I inhale the crisp scent of the desert night, mingled with the faint aroma of the candy melting on my tongue. Content, I allow myself to drift into a peaceful slumber, lulled by the gentle symphony of a flute-like breeze and the rocking shifts of fabric waves.
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