I want to sit on Dungun beach as dawn breaks, and watch as the first rays emerge from the distant horizon.
I want to listen to the gentle lapping of the morning waves as they wash ashore, bearing seaweeds and shells and broken bits of driftwood.
I want to feel the sand, gritty and sticky and wet yet so achingly familiar, under my bare feet as I pace the water's edge.
I want to breathe in the pure, refreshing air of the South China Sea, that hangs over Dungun like a misty blanket.
I want the fisherfolk to hear my heartfelt prayers, as they push their boats out with the first morning light.
I want the turtles to heed my laments, urging them to return to this shore they had abandoned years before.
I want to sweep the dead leaves off my mother's grave, and plant a kemboja tree with its pristine white flowers, in her memory.
I miss Mum, and I miss home...