Aurora's Dive

The sunshine warms my back as our small rowing boat comes to a halt. After glancing skyward one last time to ensure the weather holds, I lift the rock tethered to the boat. It is heavy, cool and smooth in my hand. Carefully, I inspect every knot, running my fingers along the length of the rope, ensuring its strength. Not only my success but also my survival depends on it. With only a touch of hesitation, I release the rock overboard and watch its descent, my stomach a tight knot. All preparations are complete. It is up to me now to prove my worth.

My goggles secured, I take a last deep breath and dive in, following the rope now connecting the boat to the ocean floor. The tropical water envelops me like an embrace, filling my body with tranquillity. My heartbeat slows and my stomach relaxes. There is no need for thought; every movement is well-practised and fluid. The muscles in my arms and legs flex and relax as they have done a thousand times, propelling me into the deep. I swim past schools of fish, flashes of blue, red and yellow, each following their purpose as I follow mine. Always staying close to the rope, I descend deeper into the abyss. With every metre, the pressure intensifies, and the water becomes colder and darker. 

When I reach the point where the ocean’s push turns into a pull, I am drawn deeper with little effort. Weightless and free, I soar through the water. The ocean draws me in, the pressure in my lungs and on my body becomes stronger. And then I see it—the dark rock, contrasting with the sandy bottom it rests on as if it belonged there. When I reach it, my bare feet touch the cool sand and send small clouds up into the water that dance and settle around me. My mind expands as my eyes lose focus, immersed in the vastness of the underwater world.

Down here, I feel humble, awed by the life and space stretching in every direction. Sea animals and plants of all shapes and colours surround me. I am one of them, a creature of the sea… Every living cell, every drop of water, every rock and grain of sand is a part of me, as I am of them. We are all merely specks of dust in this universe, insignificant yet essential to the whole. Nothing exists but emotion—total serenity.

A gentle touch on my ankle brings me back into my body. I watch a group of sea cucumbers slowly drift around my feet. Aware of my body and its needs once more, my lungs are drawing my attention, signalling the need to breathe soon. So I snatch two handfuls of the animals and stuff them into the bag I wear strapped to my waist for that purpose, making sure to close the buckle thoroughly. Pride ripples through me, but I know I cannot dwell on it, this is not yet done. Pushing off the ocean floor, I begin the arduous swim back to the surface, following the rope.

This is the most challenging part, physically and mentally: swimming against the tug of the water, the pressure still pushing into me. Doubts start to creep in, as they always do at this point. My insides are starting to moan, soon they will be screaming. I do not have much breath left. Will it be enough? I stop myself; following those thoughts would lead me into a rabbit hole of panic, using up my remaining air much too quickly. I focus on my movements. Arms, legs. Arms, legs. My mind zeroes in on the way my limbs push me up through the water, the way I was taught. One moment at a time. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Every movement now requires conscious effort. There is no way out but through. I will not give up.

I pass the floating point, and suddenly I am gliding more easily. The tension in my mind and body eases a little, the ocean supports and guides me now. Yet my lungs are increasingly straining, the urgency to breathe becoming nearly unbearable. I cannot allow it yet, there is still water where my lungs expect pure air. Focus. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. I spot my support divers further up in the water, waiting to guide me safely to the surface. Nearly there. A brief pause that I need to avoid getting sick, then my body streams upwards again, I have turned into an arrow flying towards its goal, precious air. When I see sun rays dancing around the other divers, I briefly close my eyes to remain focussed. Another stroke. And another. Each getting me closer to survival. I can do this, just a few more…

Suddenly my head breaks through, I am out. My mouth opens and my body sucks in the air greedily. The life force rushes into my nose and mouth, runs down my throat and floods my lungs. I feel them expand, swelling more with every breath, while my feet kick to keep me up. My senses start tuning into the new environment, impressions bombard me, stun me. The surface world seems alien for a few seconds. Bright light after the dimness, noises after the near quiet, air rubbing across my skin after the velvety water, the warmth of the sun and coolness of the wind in my face, sea smells invading my nostrils. My shirt billows around me, following streams of the water I am no longer intimately connected to.

I inhale and exhale, slowing my breath, deeply appreciating every exquisite bit of air. I close my eyes and savour it all for just a moment. Then, smiling, I swim over to the boat. My support divers have already climbed back aboard. I grab onto the side and pull myself up, too. As soon as my legs touch the wooden planks, I untie and triumphantly lift the bag containing the sea cucumbers. I have completed the challenge. Finally, I am one of them, a member of the Divers, the providers of our village.