Into the Pacific Blue

by Bianca Saldanha (New Zealand)

A leap into the unknown Fiji

The sun was out in all its glory. Shards of lightning white light emanated from the sky and mingled with the heat. I turned back and looked at my empty cocktail glass. Beads of sweat trickled down into a small puddle at the base. I’m glad I got to the pina colada first. I curled my toes into the white sand. It was cooler underneath. A small crab scuttled past – probably used to the disruption of tourists. I looked towards the ocean. It was pointless going back for my phone to take a picture. How could any camera capture the myriad of blues ahead of me – was it turquoise blue or sky blue or ocean blue? Or maybe it was Pacific blue. For as long as I can remember, the underwater world fascinated me. Yes pictures told a thousand words. But unless you learn the rules of the underwater world, you cannot really ever participate. You will always be an outsider looking in. The pool was so different. One colour (definitely ice blue). A decided depth. Being an immigrant, I was the exception – in my thirties learning to swim in a land surrounded by sea. Several lanes over, the children raced past effortlessly like a shoal of fish. I was undeniably the fish out of water. I could not snorkel in Fiji if I did not learn to swim. If I wanted to avoid being the outsider, I had to go in. I plopped on to the sand and slipped on my bright pink flippers. I thought bright pink would surely conquer fear. I did the usual “spit in your mask” tip that everyone swore by. And then, slowly and awkwardly, I shuffled in to the ocean until I was waist deep. I took one last look at the beach for a landmark (bar shack) and then strapped the mask on. I dived in before I could change my mind. It was all swirling mud and confusion at first. But like a curtain being pulled aside, my eyes adjusted. As I adapted to the water, the conscious effort of breathing gradually became unconscious. The coral was where the fish would be. Blue starfish pointed the way. I arrived to giant immovable brains. Underwater gardens where brown mushrooms grew wild alongside other bulbous alien vegetables. Fingers that swayed with the currents while remaining anchored to its hand. It was overwhelming to think that these structures were alive and also contained life. As I hovered above homes, I was encircled by a kaleidoscope of colours. Tiny neon blue fish zipped past. Pinstriped yellow and white fish with blue fins and blue bellies gathered in a corner. Zebra coloured fish stopped and stared. Unperturbed, a green fish with pink and black stripes continued to sift through the sand. Amidst the traffic, two “nemos” popped up unexpectedly – a lucky glimpse of celebrities. A tiny luminous blue jellyfish glided past like a cruise ship. A shy brown octopus slinked along the floor and squeezed itself into a crevice. A pink and orange couple sauntered by. Like a play with untold characters, there were introductions of stripes and polka dots, the flamboyant and the muted, the simple and the exaggerated. There were fish with beaks and fish that were tropical parrots. In many ways, this world mirrored the storyline above. Inevitably, I lost track of my own progress. The vast expanse of the ocean appeared from nowhere. I was an outsider who had become too immersed, too involved. I peeked above and realized I had drifted with the current down the shoreline. The bar shack was several lengths to my right. The depth now bottomless. The curtain was closing. And panic started to sink in. Limbs became tangled. Breathing regressed to spluttering. The bravado of the pink flippers faded. This was beyond the swimming pool. This was the unschooled Pacific blue. And then, out of the blue, a hand reached out to me. An unexpected gift. I could not see his face behind the mask. I reached for his hand with gratitude. I was not the only one that day who had taken a leap into the unknown.