Fish Tale
Because of a genetic predisposition to schizophrenia, I avoid drugs. Instead, I snorkel.
Many may ask how I could ever compare tripping off acid or doing shrooms to snorkelling, but I believe you get the answer as soon as you finish asking the question. Think about it—you’re floating in water looking down at a whole different world. It feels like you’re flying over intricate cities, watching its inhabitants going on with their lives, very rarely paying attention to what you’re doing. They’ve all got their purpose and their routines, symbiotically co-existing in this beautifully designed chaos, where everyone contributes to the shared ecosystem. I get the same feeling walking through a busy street in a city during peak hour, everybody has a place to go and a place to be and no one is paying attention to me. It feels like I’ve died and no one can see me, and I’m watching over them like some sort of spectre. Witnessing these sea creatures exist makes me realise that I do not matter, life goes on without me and that to me is a form of soft ego death.
I am also reminded of how vast the ocean is and every snorkelling moment is a reminder that I am so small. Just like when on drugs, I start wigging out about how small I truly am and how vulnerable I am in this big blue sea and have to comfort myself by imagining that I am swimming in a fish tank in a Chinese restaurant somewhere and that there are no threats around but people eating sweet and sour chicken.
You cannot convince me that the visuals of hallucinations are better than those you see in the water. I have tried my best to explain a few of the things I have seen, both odd and beautiful, but I can’t seem to get it right, they are too unique, too peculiar to even find the words. I do not have enough skill or vocabulary to do these phenomenal beings justice. But all I can say is how I find it so fascinating how everything in the water is organised. For instance, the shades co-existing, creating such an immaculate symphony of colours, where the fauna matches the flora perfectly. Or the schools of smaller fish of the same breed coming in multiple colours in the perfectly balanced colour palette as they move in such synchronicity. How their stars live among them, coming in different shades of blue, crimson, bright orange and more than anyone can count. Why wait to meet aliens when nudibranchs are a thing, these extraterrestrial-like miniature creatures that come in the craziest forms, or even just cuttlefish that can shape-shift and change colours? Let’s not forget the flora: like these gorgeous lilac seaweed I saw on my last snorkelling trip that resembled feathers of a big bird growing out of vibrant corals, calmly swerving side to side as the current passes.
Many people dismiss fish as dumb creatures made to be eaten, but if you think that, you’ve probably never watched tropical fish in their habitat. Their faces hold so much character — almost human, in a way. The triggerfish, for example, has a stern expression, big lips, and unkind eyes that perfectly match its nasty personality.
My personal favourite is the pufferfish, with its googly eyes and chubby, nervous little body. I once stalked one for a good ten minutes before it couldn’t handle the attention anymore and hid under a rock until I left.
Did you know there’s even a fish with a nose that resembles Pinocchio? I don’t know much about them, but I imagine them as snobby French timekeepers — that’s how vividly expressive these fish faces are; you can almost picture what they’d be like as humans.
Divers know this best: fish have personalities. Some are curious and friendly, and some will come straight for you if you’re in their territory, no matter how much bigger you are. It’s disappointing that we don’t appreciate them as much as we should.
Nothing compares to witnessing a Manta Ray in the wild. These majestic creatures will instantly put you in a trance just by being in their presence. Watching them dance in the blue abyss, some are larger than me but they appear so light, like a light veil dropped from a building gracefully floating in the wind. They are calming and regal and hold this tangible energy that I once again find hard to explain. I will never get over witnessing a sea turtle and find it so endearing that they move through life in solitary and admire how comfortable they are being alone. They remind me of puppies as they play in the reef. But my favourite part is seeing them sleep with their eyes closed surrounded by fluffy seaweed and squishy corals, I had once seen one resting its head on a white shell like it was a pillow.
The ocean equally calms me and makes me think more than any other place. I often think about how fish have no idea what they look like and it made me wonder how life would be if I, like a fish, didn’t know what I looked like. How would that be? Like, does a frog fish know how unpleasant it looks? If it had the possibility to see itself and realise that what it’s looking at is actually itself, would it affect them? These are the kinds of questions that arise as I float about.
But mainly, I think about how I envy their freedom in being born with a set purpose and task, that they were put on earth to do a few things and few things only, resulting in them being freed from any questions on their purpose in this world. They do not have to think about what it is that they are, they just do what was programmed. A fish is free.
I may never be as free as a fish but I have felt freer and freer every single time I am in their presence, learning from them just existing. How sometimes maybe I shouldn’t be so preoccupied about what it is I should be or do and just do what feels natural to me and follow my heart like they do with the current. I have also learned that no matter how small or how insignificant I feel, I belong in this world and have something to contribute, just like how the small fishes are detrimental to the well-being of the ocean life, they matter way more than they seem to. This last statement may contradict what I had mentioned in the beginning but both are true and it may be confusing for some but to me it makes perfect sense.
Where the strongest currents are, where the movements are most intense, is where wildlife thrives, bringing in the richest biodiversity because currents carry the most nutrients. The same goes for life, where the most beautiful things grow from rough patches, and every hardship becomes a chance to grow your internal garden bit by bit. Last but not least snorkelling reminds me to stay curious and look closely at things, to take my time observing and being patient, because in those moments is when I discover the most beautiful gems the ocean can offer.
I can assure you that no drug could ever bless me with lessons so impactful.
Vahine Blaise, Komodo Islands, November 2025
