My mother was the only one who believed me when I returned from the sea. She believed me not because I was her son, or because she was unconventionally open-minded, but because she accepted that there are gaps in our collective knowledge. There is so much of our world that remains unseen. Most people have an aversion to ambiguity, so they reject the existence of any phenomena that cannot be seen, explained, or verified through empirical evidence. My mother accepted that there are things in this world that we are yet to see, may never see, but that this doesn’t disqualify their existence.
‘Marine Biologist from Swansea University found after 95 days in the Philippine Sea.’
This was the news headline on various local newspapers in Singapore after I returned. Everyone wanted to know my story. I was an anomaly: how had I managed to survive for so long out at sea? Where exactly had I been for the past three months? How had I made it back? My disappearance and return garnered a lot of attention. After spending a week in a local Singaporean hospital, I was released to the ravenous press who wanted to know what had happened. So, I told them. I was more than happy to share the details of my adventures and the extraordinary sea creature that saved my life. However, not long after word of my story spread, I gained the unfavourable name of the crazy fish guy.
“He is suffering from PTSD”, “he probably drank too much seawater.”
I disappeared on a beautiful day in June. Professor Stevens, Professor James, and I were staying at a lavish holiday resort in Luzon, Philippines — all expenses paid by our institution. With the help of our private guides, Boon-Mee and Lay, we were going to explore a secluded archipelago in the Philippine Sea. At thirty-three, I was the youngest of our little cohort.
Our journey began at dawn on a speedboat packed with scuba gear, study equipment and cooler boxes filled with our refreshments for what promised to be a long and productive day. As Lay started the engine, I smiled to myself and inhaled the fresh morning sea air, ready for the two-hour journey.
An hour into our trip, we stopped at the base of a magnificent limestone rock. Green tufts of moss and shrubs covered its grey and white body, its peak shrouded in thick, lush greenery. As our boat gently drifted on the calm waters around the rock, Boon-Mee poured us each a cup of hot coffee from a large silver flask before handing us cinnamon buns wrapped in foil. With our bellies full and warm, we set off for the last stretch of our trip. As we drove away, I watched the rock shrink until its peak disappeared below the horizon.
Surrounded by endless stretches of open sea, I kept my gaze forward, enjoying gentle sprays of water on my face. Time passed quickly and soon, in the distance, I saw the faint silhouettes of one, then two masses of land — we had arrived. As we drew closer, several more islands rose from the water. I observed excitedly as the sea’s shade transitioned from a deep blue hue of the open waters to a lighter, calming shade of teal and turquoise.
Everyone sat in awe-struck silence as we gently eased to the heart of the islands. Sitting in the shape of a “C”, each island had a unique irregular frame, but they all adorned matching thick hats of greenery that kept the air cool and fresh. The quaint area was impossibly tranquil with a mysterious, almost mythical feel in the air. Isolated and largely undisturbed by the outside world, the islands’ authentic allure was palpable. The main island at the centre was fringed with a thin, powdery white beach, delicately lapped by emerald waves.
As we took in our surroundings, Lay switched off the engine and let the boat drift. He turned and smiled at the appreciation in our eyes. He pointed at a narrow gap ahead of us between two islands before restarting the engine. When we reached its mouth, we drove in, moving between towering cliffs that blocked the sun. The shadows brought a sudden chill that raised goosebumps on my arms. My heart skipped a beat when we eased out of the passage. What lay on the other side filled me with childish excitement.
As a Marine researcher, I had visited several wondrous coral islands across the world, but none compared to the striking form of the atoll before us. The boat carried us forward on a turquoise surface. The closer we drew to the ring of coral, the more I saw of its grandeur. I felt both enthralled and intimidated by the sapphire pool enclosed in the massive grey circle of reef. We carried on down a kaleidoscope path of rich blue shades. The lagoon encased by the reef stood like a jewel at the centre of the magnanimous sea.
The boat stopped once more on the edge of the coral reef. The surrounding water was so unbelievably transparent that undisturbed parts of the surface looked like glass. Small schools of fish whizzed below us, a subtle indicator of the thriving marine life below.
Lay gave us a brief history of the islands and the coral reef. It was a well-known paradise to tour guides; however, it was deliberately kept from tourists to preserve its unfaltering natural beauty and biodiversity. He pointed out how there was something unique about the lagoon; unlike other atoll lagoons, this one had a particularly dark centre, right at its core. Boon-Mee explained that locals viewed this suspiciously, believing there was something sacred or mythical inside, but geographically speaking, the dark colour indicated a depression in the bedrock. Neither Lay nor Boon-Mee had ventured to explore the deepest part of the lagoon. Boon-Mee shook his head vigorously when I urged him to explore the mysterious part of the lagoon with me.
“Don't open a door just to see what's on the other side,” Lay said gravely, looking at the lagoon.
“We say this in our culture because sometimes you may not always like what you find on the other side. We are not brave enough to explore it, but feel free to. This is why we are here.”
And I did. I was brave enough to open the mysterious lagoon’s dark door. It was in its depths that my story began.
Suited in our scuba gear, the four of us gathered in the middle of the boat and set two-hour timers on our watches. Both professors specialised in Marine geology, so most of their day would be spent at the islands with Lay.
Boon-Mee and I stayed behind to start with the coral reef. We jumped over the gunwale before the professors and Lay drove off. I gave Boon-Mee a thumbs up before we plunged beneath the surface. I slipped from the quiet world above, into a still, noiseless expanse below. The water was warm and delicate on my hands and face. The sun’s rays effortlessly pierced through the water, illuminating a hidden kingdom. I swam towards the reef with ease, weightless in my surroundings. I gasped in excitement when a couple of clownfish darted past me. Their radiant, orange bodies beamed in the water as they led me to their home.
It wasn’t a sudden revelation; the coral reef unveiled itself slowly, carefully, one vibrant colour and one mesmerising creature at a time. I hovered above, taking in the oceanic garden bursting with colour and life. I studied in turn the intricate brain coral amidst the multicoloured anemones, beside the lacy, elegant sea fans, which sat next to the antlered staghorn coral. Like luminous stray blotches of paint on a splash canvas painting, parrotfish, bannerfish and butterflyfish swirled through the reef, oblivious to their contribution to the surrounding beauty.
I spent the first hour exploring the wild and untamed reef, overwhelmed at times by its profusion of life. One of the highlights from the first hour of my dive was when a hawksbill turtle swam past, completely unbothered by my presence. It dawned on me as it glided past without casting me so much as a glance, how small I was; a microbe in something more immeasurably large and beautiful than I could ever imagine.
Then it was time to go deeper into the mysterious abyss. Boon-Mee was a little way off, taking pictures of a symphony of surgeonfish that swam in sync above him. I reached him, pulled out my diving slate and wrote him a message: I want to go deeper.
I could see the trepidation in his eyes as he read my message. He shook his head and took the slate from me. He stared at it for a moment before scribbling his response: I will watch you from here, but please no more than five minutes!
I nodded and set a second five-minute timer on my watch before raising my wrist to show him. He raised his thumbs in acknowledgement. I tucked the slate in my back pocket before descending to the centre of the seabed, where the reef dulled in colour and fewer fish frolicked. I switched on my head torch and moved down a slope that led to a medium-sized opening in the floor. The closer I got to it, the more the light faded, and the temperatures dropped. My scalp pricked in anticipation as I paused briefly before diving through the hole.
With my heart beating heavily in my chest and ears, I soon found myself in a large chamber of nothingness; a large empty hall with walls that seemed miles apart. There was no life and no light; just a jagged, irregular floor and walls of rock. Despite the dullness of the abyss, I swam around in search of something more. I did find something—another oval-shaped hole in the chamber floor, just big enough for me to pass through. I surveyed the second hole greedily, eager to continue, but before I could swim any further, my wristwatch vibrated—five minutes were up.
Part of me knew that I should turn back—if nothing else, so I wouldn’t worry Boon-Mee—but the curious learner in me beckoned me forward. I allowed myself another five minutes and advanced, making a mental note to apologise profusely to Boon-Mee when we resurfaced. I would never get the chance.
What I remember most about making my way through the narrow passage was how careful I tried to be. I was perpetually conscious of not damaging my diving gear with the rough walls. As I carefully moved forward, I remember a distinct, abrupt drop in temperature followed by a sudden ringing in my ears. The ringing was paired with an uncomfortable pressure in my ears and a wave of lightheadedness. The beam on my head gave ample light, but my vision was blurred.
I froze in my tracks when, within the darkness, two blue glowing balls suddenly appeared at the far end of the passage. I clutched at my chest, the pressure on my body increasing. My hands began to tremble, my chest expanding and contracting with erratic breathing, when the balls appeared to move towards me. This brought on an overwhelming wave of panic and a desperate desire to get out of the water. I spun around and swam with anguished vigour back to the dark chamber.
Despite a feeling of weakness spreading through my body and the struggle to see through speckled vision, I reached the empty chamber.
Relieved, I swam to where I recalled the hole back to the lagoon to be. I scoured the chamber ceiling, tapping and banging, but the entrance was gone. Confusion gripped me next, accompanied by uncertainty over where I was and if I was awake or dreaming. I paused my frantic search momentarily to steady myself, closing my eyes and hoping that a moment to calm myself was all I needed. When I reopened them, my heart leapt to my throat. The two blue orbs from the passage were moving towards me. Small, bright glints at first, the round luminescent balls doubled in size as they closed the gap between us.
The last thing I remember was turning away in blinding fear.
I had a dream; in it, I was swimming naked in crystal clear water. I was happy as I swam with incredible ease and agility through rays of sunshine streaming from above. My younger brother, Rolo, was there with me. He looked the same as he did the day he died: eighteen, young, athletic, his lips spread into his typical big, bright smile. Unlike me, Rolo was dressed in white shorts and a vest. He floated alongside me, his eyes shining with excitement. We raced playfully, only slowing down when we saw a bright yellow light ahead. Rolo’s smile never left his face, but I suddenly felt unnerved. The daunting light moved towards us, increasing in size and brilliance as it did. I tried to swim away, but I couldn’t move. I turned to Rolo, who hovered next to me, a passive look now on his face. His smile was gone. I tried to speak, to call out to him, but no words came out of my mouth. Then the light engulfed me, and Rolo disappeared.
I woke up on a cold, wet rock, my head searing in pain. When I managed to pry open my lead-heavy eyelids, I slowly realised that I was no longer in the water. Looking through the foggy lenses of my mask, I pushed myself up, groaning against the numbness in my arms. My whole body ached. I sat up and raised the mask off my face. As my surroundings slowly took shape, panic brewed in the pit of my stomach. My eyes darted around, taking in every detail of a sea cave.
Large, indented rocks hung from the high ceiling, their surface coated in a purple and grey pigment that glistened with moisture and sparkled in the light. Directly in front of me lay a pool of turquoise water, its clear surface shimmering against the sun pouring in from a small opening in the rocky ceiling. The gentle rhythmic trickling of droplets falling from above echoed in the small cave.
I found myself on a flat rock coated with the same dark magenta as the cave rocks. The rock beneath me connected seamlessly with a wall behind me that extended up to the ceiling.
Shrugging off my scuba diving kit, down to my flippers and wetsuit, I made to stand up, leaning against the wall for support. The cool air was tinted with the smell of damp earth and sea salt. I surveyed the cave again, sighing as my reality sank in. I wasn’t dreaming, I really was in a cave, and yet, only a moment ago, I was in the water. Besides the narrow gap in the ceiling, I couldn’t see any other way out of the enclosed cave; the only other exit was through the pool.
I sank back to the cold ground, raising my knees and bowing my throbbing head between them. I noticed my mouth then, dry and burning with thirst.
Where was I? How did I get here from the underwater chamber? The memories suddenly rushed back. I remembered the narrow passageway, my hyperventilating and… I raised my head and froze. There they were, the two blue orbs from the chamber, fixed on me from the middle of the pool.
This time, however, they were attached to an off-white elongated head, similar in shape and size to a rugby ball. The creature’s face was freckled with black, yellow, and orange spots, and dozens of semi-translucent, grey tentacles fell from the back of its head. Reminiscent of long flowing hair, the tentacles cascaded down the creature’s back into the water, where they floated, creating small ripples on the surface. Below its blue eyes, thick, dark, grotesque, sagging lips hung in a permanent frown. I stared at it, paralysed with fear and incomprehension. What was I looking at? Some kind of jelly-blobfish-octopus hybrid? I couldn’t see the creature’s body, but I could see a faint blue glow—the same bioluminescent shade as its eyes—pulsing gently below the surface.
When I finally braved myself to move, the creature didn’t react. I inched back until my body was pressed against the wall. Time passed, its eyes never leaving me, never blinking.
Perhaps after an hour, my fear of the unidentified creature had subsided, but when dehydration and fatigue caught up to me, I began to feel woozy. I moved along the cave wall, searching for cracks in the rocks, but the solid mass was intact. A few moments later, I heard the faint sound of a splash before turning back to see the pool empty.
Left alone, desperation replaced fear. I had to find my way out. I picked up my scuba gear, hopeful, but slumped to the ground when I saw the dial of my oxygen tank gauge at 0. With my back to the cave wall again, I shut my eyes. My only escape route was through the pool, but without knowing how deep it went, or where it led and with barely enough strength to stand, I didn’t know if I could swim my way out.
I drifted to sleep, waking up with a jump to see the creature back in the pool. It had changed. Its blue orb eyes were smaller and now looked vaguely human. Its sagging lips had also shrunk, and they too almost looked human; full, plump, and placed in a slight smile. We stared at each other once more until it raised one of its tentacles from the water. A long, smooth, elegant tentacle made its way towards me. I gasped and cowered against the cave wall. The creature stopped its tentacle mid-way and observed me squirm. The tentacle didn’t have suckers like a squid or octopus. The long limb was lined with the same black, yellow and orange freckles it had on its face.
When I was calmer, the creature extended its arm fully and placed a massive yellow and pink conch shell at my feet. My suspicious gaze shifted between the massive shell in front of me and the creature’s arm as it receded into the water. I waited, and when the shell simply sat where it was placed, I inched closer. I tentatively peered into the abnormally large shell’s mouth and saw a clear liquid. My eyes widened in hopeful anticipation. I dipped a finger into the liquid and lightly licked my finger—fresh water. With both hands, I raised the conch to my lips, taking a small sip at first, and then a gulp. My eyes brimmed with tears as the refreshing water soothed my dry throat.
Satisfied, I lowered the conch and turned to the creature bobbing in the water. My fear shifted to intrigue and curiosity. This otherworldly creature, whatever it was, had comprehension and cognitive skills. How did it know I was thirsty, let alone possess the knowledge of what thirst was?
It had given me fresh water, meaning it understood that I couldn’t drink seawater. Where did it get it from? Feeling rejuvenated and letting my curiosity and gratitude guide me, I moved to the edge of the pool.
“Thank you for the water.” I immediately felt stupid. I was talking to a fish.
Now that I was closer to it, I noticed more of its features. It had two small bulbous protrusions on the top of its head in front of where the tentacles began. I assumed these could be its ears. Its skin wasn’t textured like a Cephalopoda or scaled like a fish; it looked soft. The creature didn’t respond; I didn’t expect it to, but it did cock its head in curious observation as it gazed at my hands. We seemed frozen in time as it focused on every inch of one hand and then the other.
After a while, it moved a tentacle towards me. At that point, I didn’t think the creature would harm me, but my heart pounded frantically as it placed the end of its cold appendage on my fingers. I clenched my teeth, forcing myself still. The end of its tentacle opened to a hollow, bowl-like shape. It gently roamed my hand and then moved up my arm to my face. Another tentacle came out of the water and fell on my chest. The creature’s cup-hands ventured all over my body, and in time, my breathing slowed down.
I smirked and stifled a giggle when it ruffled my damp hair and when it traced the tip of its cup-shaped hand along my eyebrows, lips, and jawline. When I glanced back at it, its mouth was slightly parted, revealing small, pointy teeth that looked like needles. Its eyes darted all over my body in quick movements. The creature’s expression and needle teeth sent a chill down my spine, but I remained still. The cave was silent except for the sporadic dripping of water from the ceiling until my stomach growled. When it was finished, it withdrew its arms and gave me one final look before sinking below the surface.
When night fell in the dark cave, I was still alone. To my delight, beautiful blue bioluminescent light radiated from the depths of the pool, giving me just enough light to see my hand.
I woke up the next morning to the touch of something cold and clammy on my face. After I had blinked the sleep from my eyes, I yelped in surprise when I noticed the thin grey fingers on my cheek. I sat up abruptly, finding the creature waiting at the edge of the pool, a smile on its dark lips. A tentacle floated in the air, and at its end were now five slim fingers like mine. The hollow cups were gone. Open-mouthed, I ogled the make-shift hand, blinking a few times in disbelief. I reached out and carefully felt each finger. Its flesh was soft and gelatinous.
“How?” I asked myself, squeezing each finger in turn. It withdrew its hand, picked up a red object from the edge of the pool, and brought it to my face. I stared at the packet of Tohato Caramel Corn Puffs, dumbfounded. The feeling of being in a dream returned briefly, till the creature brought me back from my trance when it dangled in front of me, in another hand, a dead, white and grey fish.
On the verge of tears, I wolfed down half the packet of stale, but sweet, caramel corn puffs, then descaled the fish with a small rock. I picked off bits of its flesh, paring it with a corn puff to hide the raw taste. Once I had eaten half of the raw fish, I rinsed my mouth with some water from the conch.
Feeling an odd sense of gratitude towards this strange being’s benevolence, I smiled at it, and it smiled back. Its slightly curled lips, its plain, inoffensive grey face put me at ease.
I decided to move closer, so I made my way down the small slope into the pool. The creature kept its eyes on me as I slid into the water. I took a deep breath and slid below the surface, curious to see its body. Its tentacles were a lot longer than I thought; they seemed to extend to no end, far below the creature’s body. It had a rounded torso below a short, thick neck, which thinned out at the base into a long, slender tail, like a seahorse. I resurfaced and moved closer, unafraid when some of its tentacles floated around me. Its head was twice the size of mine, and its eyes were the size of apples—large, brilliant cobalt blue eyes with mesmerising, gleaming specks of silver that swirled slowly. Gazing at the creature’s face, I felt an equal mix of intimidation and comfort as we simply drifted with each other.
I spent the next two months with the mythical creature. I spoke to it, shared stories about my life, and in time named it Rolo. Its androgynous look and lack of genitalia made it impossible to tell its sex, but it wasn’t important. Eventually, with words and hand gestures, Rolo was able to understand me when I was thirsty or hungry. I would take the large conch and hold it to Rolo’s face and say, “More water, please.” Rolo would then wrap the conch around its extendable fingers, disappear into the pool, and return shortly after with fresh water.
I also learnt one day that Rolo was amphibious. I woke one morning and found Rolo next to me, lying awkwardly on its back, tail upturned, its eyes fixed on me in silent observation.
We swam in the pool every day, where I rambled endlessly about everything, and Rolo simply listened. Without an oxygen tank, I was never able to swim very far into the pool.
Rolo continued to bring me fish and occasionally bitter seaweed. I began to draw tally marks on the cave wall to keep track of how long I had been there, and after roughly sixty-five days in the cave, Rolo disappeared. We spent what would be our last day together as usual—swimming and talking—and come nightfall, Rolo left and didn’t return the next morning.
When I woke up, his spot next to me was empty. When nightfall came once more, and Rolo had not returned, the loneliness and feeling of abandonment came crashing down.
From the first time I woke up in the cave, I never quite felt alone and lost. Despite the severity of my predicament, I never truly felt preoccupied with thoughts about how and when I would leave the cave. With Rolo gone, I realised how its presence had kept me from these thoughts.
On the second day of solitude, my reality consumed me completely. I began to ration the little water and fish remains I had left. If I wasn’t hopelessly clambering up the walls to the opening in the ceiling, I was sitting by the pool, demoralised and frustrated by my failed attempts.
I began to wonder if I had imagined Rolo. Had I truly befriended a sea creature that was part seahorse, part squid, part octopus, with the unsettling ability to morph parts of itself into human features? In a moment of helpless frustration, I flung my empty oxygen can against the rock. But then I saw it, in a corner, the empty packet of Caramel Corn Puffs from my second day in the cave. I hadn’t imagined it. Rolo was real, but it was gone.
Fifteen days passed, and Rolo still had not returned. It rained twice during that time, and I managed to gather a meagre amount of rainwater from the gap above. Eventually, I stopped carving lines into my wall tally. It was pointless.
On the day that I was down to my last sip of water, I ate every bit of fish and seaweed I had left. After my last meal, I wore my flippers and goggles, waddled to the poolside and jumped in for the last time.
I surveyed the cave one final time before taking a deep breath and plunging deep into the water. Kicking with every last ounce of strength I had left, I swam deeper than I had ever gone before. Despite my lungs screaming for air and my chest and throat tight, I carried on. I longed to see Rolo’s pudgy, gentle face once more. I stopped a few meters in and clutched my throat in a desperate last attempt to hold my breath. Seconds later, overpowered by the urge, I surrendered, allowing my body to take its last breath.
“Sir, can you hear me?”
The voice was a faint whisper at first, but then the volume increased to an urgent shout.
“Sir!”
I sputtered, my throat raw and painful. A stranger was beating my back aggressively as I coughed up the last of the water from my lungs.
“Let it out, you are alright now, sir.”
I saw my flippers first, parts of them covered in light brown sand. The beach took shape next, and then the gentle waves ebbing and flowing on it. I squinted in the bright sun, my breathing slowing down to a steady cadence. The sea stood before me, grand as ever, the horizon long and wide in the distance. It was a beautiful day. A gentle breeze blew past my moist face. The sea looked like a flat blue road without a single hump in sight — except one. I blinked and narrowed my eyes for a better look. Far out, in the middle of the water, Rolo watched me. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand, but when I looked up once more, he was gone.
Smiling, I let the stranger help me to my feet.