I’ve never been far from home. Brisbane has always been my whole world—same school, same beaches, same skies—but this summer, everything was different. My parents, both marine biologists, decided it was time I explored my roots in Samoa. Usually, in the summer, they went on research trips while I went to a marine summer camp with my best friend.
Instead of flying, we took a ship—yep, a sea voyage. I was so excited. Ever since I could remember, I wanted to be a marine biologist myself. We left Brisbane early in the morning. The ship was called The Varuna—not a cruise ship, but a research vessel. It wasn’t fancy, yet I had my own room, a tiny cabin with a big window. That little window became my favorite place in the world over the next few weeks.
The first couple of days were rough—like literally rough. The boat rocked so much. I felt so nauseous I couldn’t even brush my hair without holding onto the sink like it was going to run away. But eventually, I got used to it. The rhythm of the waves felt like a heartbeat I didn’t know I had.
Every day the ocean looked different. Some days it was still and clear, like glass was poured over it; other days it was grey and moody. I saw dolphins one morning, just before sunrise, leaping along the bay like they were racing us. It was unreal. I stood there in my pajamas, freezing, completely amazed.
There weren’t many people on board—mostly scientists, a few crew members, and one other teenage girl, Maria from Sydney, traveling with her aunt who studies whales. Maria had this wild curly hair and this way of talking like everything was a journey. We clicked almost instantly. We would sit on the deck at night in a blanket, talking about school and life back home. She taught me about constellations; I taught her how to make necklaces. It was like we had known each other forever, even though we had just met.
We stopped on an island—Fiji. It felt like stepping into a postcard. Fiji was where I went snorkeling for the first time. The coral was insane, like a rainbow exploded underwater. We visited a village where kids gave us flowers and sang songs. I couldn’t stop smiling the whole time.
But Samoa—Samoa was even more incredible.
As we got closer to the island, I could smell salt, flowers, and something sweet I couldn’t name—all the best fruits and berries combined. The water was the prettiest shade I’ve ever seen.
The capital, Apia, was warm and buzzing with music, laughter, fresh bread, and meat. After the traditional welcome ritual—the Ava ceremony—Maria and I explored markets full of jewelry, fresh fruits, and fabric.
I tried panipopo, a stuffed bun soaked with coconut cream, and I’m still thinking about it. We swam under waterfalls, our voices echoing through the jungle. I remember lying on my back in the water, just floating and thinking, this is the kind of moment that changes you.
Before we left the village, my mom made me meet my great-grandmother. She was an old woman with long grey hair. As we spoke, I felt like I was talking to an old version of my mom.
Sure, she was old but utterly wise. She told me that when my mom was little, she looked exactly like me. She asked me to describe Australia, and after about an hour of talking, my dad said we had to go.
We had a farewell. There was fire, dancing, singing, drums, and food—so much food. There was another ceremony, Siva afi, a dance performed by men with knives and fire. I looked around and felt a spirit in my chest—not sadness, not really—but something like it, and maybe I wanted time to slow down, to have another week here in Samoa.
On the way back, I sat by my window like I always did, staring out at the ocean.
The night after we left for sea, Maria and I talked and talked. Eventually, we decided to have a sleepover in my cabin. We set up a pillow fort and told old spooky stories and myths.
On the last day on the boat, I was looking out the window. Yet I didn’t feel lonely. It felt like the sea wasn’t something that separates places but something that connects them—and maybe it links people too.
I don’t know how, but I know I’ll never be the same.
This sea voyage has been the best thing that ever happened to me.
Image Courtesy: https://www.pexels.com/@francesco-ungaro/
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– Love, Sidra Fatima
About the Mini Wordsmith
Sidra Fatima is an imaginative 11-year-old artist and storyteller with a heart full of dreams. She loves crafting, reading, and weaving stories that often reflect her fascination with the ocean. With a passion for marine life, Sidra aspires to become a marine biologist one day, exploring the wonders of the sea up close and inspiring others through her adventures.
