The Pristine Pramuka
Esperanza V Clarissa, Year 8
I wake up every morning to the sound of waves lapping
against the seashore and dolphins frolicking in the surf. My
dad is preparing breakfast - mackerel with some traditional
fried rice, I can tell - while whistling a little ditty.
We sit at the edge of a wharf that jus out the island,
overshadowing a school of yellowtails feeding on small fries.
The morning tide is just high enough that it reaches my
ankles when I dangle my feet down. And if I stay still long
enough, fish will gather around and brush against my toes.
My dad and I talk about our plans for the day: a boat trip
around the Thousand Islands archipelago, snorkeling at
Pramuka Island, then ending the day with dinner at a nearby
floating seafood restaurant. Before leaving, I pack some
snacks and drinks onto the boat while my dad meticulously
prepares our fishing gear in case we come across a school of
skipjack tuna.
The trip goes smoothly - crystal clear waters and no waves.
My dad offers me to drive the boat. I accept. As I am about to
sit down, something whistles from the port side - high-pitched
and trilling. I peer over the front of the boat, my hands still on
the wheel. To my surprise, a pod of bottlenose dolphins are
bow-surfing - twirling and even swimming upside down, their
bright white undersides showing. I mimic their whistles,
joining in their trilling melodies. Soon, the air was filled with
random clicks and whistles. We stop at Pramuka Island, only
an hour and a half away from where we are staying. Some
locals greet us with genuine smiles on their faces and help us
tie down the boat at a nearby jetty. My dad and I already had
our wetsuits on, so all we have to do is put on out flippers and
snorkel. My dad jumps in first, spraying salty droplets onto my
face. My turn. I slide off the side of the boat and plunge into
the crystal clear sea, feeling the water part around me embracing its cool touch against my skin.
I breathe through my mouth. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.
The sea teems with life - planktons, a fish here, a sea slug
there, and the occasional miniscule jellyfish drift by my face
and sending little pinpricks of pain along my skin. The ocean
floor looms over twenty metres beneath me, yet still visible.
Small coral reefs called 'cleaning stations' dot the sea floor,
illuminating the water with an array of colour: cyan with
orange spots, magenta anemones intertwining with a
turquoise fan coral. We come across a sheer drop-off
blanketed in coral and sponges.
I take a deep breath - preparing for a free-dive - and
position myself so that my feet are slightly above the
water and kick, propelling myself down. Three metres,
four metres, five metres... I stop. I am eight metres below
the surface, I can tell. The pressure in this depth is