Written August 2023, Moorea, French Polynesia
It’s my first week back in Polynesia since life’s tide pulled me back to Denmark under heart-wrenching circumstances. After a 24-hour flight that felt like a bad hangover without the fun part the night before, I’m standing on the beach of Ta’ahiamanu on the island of Moorea – the exact same spot I left two months ago.
As I cast my gaze over the endless horizon, I catch a glimpse of my floating, temporary home lying there in the glistening, crystal blue waters.
In a way, it feels surreal to be back, and in another way, it feels like I never left. Except something is different this time around. I think it is me.

Am I Doing The Right Thing?
I’m not sure if I was ready to leave Copenhagen when I kissed my father’s forehead on that Sunday morning as he lied, sleeping, in his hospital bed.
How do you leave someone knowing it’s likely the last time you’ll see them?
I’m not sure if I was ready to hug the skeleton-like body of my mother, as she could barely get up to greet me goodbye.
I wasn’t sure where to put the responsibility as my brother walked me to the bus.
At what point do you prioritize living your own life instead of taking care of the lives of others?
I couldn’t express how grateful I was for my lovely friends as we drank one last coffee at the central station before I caught the metro for the airport.
So, this is me saying it now.
I couldn’t feel anything as I sat in front of my gate besides my heart churning in the pit of my stomach.
Am I doing the right thing?
I wasn’t ready for any of it, but I wasn’t ready for my Polynesian chapter to be over either, and I knew I couldn’t stay away for longer if I wanted to keep my job.

A Crushing Contrast
So, here I am again, barefoot in the sand, waving at my colleague to come pick me up. Tomorrow, it’s showtime – 17 fresh faces will grace our tour for one month of exploring.
The first few days back, I’m a fish out of water. Jetlag and sensory overload hit me like a ton of bricks. I paste on a smile and do my chores; my “Safety with Sara” course, filling dive bottles for hours on end, spending 6 gruesome hours in Carrefour, and running errands around Papeete.
It’s a crushing contrast; I spent the last two months in Denmark alone for the majority of the time. The silence turning up the volume on my hyperactive mind. But here, there’s so much noise, that I can’t barely make out a single, comprehensive thought.
The clinking of dishes in the galley, the rhythmic hum of the engine, the rumbling of the watermaker and the growling from the dive compressors – several hours a day.
Then as soon as these are shut off, music is turned on, and then there’s the tittle-tattle at all hours of the day. Take a deep breath. Exhale.
As I lie in bed at night, my mind’s a mess, I can’t untangle due to fatigue.
Welcoming Whales

Amidst the chaos, there’s a siren call. I spot our first humpback whale of the season on my way to Tahiti from Moorea.
A big fella defies gravity’s grasp as it erupts from the ocean’s surface like a leviathan of wonder, only twenty meters from the boat. Its colossal body emerges in a symphony of gleaming droplets. Sunlight dances upon its wet skin that carries textures, scars, and stories etched by the current.
And just when you think it can’t get any better, a rainbow paints itself on the sky.
For a minute in time, everything makes sense. This is why I’m here, why I keep saying yes to the world’s – or now the ocean’s – relentless invitation to explore the unknown.


The Humpback Spell
Fast-forward a few days, and I’m back at Ta’ahiamanu Beach. The soft golden hue of morning rises from the lush green mountains around us.
I know that there’s a friendly sea turtle living in this bay, that often pops its head up to say hi, and I know that sometimes a gang of tiny, playful dolphins shows up. But what happens next, I mean, you couldn’t make this shit up.
In the distance, I spot a humpback whale catapulting itself out of the water. For the next twenty minutes, I’m under the spell of this humpback whale-mother and her baby.
I think she has swum into the bay to teach the calf some whales tricks in the calmer waters. My eyes are wide with wonder as I trace her movements.
These majestic sea creatures come closer and closer, until they’re just a few meters away. Then, they head back towards the freedom of the wide, wild ocean.
This is why I collect moments, not things. I carefully open my mental treasure chest and gratitude starts oozing down the sides. I place this moment amongst the other countless moments locked in there. I close the lid again.
Welcome back, Sara.
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