15 May 2025
Late last night, one of our new guests, Rakia — another solo female traveller — booked the Redang snorkeling trip. Since she was going alone, Lukeman asked if I’d accompany her, both as a companion and to experience the Redang trip myself so I could recommend it to future guests.
I was thrilled — I adore Juita, but I’d been longing to explore a little.
We were up early, coffee and breakfast done by 9am, and by 9:30 the boat arrived. The golden morning sun kissed the ocean, which shimmered in every shade of turquoise and indigo. I’ve always loved the sea, though I haven’t spent much of my life out on it.
Something in me breathes wider out there — freedom tickling my face with every salty spray, awakening a smile that rises from my soul.
This place… is truly spectacular.
Verdant jungle rolls down to ancient grey boulders. The sky is painted in a shade of blue I didn’t know existed.
And then, colorful boats clustered around vibrant islands.
We pulled up to our first stop: Turtle Point.
We could hear the delighted gasps of tourists before the boat had even stopped.
And then — magic.
A giant turtle surfaced right beside me, taking a long, luxurious breath before gliding back into the depths.
The water here… I don’t even have words. A surreal, animated shade of cyan. Dreamlike. Alive.
The turtles here are accustomed to boatmen feeding them, so they swim close — wild and free, yet comfortable in our presence.
One swam lazily below me, circling — and I couldn’t stop the delighted squeal that escaped me. My eyes met those of this ancient being, and I felt my inner child light up in awe.
Just then, another boat pulled in — a pirate flag waving to the beat of reggae music, a full-on Jack Sparrow, hat and all, dancing on the deck. I had to laugh.
The Malays are some of the happiest people I’ve ever met.
We saluted the pirate with appropriate grandeur, then dipped our masks one last time to wave goodbye to the turtles.
Next stop: a beach somehow even whiter than the last, with sand so soft it melted underfoot. The water? A turquoise so vibrant it looked photoshopped.
Rakia and I, now firm friends, shared burgers and grins that grew bigger with every view.
“Surely it can’t get more beautiful than this?”
And then it does. Every single time.
After lunch, we skimmed the waves once more — and then gasped.
Ahead lay a sandbank that had emerged from the sea, white as snow, glowing in the sun.
Boats were anchored around it, and tourists strutted like models on a floating catwalk. Even I couldn’t resist.
We took turns posing and laughing, snapping postcard-worthy pictures that shimmer with joy.
The next stop was more rugged — a coral garden hidden behind two towering rocks.
The boatman dove in first, beckoning us to follow him through a narrow tunnel.
I hesitated. Claustrophobia, meet sea cave.
But I trusted — and followed.
Tiny fish scattered as we emerged into a secret cave, sunlight pouring from the opening above. We clapped like children, overwhelmed by its hidden beauty.
Then came our final stop: Shark Point.
The wind had picked up and the sea was choppy. I was first in, adrenaline buzzing.
Below me, blacktip sharks danced — sleek and numerous.
Suddenly, I noticed one of the other guests, a woman, nearby — gasping, panic in her eyes.
No one else had seen her drift and something was clearly very wrong.
My yoga training kicked in.
I swam to her quickly.
“Breathe with me — in through the nose, out through the mouth.”
She was cramping. I turned her onto her back, helping her float. I had no chance of getting her back to the boat myself, so I guided her to flex and point her feet — a yoga trick for cramps.
It worked.
Still, she was in shock, frozen.
I waved urgently at the boat, but before it arrived, a diver surfaced beside us — a fellow guest.
Without hesitation, he began pushing her through the current, flippers slicing the water.
Others helped. A life jacket appeared.
We made it back.
My muscles ached. My energy was drained. But the cheers that erupted on the boat? The gratitude in her eyes?
Unforgettable.
She said I’d saved her life.
And maybe I did.
What I know for sure is that I stayed calm — that my intuition and connection to the ocean took over.
That I was placed there for a reason.
And that this… this is what I came to Earth for.
Back at camp, dinner was a blur.
I slipped away early into my tent — grateful, exhausted, alive.
