In the month of June in 2004, the sun’s hot rays danced through the clouds as if showing off its new moves before landing on the ground. The hotness surrounded me, clinched in every possible way. I stood to find a shelter, a place where I could save myself- and breath.
As I entered, darkness filled the chilly room. Through the glass windows, bright eyes of every color stared at me, as if I were a meal, and ready to be munched on. Different shapes of these strange looking creatures stayed in huge tanks filled with water. Swimming freely, they seemed to own the place. Inside the other tank, I saw a lady covered up in a divers’ suit with an oxygen mask, feeding these creepy creatures. I saw countless of these creatures surrounding her; asking for more. The job seemed spine chilling or rather fascinating. It was here, where I noticed a life-changing spark of interest lighting up inside me.
In that summer, I went to Sea World with my family in San Antonio. I saw people with reddened skin, half-soaked clothes, running here and there, and enjoying the heat. I, on the other hand, imagined myself at home, on a couch, watching Shark Week. However, it didn’t take long for me to stumble over my passion. It awaited me, begged me to explore.
That dark and chilly room felt like heaven. Everywhere I looked, I saw different species of sharks. “Nothing could be perfect,” I thought. I stood in the room filled with sharks for an hour, taking pictures and videos of their every movement. The people didn’t appear too crazy about sharks. “Okay, so these are sharks, big deal!” is what they thought.
My family followed me. As we all stood there motionless, I heard someone yell, “I want to go home!” My niece, only thirty-nine inches tall, was right beside me, and in this dimly lit room, hard to spot. Skinny, with big black eyes, and jet black hair, she loved pretending to be Dora the Explorer or Ariel: The Little Mermaid. Never had she been in a room filled with scary looking sharks-and not her loving Flounder. Stunned as she stood there with her mouth wide open and eyes as if they were going to pour out tons of water, she held on to my sister for her dear life. After ten minutes or so, we were asked to leave. As my niece repeatedly screeched “bad shark, bad shark!” I saw my ray of hope slowly sinking.
“No one sensible would choose to do such a thing,” exclaimed my family. They always thought of my obsession for sharks as a psychological disease. Sharks according to them aren’t friendly, or at least, don’t seem to be. For them my goal was chosen. They wanted to see me sitting in an office, wearing a lab coat with a stethoscope around my neck, but somehow, this wasn’t enough for me.
One night at home, water gushed here and there, the boat swung in its own way; made it even harder to stay on track. The moon disappeared, took its darkness with it as the sun painted the sky with different colors. The ocean seemed endless and nothing like itself at all. Suddenly, a giant creature spun out and in of the deep waters with a prey, scrunched between its razor-pointed jaws. The screen went black. The show ended there. Having watched the show for the hundredth of time, I knew the dos and don’ts and the facts about sharks by heart. I knew that excess splashing attracts sharks and that sharks lose as many as 30,000 teeth during their lifetime. Simply knowing the facts and watching the T.V. shows weren’t enough, I wanted more. I had to overcome my curiosity.
A week later at school, as I was still recovering from the obsessive encounter at Sea World, I saw my science teacher hanging up some decorative pieces on the wall. This act meant that he had recently visited a new place and with excitement, he displayed his achievements. Mr. Bob was tall, dark-skinned, with hair as white as snow; had answers to almost every question. He traveled to different places and always bought memorable things for his students. For me, he was not only a teacher but also a hero.
As I ran to him, in hopes of learning about his experience, I quickly realized that the decorative pieces on the wall were none other than shark tooth. The teeth varied in colors and sizes. From ivory to grayish black and from being a few centimeters to a few inches long, these teeth were a work of miracle. I was awestruck. As I told him about my fascination for the sharks, he quickly stopped and turned toward me. I stood timidly, recalling every word that I said and hoping, somehow, I didn’t offend him. He slowly extended his long, thick hand toward one of the frames with shark tooth and settled it on the wooden table. He then said, “Pick whichever one you like and keep it.” I was in complete dismay. In reaction, I asked him “Are you sure?” probably twice. With his head nodding and eyes sparkling, I could almost read the answer.
I dashed out of the door as if I had won myself a million dollars. I took out the shark tooth to grasp its every curve and found myself hypnotized by it. Merely holding the tooth brought forward all the emotions. I wanted to experience the process of finding the tooth myself. Not only that, I wanted to go out there, sense the freedom of the ocean and the marvelous creatures that live in it.