The cool water flows into my black boots first, relieving my feet which had been baking under the tropical sun. I wade deeper, neoprene hugging my legs, resisting every move I make. The bossy waves shove me towards the urchin-covered rocks as the tide tugs at the sand beneath my feet. I struggle under the weight of my equipment and push forward. I grip waist-high lava rocks for support, scrutinizing each one to avoid the jagged edges. The water creeps up my wetsuit and drives a cool wedge between it and my parched skin. It feels fantastic. It’s as if the ocean is claiming me as its own.

I look around. Oahu is beautiful this time of year. Parents lie on a white carpet of sand under rainbows of umbrellas, diligently watching their children splash the topaz water, giggling as if the sea was their own private joke. Farther out are surfers, sprawled on boards or riding the whitecaped waves. Some children stare at us, transfixed. We are aliens in spacesuits, preparing to leave one strange world for another. They see explorers, prepared for a treacherous journey. Their eyes ask What treasures will they find?

When the water becomes knee-high, I put my snorkel in my mouth and fumble my fins onto my boots before tightening them. Walking is harder when your feet are suddenly two feet longer. In the chest-deep water, I push off of the sand and dive in.

I inhale sharply. My BCD, filled with air, presses up against my chest while my aluminum oxygen tank pushes down against my back. I paddle farther out, avoiding kicking or being kicked. The sun on my neck burns every second a wave isn’t washing over it. After a short distance, we reach an orange ball moored to an anchor. I invert and tread water to remain vertical, switch from my snorkel to my regulator and inhale the dry, cold air. The divemaster waits for everyone to catch up; one fist on top of his head silently asks if we are all alright. Everyone mirrors him, and he gives a thumbs down. Descend. We all answer with a thumbs down, and I grab the valve tethered to my shoulder. I lift it as high above my head as the tube will allow me and I hold down on the purge button. Wet air hisses out, and the pressure of my BCD is relieved from my chest as it deflates.  I sink, my world consumed by blue.

Little kicks translate into the smooth thrust of my fins propelling me forward. My arms dangle in front of me, my hands interlocked to insure I don’t accidently hit a fire coral. Drifting along, my neck turns at every possible angle, and I curse evolution for not gifting humans with unlimited peripheral vision. I need to see everything, focus on every little detail. A flock of pink and green parrotfish fly past me, pecking at rocks with their birdlike beaks. I can hear their crunchy chirps over the sound of my respirator- bubbles flowing past my ears. A single, cherry red wrasse darts to my left and I nearly flip over trying to catch a glimpse before it vanishes. Yellow and white butterfly fish quarrel with rabbitfish to be the first cleaned by a shrimp. A pink hawkfish soars over a hogfish, then perches on a rock, searching for a meal.

An oasis.

Barracuda guard this garden, lurking in the edges of my vision. Their slick bodies are obscured by blue distance, but I can still see their outlines. They are wolves, and they hunt in packs. Some of them are nearly as long as I am tall. In spite of their toothy grins and the sleek potential of their motorboat bodies, they rest. Waiting. They are just another thing to see before the next catches my eye.

Coral and algae of every imaginable color - and then some - decorate any and every available surface area of sunlit rock. Walls of neon green and blue montipora extend in every possible direction, catching the blue-tinged sunlight like the leaves of some unseen tree. A starkly black and white domino damselfish defends a forest green brain coral as if he weren’t only three inches long. Little pinpricks of christmas tree worms hide from my shadow. I carefully avoid the black, red, and purple balls of poisoned spikes as I glide along.

I swivel my head so much, I worry I may give myself whiplash. My own breathing, rhythmic and steady, lulls me into a trance. Weightlessness and warmth, along with the stunning colors, hypnotize me. I dissolve into the water, blissful. Content.

I slide my fins off while lying face down in the water, staring at the perfectly manicured sand a foot below my mask. The waves gently push me back and forth. I slip the ankle loops onto my wrists and steady myself on a rock before standing up. The weight of the world returns to my shoulders, and my legs take a second to readjust to the burden of gravity. Water flows down through my wetsuit and the neoprene clings to my skin once again. I let the snorkel fall out of my mouth and I pull my mask down to my neck, releasing the pressure on my sinuses I didn’t realize I felt. I take a deep breath of that sweet, heavy Hawaiian air. My gaze falls on the sandy beach just past the rocky cove. The dry sand of the shoreline bends under my gravity and I waddle awkwardly to the grass line, like a toddler taking his first steps. I trudge up the steep hill separating the cove from the road, using exposed roots as steps to ensure I - and my extra hundred pounds of equipment - don’t go tumbling down the hill. At the crest, I slouch against a stone wall ro relieve my back from my equipment’s weight. I unbuckle my BCD and slip it off along with the air tank, laying it on the ground. A handful of other divers trudge up the hill or disassemble their equipment. We are silent, still transitioning back to land after our journey to that sacred place below. I struggle to remove my skin-tight wetsuit, already baking under the summer sun. As I attempt to pull my arm out without dislocating my shoulder, I hear a few voices pick up, repressing excitement. When I finally pull it off, I see most of the other divers have already disassembled their equipment and are talking enthusiastically about their adventures. Sea turtles, octopi, sharks, eels, and all sorts of tales flow from parched throats. I too laugh and joke through lips dried by salt and compressed air. My dad pulls out a container of fresh pineapple - an after-dive tradition. He passes it around; I take a piece. I savor every second of it. It feels like rain quenching a drought-stricken field. It is the best thing I have ever eaten. It tastes like sunshine.

Off in the distance, I see a group of children, bunched up and staring at us. One of them is pointing at us, asking her friends a question I cannot hear.

I wonder what he found down there?

I found another planet.

I found treasure.

I found a home.