May 16, 2019
I opened my bleary eyes to a beam of sunlight shimmering through the seawater. Flicking my tail fin, I swam toward the light, only to realize—I was being born from the warmth of my mother's mouth. As a baby damselfish, I instinctively understood: from my first breath, I would face the ocean alone.
Hunger drove me to nibble on seaweed along the way, until I bit into an especially tender cluster. Its flavor was like sunlight wrapped in seawater, bursting with sweetness on my tongue. In that moment, I vowed with a swish of my tail against the coral: I would grow the most magnificent seaweed field in the world!
December 22, 2019
Now, with sharp teeth like tiny scythes, I clear weeds with ease. Under the moonlight, my seaweed field gleams like emerald. But I must hide in the coral crevices—the night patrol, the electric ray, is out, its 45-volt death flashes flickering like ghostly blue lanterns in the water.
February 19, 2020
Today, my seaweed field finally flourished! But before I could savor the harvest, a swarm of butterflyfish descended like a colorful storm.I puffed up angrily, my scales shimmering metallic blue as I chased off the thieves.
Staring at the ravaged field, I hatched a plan: I recruited a team of mysid shrimp as "live-in farmers." These little helpers fertilized the field while feasting on plankton, and within days, the seaweed stood tall again.
I couldn't help but hum a little tune:
"Dig a hole, bury some sand, seaweed sprouts without a plan. Mysid babies work so fine, building homes 'mid coral vine~"*
March 29, 2020
Lately, uninvited guests keep visiting: sea snails crawl like slow-moving harvesters, stingrays pretend to pass by while stealing bites, and worst of all—that marine iguana, an armored tyrant! Every time it barges in, my pecks at its scales feel like mere tickles to the brute.
June 30, 2020
Today, a spiky monster appeared—later, I learned it was a sea urchin. They're the worst kind of demolition crew! Gnawing and plowing through my field with their spines, leaving it riddled with holes. Just as I finish driving off invaders from the east, a new gang emerges in the west. Constant battles have dulled my scales, and I'm too exhausted to even dance my favorite mating dance.
January 26, 2021
When that four-legged creature appeared, I instinctively charged to defend my territory. To my surprise, it deftly plucked out the sea urchins with its front paws! Turns out, not all humans are destroyers—some come with flippers to help.
Now I've mastered a new trick: whenever I spot divers, I swim in circles to guide them, like an underwater usher.
May 31, 2021
News of the island's rat infestation drifted in with the currents. The seabirds no longer cry over the cliffs, and without their "nutrient bombs" falling into the sea, my seaweed field grows weak, like a child lacking calcium.
December 29, 2021
A bluefin damselfish lingered near my field for seven straight days. Today, it finally gathered the courage to dance the courtship "figure-eight" before me—the trails from its tail fin left me more dizzy than an electric ray's shock.
January 1, 2022
I found the perfect nursery in the coral: hidden yet kissed by the morning light. With shell fragments as cribs and seaweed strands as swaddling, I'm ready for new life.
January 6, 2022
Clutching a mouthful of precious eggs feels like holding the hope of the world. When hunger strikes, I sip seaweed juice—once, I accidentally swallowed half a shrimp egg and panicked for three days.
January 17, 2022
When the first translucent fry slipped from my lips, its scales still carried my scent. My children scattered like swimming stars, vanishing into the blue. I gently closed my teeth, hiding a smile. The tide carried the fragrance of distant seaweed—time to tend my field again. After all, tomorrow is another good day for sowing.