A visit to an underwater cave called “Little Africa” 18 meters deep in Dubrovnik, Croatia inspired this track. Green Algae guided us the whole way, in tandem with several schools of fish. The water got increasingly cold, and the sunlight turned the blue horizon into a dark and uncertain place. The sounds of our breathing equipment meant that our gear was not only our lifeline to survival, but also the sole source of communication. This sublime environment became the home of my birth as a diver, together with the camaraderie of friends from Vienna and my Dutch boyfriend, Pieter, who got me started on this adventure.

My ears refused to pop, and as a result, I started to panic in descent. Gradually, with the help of my diving instructor, I was able to descend to a flat sandy surface, where the first animal I spotted was a cuttlefish that perhaps having spotted me, began camouflaging itself. Seeing its instinctive fear and the organic creativity it inspired didn’t completely ameliorate my own, but it made me feel a new companionship. Several schools of purple-blue fish swirled around us during the whole experience, fleeting witnesses.

This diving expedition was a meditative search of orange coral—but perhaps here we should think of “choral,” too—in Tmara. The day was calm and sunny. In the middle of our search, we saw several octopuses trying to hide but also unable to resist showing their curiosity for our presence there. We passed around several rocks and coral formations housing schools of fish and starfish. Perhaps it was a chorus lurking in coral.

The Stuka, which lies underwater, is one of the four last remaining of these German bombers of the Second World War that brought terror to so many. It sits calmly, belying its former sonic self. Visiting this diving spot, I couldn’t help but think of the relationship between nature and the human, and I could almost imagine the plane having emotions—would it feel horror at its past actions? Would it try to forget? Morays, scary in their own right, have taken over the largely intact structure, tenants and archivists of memories that are difficult to fathom.

A local legend that was related to me of an intoxicated fisherman who crashed his boat 20 years ago in some rocks of a small island in the Tmara National Park gave rise to this piece. Apparently these rocks are now an attractive spot for several octopuses, each with its own personality. While my diving partners were exploring a deeper part of the trail thanks to their more advanced certification, I stayed with the instructor, working on my buoyancy while surrounded by ruins and the metal remains of the boat. On the way back, we found a horsefish, hovering calmly, oblivious to us.