In her new column, neurobiology student Sara Matiş takes a close look at the world around her – and the lessons to be learned from nature. In her second column, she explores why she always had a thing for the darker sides of nature.

My dad once told me that I’m 80 percent dolphin, and I wholeheartedly took it as a compliment – although we probably all know by now that dolphins do some very questionable things. But my dad just made a remark on my swimming abilities and not on my tendencies to get high of pufferfish (yes, dolphins do that).

Ever since I can remember I’ve been mesmerized by the sea. Each summer, I try to spend as much time in water as possible, holding my breath and pushing my limits when diving through rocks and fish – it’s my dad’s and my thing. I’m also slightly addicted to videos of professionals swimming with sharks in waters that are hundreds of meters deep and free divers going headfirst in increasingly darker depths with no oxygen supply other than their amazing lung capacity. They give me the stomach shifting feeling that you get when starting to descend in an elevator – in the best way.

I’ve always had a thing for the darker sides of nature. The obscure depths. The unknown. And I think this fearful fascination with the wilderness of water reflects a more profound exploration journey of myself. The sea has been a reoccurring theme that showed up in my writing already in middle school. My admiration for its raw, untamed beauty was, I came to understand, a love letter to myself.

For the longest time, I wanted my shadows to go away. I thought that if only I had spent enough hours in therapy or overanalyzing and intellectualizing my actions, I could once for all get rid of my dark sides. And then I would be able to forgive myself. I tried to prepare the perfect scenario for the final decisive forgiveness act. But forgiveness, much like my beloved water, comes in waves. And it does not wash away the darkness.

I probably turned to water to find acceptance. Something inside me craved to be like the ocean, but all I had been doing was trying to fit myself into a kid-sized pool.

The sea has taught me a lesson even before I knew what it was – something can be beautiful, free and so alive, while also being unsettled and obscure and even frightening. Maybe my dad was right. Maybe I am 80 percent dolphin and I’m 60 percent water and on top of all, I am 100 percent me, because I could not avoid, even if I wanted, being exactly that. Even if I’m just ‘sailing’ the surface of everything that’s going on inside there. But that’s the fascinating part about it.

Read Sara Matiş's blogs here