Over time, I noticed that the seals became curious about my presence on the shore. They would come to watch every time I appeared. For a month, we met by the ocean, attempting to synchronize our movements in a kind of shared choreography. As I continued my daily interactions with the seals, I began to realize just how fragile and vulnerable humans are compared to these creatures that thrive in such harsh environments. While the seals seemed naturally equipped to navigate the icy waters, I had to push my body to its limits just to endure a brief immersion, which eventually resulted in frostbite on my fingers. This stark contrast made me acutely aware of the limitations of the human body.

Despite our differences, the seals' curiosity toward me was undeniable. They would gather whenever I appeared on the shore, watching me with their large, expressive eyes as I tried to mimic their movements and adapt to their world. I admired their strong belly muscles, their fur, flippers, big eyes, and whiskers. I couldn't help but think how much easier my connection with the water would be if I had even one of those adaptations. Despite lacking a thick layer of blubber and fur, I finally plunged into the extreme cold water. At that moment, the entire fleet of seals from the fjord swam over to me, circling my naked body. It was an intensely surreal experience that somehow warmed me in the freezing water.

Although we were creatures of different species, living in completely different realities, there was a sense of mutual curiosity that connected us. Our interactions, though sometimes futile from a communicative standpoint, felt meaningful. It was as if we were trying to bridge the gap between our worlds, even if only through shared moments of observation and movement.