So, you’ve decided to become a scuba diver. Welcome to the club, we’ve got wetsuits that smell like regret, masks that make you look like a bug, and an unshakable obsession with fish that look like they’re judging you. You’re not just learning to dive, you’re diving headfirst into a new lifestyle. One where your idea of a “wild Friday night” involves checking your SPG and whispering sweet nothings to a moray eel.
1. The “I Could Never Do That” Phase
You watched Blue Planet once and thought, “Wow, the ocean is majestic. Too bad I’d die the second I tried that.” The ocean is full of creatures, and all you can think is “Sharks. Jellyfish. Drowning.” But then someone mentioned turtles. And Koh Tao... And suddenly, dying didn’t sound so bad if you could float next to a sea turtle like a budget mermaid. Fast-forward to booking your Open Water course and realizing you are now the main character.
2. The First Mask Flood (aka Welcome to the Nose Flood Club)
Ah, that glorious moment when your mask fills up with water and your soul exits your body through your nostrils. Your brain screams “WE’RE DROWNING!” even though your head’s still above water. You flail like a confused flamingo while your instructor gives you that classic calm “just breathe” hand signal, and you consider fighting them. Spoiler: You survive. And by dive three, you’re casually clearing your mask like a total legend (but still kind of hate it inside).
3. The Underwater Awkward Phase
Your buoyancy? Absolute chaos. One minute you’re face-planting into the sand, the next you’re orbiting your dive buddy like a lost balloon. Your fin kicks are more “drunken octopus trying to do ballet” than “graceful sea ninja.” You touch every bit of gear at least 20 times per dive, and your regulator hose is permanently wrapped around something. But hey -you saw a pufferfish! For like, two seconds. Worth it.
4. The Obsession Begins
This is the turning point. Suddenly you’re reading fish ID books at breakfast and arguing with your friends over whether that was a juvenile sweetlips or a baby triggerfish. You download apps, follow every marine biologist on Instagram, and plan entire holidays around “the visibility this time of year.” You begin every sentence with “When I was diving in Koh Tao…” even when no one asked. You are no longer a casual diver. You are a full-blown ocean nerd. And it’s glorious.
5. Gear Envy Hits
It starts small, maybe a mask that doesn’t suck. Then someone mentions Nitrox. Before you know it, you’re deep in a YouTube hole comparing BCDs at 2 AM. You’re eyeing someone’s color-matched fins like a jealous ex, and don’t even get us started on dive computers. You will spend more time choosing a dive computer than you did choosing your last romantic partner. Priorities!
6. The Weird Dive Bragging
You’ve officially lost the ability to tell normal stories. “One time, I got stung by hydroids while peeing in my wetsuit next to a whale shark” now leaves your mouth with zero context. You explain the concept of a safety stop to strangers at dinner. You refer to marine life like they’re your exes, “Ugh, another moody titan triggerfish.” And when someone says “oxygen tank,” you physically twitch.
7. You Become That Diver
You start correcting people’s hand signals like a dive instructor in training. You help random people gear up even when they didn’t ask. You dive with a GoPro and six clips. Your safety stop bubble rings are your love language. People say, “You must love the ocean,” and you say, “No. I am the ocean.” Your wardrobe is 50% rash guards, 50% damp towels. There’s sand in your suitcase, your soul, and probably your underwear.
If you haven’t dived Koh Tao yet - what are you doing with your life?
