A Letter to Sir David Attenborough About Freedom and Nature

Dear Sir David Attenborough,

You do not know me, but I know you. Your voice has traveled farther than any bird, deeper than any ocean. I have listened in secret, in quiet corners where no one asks what I am watching. You speak of a world so vast, so full of wonder, that it feels almost impossible to reach.

But today, I have a story for you.

There is a creature few have seen. A dolphin, but not quite. An orca, but smaller. Sleek as moonlight on water, with eyes that hold secrets older than we can imagine. I have known him since he was small enough to fit between my arms. I raised him, fed him, taught him, loved him. And for years, he loved me back—from behind thick glass, beneath artificial lights, inside walls that were never meant to hold the ocean.

Last night, we changed that. With the help of friends, we set him free. We led him to the sea, past the barriers that were built to keep him, past the hands that claimed to own him. And for the first time, I saw him in his true world. He turned back to me once, just once, as if to say goodbye. Then he was gone.

People say we should accept our cages. That we should be grateful for them. But I have seen what happens when something built for freedom is locked away. It shrinks, it fades, it forgets how to dream. I have spent my life in a land where even the waves have rules, but for him, at least, I could break one.

Tell me, Sir—do you know of his kind? Have you seen others like him, in waters far from here? Does he have a family waiting somewhere beyond the horizon?

I hope he does. I hope I will, too, one day.

With quiet admiration,
Ji-a