Kiki's Memos

Author: Kiki Sarzetaki

  • Humming to the Fish

    Today in the sea, I had a funny little experience.

    I love swimming with my goggles, looking for fish, anything interesting on the sea floor. On my way back to the rocks where I had left my towel and things, I saw a kopadi—a small school—of little fish. I felt like singing to them.

    Of course, I was under water, so I couldn’t actually sing the words. I started humming through my snorkel instead. I stayed as calm and still as I could.

    And then something magical happened. More fish came. Different species, too, swimming very close to me. I felt like I could reach out and touch them, but I didn’t. Were they alarmed? Or curious? I don’t know. I just hummed, and they lingered, weaving around me. When I finally stopped humming, they slowly started scattering.

    I don’t know if anyone has studied how music—or even gentle humming—affects fish underwater. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe coincidence. But in that moment, I felt a connection. A little song for a little world beneath the still sea.

  • Protected: Leaving the Door Open

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  • Protected: Umami: the Fifth Flavor

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  • Protected: When the Mind Won’t Sleep

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  • Hosting, Day One

    When I host, whether it’s for work or for friends, I notice the little things. Fresh towels. A tidy bed. A spotless house and bathroom. A few things in the fridge. Coffee or tea ready for whoever wakes first. The Wi-Fi password somewhere easy to find.

    None of these things is particularly important on its own. But together they quietly say: you’re welcome here.

    I used to think of these things simply as part of being a good host. But perhaps hospitality is really about paying attention.

    It is noticing what someone might need before they have to ask. Not because everything has to be perfect, but because being in someone else’s home can make us feel a little uncertain at first. Where are the towels? Can I make coffee? What am I allowed to use? What time does everyone wake up?

    Small gestures remove those little uncertainties. They allow someone to settle in.

    And then the things that really matter can happen naturally—the conversations, the laughter, the slow mornings, the feeling that nobody needs to be on their best behavior anymore.

    Hospitality looks different across cultures and different homes, but perhaps its heart is very simple.

    To notice. To anticipate. To make room for another person.

    Not to impress them.

    To help them feel at home.