Mariyam Naseer

I was born in Malé, a tiny island in the Maldives, that has now become the most densely populated place on Earth. Growing up here was like living in a postcard—pristine beaches, turquoise waters, and vibrant coral reefs. But that postcard is slowly fading. My father, an entrepreneur from Australia, and my mother, a Maldivian, have owned a hotel for as long as I can remember. It thrived as tourism boomed, bringing more and more visitors to our shores. Back then, things were still relatively okay.

As a child, I spent hours swimming around the corals. It was magical. But the magic started to erode as I grew older, and so did the reefs. When my parents sent me to Australia to study, I chose marine biology. The ocean is my home, and I needed to understand what was happening to it. I specialized in coral ecosystems, but the more I learned, the more helpless I felt. Our reefs are dying—not just here, but globally—thanks to warming seas, land reclamation, and pollution.

Coral farming has become a necessity, and ironically, it's the hotels that fund most of the efforts, including my father’s. They’ve invested in tables submerged underwater where coral fragments are grown using MAT technology. The science is fascinating—minerals crystallize on metal structures and form limestone, giving the corals a chance to grow three times faster than they would naturally. But it's a costly and complex process, one that feels more like a band-aid than a cure.

It’s hard not to feel conflicted. I love my parents; they’ve given me everything, including the opportunity to study what I love. But they're also part of the system that's contributing to the problem. Their hotel brings in tourists who want to experience paradise, yet that very demand is chipping away at the fragile ecosystem we all depend on. It's a strange, painful irony—my life's work is to save the coral, while theirs, in some small way, might be helping to destroy it.