The fish shipment from the US during COVID

A flight story I'm only telling now.

First COVID year, 25 March. The shipment from the US to Vietnam landed in Saigon at 11 p.m. A younger friend I keep fish with and I had been waiting at Tân Sơn Nhất Airport from 7 p.m., on edge the whole time. Fish on a plane for over 90 hours — the risk was huge. They had been on that plane at the other end for more than three days, and every day I kept the flight tracking screen open nonstop to see where they were. Heart in my throat, couldn't sit still, couldn't drink, couldn't eat, just waiting for the fish to reach my hands.

When we finally took the three boxes, I still wasn't at ease. I didn't dare open them — afraid that if something went wrong, I wouldn't be able to go home at all. I told my younger friend, they're here now, if anything's wrong we'll figure it out at home, the worst of it is over.

11:30 we got home. I hurried all three boxes up to the room. A small relief — no more hauling heavy boxes — but even more anxious. The real moment had arrived.

The feeling of opening each box, checking each bag, each fish to see if it was still alive — I don't think I'll forget it for the rest of my life. Even more unforgettable: out of nearly 100 fish (I ordered about 90 but the seller threw in extras), only one was dead. Every species was one I was seeing with my own eyes and touching with my own hands for the first time. Many of them were so rare you'd struggle to find a photo online.

So I had one sleepless night — sleepless because I was savoring my passion. Savoring the… high. Because I knew no matter how many more times I did this, the feeling would never match the first.

The good feeling didn't last long before the sad things piled on: fish dying. The seller's fish were very healthy. The deaths were entirely on me. They had no disease, no defect, but I didn't have enough tanks at the time, so I had to group many species together, and they fought. On top of that they were all species few people knew, and my experience with them was zero. So the cost was heavy: after a while the fish reached pairing age and started fighting. And with cichlids there are only two settings: aggressive and very aggressive… With no tanks to separate them, panicking with no idea what to do… the damage was devastating. Two-thirds of what I brought home died from fighting. I was sad enough to be close to depression, and I pulled myself up by focusing on the fish that were still alive. They bred. Raising their young gradually helped ease the grief.

A year has flown by. The second COVID year has made importing fish much harder. The Rô Mỹ community has changed a lot, too. Sitting here remembering it now, I cherish the survivors more. Any species I still have two of has both sexes to breed. Some species I have only one of left — looking at it, I remember the pain, love it more, treasure it more.

American cichlids have countless species. Even though I've only managed two imports in the past year, I very much hope that number two keeps multiplying. First for my own joy, and then to share with the brothers in the hobby when I can.