I felt awkward wearing the pink bikini my friend lent me. I never intended to swim that’s why I never brought mine. She wore navy blue. She tossed me pink and I didn’t have a choice. I was 5% pink and the rest was flesh. “Do you have sunscreen?” she was asking a person who was obsessively paranoid about DNA mutation due to ultraviolet rays. I tossed her the smallest bottle. I had three in my bag—the two were recently purchased. I did not tell her I had three; she would think I was paranoid. But well, I was paranoid. I just did not want her to know.
I squeezed the bottle and moistened my face in a circular motion. “Is that safe for the face?” “I’m not sure,” I said. I was sure, really. I read about sunscreens a thousand times before I began regularly applying. “I was not sure,” I said. “We shouldn’t be putting anything in our face,” she said. I read about it a thousand times. It was safer to cream our faces with sunscreen than to walk under the overcast sky without protection. I read about it, but I did not tell her. She would probably think I was obsessed. But I was. I just did not want her to know.
I took a shower and immediately plunged into the water. She went to the other edge of the wide blue pool. She was waving at me, “Come on. It’s not that deep.” I could probably tip-toe to get there, I thought. I tip-toed, moon-walked and pretended I was never afraid. Although I was. And my insides were quivering. “I’m coming,” I screamed. Traversing the first half, I suddenly found my height inadequate such that I could no longer walk on my toes and pretend I was dancing ballet. “I’m coming,” I told them nevertheless. “I’m coming,” I said; I wanted to come but I did not know how to get there.
“Are you sure you know how to swim?” I could barely reply, “no, I mean, yes” because I was digging the neuronal folds that stored the information on “how to swim.” I was certain I knew how to swim at some point—at many instances, in fact. I just did not know how to repeat the strokes at that moment. But at last, I remembered. Yes, and I swam in fact. It was some time in July, the year before last, when I gracefully stretched my arms and traversed two distant edges, back and forth. But the memory was a blur of images. I was drunk that time. It was the first time I got drunk in my entire life. My college batchmates kept handing me the jigger. “For the cum laude,” they said. And I swallowed and swallowed because the jigger kept running after me. I could not say, “No. Thank you” because everyone else got their share—although admittedly, I had the lion’s share against my will. Then my friend told me that the best way to shrug the liquor off my head was to dive in the pool and swim. And I swam. I remembered crossing the edges with my other drunk batchmate who laughed with me without rhyme and reason. So I swam; there was no reason I could not do it again. I courageously replied, “Yes, I’m coming,” then I paddled, extended my arms, (left, right, left, right) until I finally reached the other edge where I hastily clung like a moss.
“I did it!” They did not notice how much I perspired because my sweat was immediately diluted in the pool. “I did it,” I thought. And I did it again. I paddled a little distance from the edge where I clung like a moss. I was a pink weed in the pool that kept paddling from edge to edge. Finally, I learned how to swim again. I could never stand on my toes like what I did on the other side because my legs were too short. It was one of the instances when I wanted to curse my genes. If I drowned at that moment, there was nothing else to blame but that segment of DNA. But I was safe, so I did not clamor.
I watched my friend and could not help but envy the way she stretched her limbs and loitered around the wide blue pool as though she had fins. I was studying her movement when she called out, “come on, I’ll teach you how to do a backstroke.” A backstroke? How could I succeed with a backstroke when I could not even ascend with the simply butterfly stroke?
“Here’s what you should do.” She asked me to lie on the water. “Float!” she commanded! I floated, as she wished. “Now move your legs!” I swaggered at first but when I eventually learned the rhythm, I inched further. All I had to do was to move my arms in synchrony with the rest of my body. “Now move your arms,” she said. I couldn’t, I thought. I just did not know how to do it.
For several seconds, I gazed at the feathered clouds above the towering condominiums. Many times, in a mortal’s life, one would wish the Tower of Babel never crumbled so everyone would have the chance to see what lay beyond the depths of stars. It was one of those moments a mortal like me, was tempted to fantasize so. Checking on reality again, however, I realized I was never too close to the “great beyond.” In fact, there I was, floating in a wide blue pool (several feet beneath) with my lungs nearly deflated.
I lost the rhythm. Counted to three, my lungs collapsed and popped like air balloon. My feet landed at the bottom and my head was completely submerged. I could not cry when all I could think of was gasp oxygen from either my mouth or nostrils which were then filled with the most versatile liquid: water. My favorite beverage at lunch! I drank water in the pool as if I were an athlete who just came from a marathon. I drank water insatiably—again and again. When my friend saw me, she swam nearer, “are you drowning?”
“I will never drown,” I told myself. “Do not drown! I commanded my mind. I thought there must be a way to retrieve the information from my rusty neuronal circuits. “How to swim.” How to swim. How to swim… I could not remember anymore. “If you will not recall, you will drown,” I said. “I will drown,” I thought. Earlier, I saw there was no lifeguard. All I had to rely on at that moment, was my will to survive!
Like all humans, born fishes in their mother’s wombs, I instinctively learned how to stretch my limp limbs and rowed left, right, left, right… I opened my eyes in the water and scouted the cemented edge; it was yet several meters away. There was little hope for me to reach the finish line without collapsing in the middle of the game. But I knew, if I would collapse, my life story would abruptly end. There was no way I would die in that pool! So I rowed my limbs, left, right, left, right until I did not realize I already reached the finish line. I swam! Would you believe?
Often, I am tempted to write a story on “how to swim” so people frightened of anything deep and blue would learn. Unfortunately, however, I have forgotten how to swim now. So I thought, maybe, I should instead, write about, “how to not drown.” It’s easier to recall especially when you nearly died.
I squeezed the bottle and moistened my face in a circular motion. “Is that safe for the face?” “I’m not sure,” I said. I was sure, really. I read about sunscreens a thousand times before I began regularly applying. “I was not sure,” I said. “We shouldn’t be putting anything in our face,” she said. I read about it a thousand times. It was safer to cream our faces with sunscreen than to walk under the overcast sky without protection. I read about it, but I did not tell her. She would probably think I was obsessed. But I was. I just did not want her to know.
I took a shower and immediately plunged into the water. She went to the other edge of the wide blue pool. She was waving at me, “Come on. It’s not that deep.” I could probably tip-toe to get there, I thought. I tip-toed, moon-walked and pretended I was never afraid. Although I was. And my insides were quivering. “I’m coming,” I screamed. Traversing the first half, I suddenly found my height inadequate such that I could no longer walk on my toes and pretend I was dancing ballet. “I’m coming,” I told them nevertheless. “I’m coming,” I said; I wanted to come but I did not know how to get there.
“Are you sure you know how to swim?” I could barely reply, “no, I mean, yes” because I was digging the neuronal folds that stored the information on “how to swim.” I was certain I knew how to swim at some point—at many instances, in fact. I just did not know how to repeat the strokes at that moment. But at last, I remembered. Yes, and I swam in fact. It was some time in July, the year before last, when I gracefully stretched my arms and traversed two distant edges, back and forth. But the memory was a blur of images. I was drunk that time. It was the first time I got drunk in my entire life. My college batchmates kept handing me the jigger. “For the cum laude,” they said. And I swallowed and swallowed because the jigger kept running after me. I could not say, “No. Thank you” because everyone else got their share—although admittedly, I had the lion’s share against my will. Then my friend told me that the best way to shrug the liquor off my head was to dive in the pool and swim. And I swam. I remembered crossing the edges with my other drunk batchmate who laughed with me without rhyme and reason. So I swam; there was no reason I could not do it again. I courageously replied, “Yes, I’m coming,” then I paddled, extended my arms, (left, right, left, right) until I finally reached the other edge where I hastily clung like a moss.
“I did it!” They did not notice how much I perspired because my sweat was immediately diluted in the pool. “I did it,” I thought. And I did it again. I paddled a little distance from the edge where I clung like a moss. I was a pink weed in the pool that kept paddling from edge to edge. Finally, I learned how to swim again. I could never stand on my toes like what I did on the other side because my legs were too short. It was one of the instances when I wanted to curse my genes. If I drowned at that moment, there was nothing else to blame but that segment of DNA. But I was safe, so I did not clamor.
I watched my friend and could not help but envy the way she stretched her limbs and loitered around the wide blue pool as though she had fins. I was studying her movement when she called out, “come on, I’ll teach you how to do a backstroke.” A backstroke? How could I succeed with a backstroke when I could not even ascend with the simply butterfly stroke?
“Here’s what you should do.” She asked me to lie on the water. “Float!” she commanded! I floated, as she wished. “Now move your legs!” I swaggered at first but when I eventually learned the rhythm, I inched further. All I had to do was to move my arms in synchrony with the rest of my body. “Now move your arms,” she said. I couldn’t, I thought. I just did not know how to do it.
For several seconds, I gazed at the feathered clouds above the towering condominiums. Many times, in a mortal’s life, one would wish the Tower of Babel never crumbled so everyone would have the chance to see what lay beyond the depths of stars. It was one of those moments a mortal like me, was tempted to fantasize so. Checking on reality again, however, I realized I was never too close to the “great beyond.” In fact, there I was, floating in a wide blue pool (several feet beneath) with my lungs nearly deflated.
I lost the rhythm. Counted to three, my lungs collapsed and popped like air balloon. My feet landed at the bottom and my head was completely submerged. I could not cry when all I could think of was gasp oxygen from either my mouth or nostrils which were then filled with the most versatile liquid: water. My favorite beverage at lunch! I drank water in the pool as if I were an athlete who just came from a marathon. I drank water insatiably—again and again. When my friend saw me, she swam nearer, “are you drowning?”
“I will never drown,” I told myself. “Do not drown! I commanded my mind. I thought there must be a way to retrieve the information from my rusty neuronal circuits. “How to swim.” How to swim. How to swim… I could not remember anymore. “If you will not recall, you will drown,” I said. “I will drown,” I thought. Earlier, I saw there was no lifeguard. All I had to rely on at that moment, was my will to survive!
Like all humans, born fishes in their mother’s wombs, I instinctively learned how to stretch my limp limbs and rowed left, right, left, right… I opened my eyes in the water and scouted the cemented edge; it was yet several meters away. There was little hope for me to reach the finish line without collapsing in the middle of the game. But I knew, if I would collapse, my life story would abruptly end. There was no way I would die in that pool! So I rowed my limbs, left, right, left, right until I did not realize I already reached the finish line. I swam! Would you believe?
Often, I am tempted to write a story on “how to swim” so people frightened of anything deep and blue would learn. Unfortunately, however, I have forgotten how to swim now. So I thought, maybe, I should instead, write about, “how to not drown.” It’s easier to recall especially when you nearly died.
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