I used to swim a lot more frequently than I do now. I mean, I lived in Australia, you kind of had to. From the time I was seven until the age of nine, I was put into swimming lessons by my grandma, Nanna Pam. The smell of chlorine in the humid Aquatic Centre is forever etched into my memory. A lot of my childhood memories consist of me going to my Nanna's house on Friday and attending piano lessons in her living room. For dinner I would eat pillow pasta, what most know as ravioli, and gelato for dessert. On Saturday I would wake up bright and early to head to the pool. I’d put on my pink bathing suit with the mini-tutu, my swimming cap, and my little googles to head to the pool. And no, to clarify, I was not a competitive swimmer, I was what they called “the family drowner.” I was a skinny little pale kid that couldn’t float. Therefore, swimming was neither a sport nor exciting. Especially the first time I had to jump in the deep end.

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Not everyone is made to swim. Despite the fact that I was Australian and Samoan, both swimming heavy cultures, I didn’t feel that I was made to swim. I, on occasion, feel that way now. I clearly remember on one of the last days of my first year of swimming lessons I really had this understanding. I wasn’t afraid of swimming, nor was I afraid of the water. I just wasn’t good at it. So jumping in the deep end of the pool was really testing my limits. At this point I had learned a lot of the basic swimming styles. I kind of knew how to float. My backstroke was decent, my freestyle a little wonky, but I loved the frog swim (which I learned much later was actually called breast stroke). Many of the times I swam at the pool, I remember my Nanna’s head of curly blonde hair bobbing melodically above the water while she was doing breaststroke. I never saw her body only her head, and this was the only time she didn’t wear glasses, so her face looked naked. All of this goes to say, I was comfortable. As I would say now, I was good. Not good in the sense of having any form of talent, but good in that I was at a point where learning more was a hassle to me. I didn’t care for the hard stuff. I vividly recall dreading the moment my instructor, a young guy -probably 20 years old and deathly thin- named Barry, informing us of our new stage, as he liked to call it. This stage was to jump into the water. From the deep end. From the DEEP end. From the deep END. This was no joke to my skinny, little self. As per his instructions, I had to climb my little wrinkly body out of the pool onto the ledge. Every step I took towards the my impending doom, I was a little bit more aware of the reality I was about to face. I had a slow reaction and comprehension, I still do. It really sunk in when I saw what was the vast expanse that was Enmore swimming pool.

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I stood there, shivering.Yes it was cold, but my shivering was really it was out of fear. The four other girls in my class had plopped in with mini splashes. They were all fine. I would be fine. I begrudgingly made small steps to the ledge. The waft of chlorine filled air entered my nostrils as I took a breath. It was time. With eyes closed and my nose plugged, I cannon balled into the pool. Finally, I was submerged in the deep end. I just kept falling. Not in the drowning kind of way, but I just became more and more apart of the pool. The depth was no longer scary. Being submerged is like everything is in slow motion. 

Coming out of the water was more problematic than jumping in. As I rose to the surface I felt my ears pop. The more I tried to spit out water the more it burned down my throat. My breathing was heavy, my eyes were red but I was out.I was alive. I made it past my fear of the unknown. I succeeded. What ensued after my experience was 20 minutes of game time to end the lessons off for the year. We competed in seahorse races, by which we had to jump in the water and grab a fluorescent pool noodle. After we had the noodle, we placed it between our legs and rode them as if it were they were seahorses all the way to the halfway mark in the pool. We also had splash competitions at the deep end. The initial jump allowed me to be free of the fear that would have prevented me from enjoying the rest of the day. These small moments at the pool are really special to me. It definitely gave me confidence in myself that I hadn’t quite had before. 

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This may seem very insignificant. I mean I kind of just fell in the water and didn’t drown after a year of swimming lessons. It doesn’t seem that special. However, undergoing this experience allowed me to make many others over the course of my life. The ability to simply jump into a body of water is associated with many memories I have of my childhood. Every time my sisters and I would swim at Rosefield pools, we would jump in at the deep end to test our survival skills. There were countless weekends my family would spend in the Central Coast, having cannonball competitions in the family pool of the Riley’s. I was tested to jump into deep waters every time my church trekked to Gunnamatta Beach to jump off the pier, which was at least _ feet above the surface of the water. This extends to the family holidays I would go to in Port Macquarie, Australia, where my friends and I would pretend to be mermaids for days, jumping into the water and no being able to leave it for hours. This water experience was pivotal in teaching me a lesson that I used to make unforgettable memories.

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In a deeper life sense, my memory of jumping into unknown territory, has blasted me into an array of risk-taking choices. These are not necessarily negative risks, but ones that may have had very different outcomes had I made different decisions. One very clear example is the decision I made to attend Martin Van Buren High School. I immigrated to the United States in the middle of 8th grade and for the first eight months lived in the Bronx. The day before school started, I moved to Queens and headed straight to apply for a local high school. Because of my grades I was given two options, a single-sex school with a good reputation or my local one, that didn’t have such a stellar reputation. Despite comments from my parents and the lady attempting to register me to attend the all-girls school, I knew in my heart I wanted a more normal, American high school experience, and ended up at Martin Van Buren High School. The ability as a young woman to make a decision in a situation that was rushed and ideal, in the midst of opposition, was an important step in my personal growth. This was one of the best decisions I ever made. I probably benefited the most out of any student that went to my high school ever, I went on a free-trip to the Netherlands and to the Catalina Islands because of this decision, I met the person I love. A lot of the best moments of my life can be attributed to simply getting out of my own way and stepping out of my comfort zone.

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This is what the water has the power to do. It can shape the decisions that people make for years to come. It can give a skinny little girl who drowned all the time the confidence to be bold and take risks to have fun. Water is, after all, essential for life.