Gulping Chlorine.

Bubbles.

Coerced by my parents, I attended swimming classes back at Grade 3. In exchange of a twenty-peso daily allowance, I agreed. For a kid like me, it gives me a span of an hour playing at the computer shop. Though I know it was a silly decision. It disrupted my normal summer vacation, lost almost twenty pounds (thus morphing me into a walking stick), and tanned me bronze.

First day, I met Ms. Amy; a teacher for beginners. I joined in with those goggle-eyed kids (younger than me) diving their skulls like whales, gasping for breath as they touch surface. Bubbles; one of the basics of swimming. Breathe in with your mouth, and while underwater, breathe out with your nose.

After a day, she decided to include me with the advanced swimmers – Sir Dailo as our new coach. Tougher, and stricter. He defies fear, yet he wanted to see students to face their fears. Swimming, diving at seven feet, doing those suffocating tricks. After weeks of religious training, my feet became equipped with invisible flippers.

I appreciated every crest of wave that bathed my skin. With synchronization and harmony of leg and arm muscles, I began to sweep away and faced every brave current that was against me. The silence underwater – the pressure in my ears, made me deaf for seconds. Then, I breathe another round. And I’d splash my head back to the water, repeating the cycle.

I can’t swim with my head facing upwards. I need to hold my breath, and drown myself.

Harboring three weeks of existence with the swimming masters increased my self-esteem with water by ten or more notches.

And another life-related philosophy. Life is about facing currents and waves, of drowning yourself, and of touching the surface once again.

Need to hit the sack. It’s 1:14 AM, not yet sleeping. Tomorrow’s post is about the controversial Subic rape case, expecting less furious comments, and appreciating the respect you gave with my opinion with my previous post.

~ by utakgago on January 9, 2007.