A Dip Into The Past

A chilly wind blew across the night. I could feel its cold bite leave its mark through my jacket as the hairs on my skin raised, forming slight bumps that covered the entire length of my arms. I looked around me. The darkness of the night shrouded the beauty of the garden that surrounded me. Only the sound of my footsteps as I walked along the stony pathway filled the air. I was all alone. I walked onwards.

Even before I caught sight of my destination, the smell of chlorine hit me, filling my nose with its strong, irritating, yet familiar odor. Despite myself, I couldn’t help but grin. I hastened my steps, barely keeping myself from doing a full-on sprint. The sound of my heartbeat filled my ears as I came closer and closer.

After what seemed like an eternity, I finally saw it. The pool sat there in front of me. Around 6 meters wide and 25 meters long. The stillness of its water made it look like the pool had a giant mirror as it perfectly reflected the moonlit sky above.

Without a second thought, I took off my shoes and my socks, rolled up my pants, sat on the edge of the pool, and dipped my feet into the water. My feet created ripples that ran along with the pool, distorting its reflection of the night sky. The water was so cold that it stung. It felt as if it slowly stole my heat, leeching away a few fractions of degrees per second. But I didn’t care. I embraced the cold the water brought. This was home.

Images flashed into my head as I looked across the pool’s water.

In the middle of the pool was a five-year-old me, clinging for dear life onto my swimming coach. Tears flowed freely from my eyes as I cried and begged him not to let me go. Then a devilish grin flashed across his face as he threw me into the deep end. According to him, the best teacher is and always was, is human instinct.

           I chuckled. The guy was a monster, but he was right. Instinct was an excellent teacher.

           Looking towards the end of the pool, I saw a scrawny six-year-old me. My goggles askew, my entire body was shaking with nervousness, as I walked towards the diving block on my first ever swim meet.

           A smile found its way onto my face. That little boy did not understand that he was diving headfirst into a life full of swim meets and that the nervousness he felt then would pale compared to the ones he will soon face.

           Across the pool, I saw a six-year-old me, a wide grin on my youthful face as my swim coach hung my first ever gold medal on my neck. My eyes full of pride, my whole scrawny little body radiated with confidence.

           I shook my head. I spent most of my childhood in this very pool. After school, I would spend a few hours every single day, here. During the weekends, while other children my age went to computer shops and malls, I was here, swimming. As my friends spent their summer vacation abroad or in malls, I spent mine here, training. I had grown to hate this pool. I used to make up any excuse I could think of,  just to get away from training, to stay as far away from this pool as possible.

I had swum countless laps, trained until my entire body felt numb from exhaustion, trained until I was to the point of throwing up, trained until I became one of the best there was. All on this very pool. That was when I realized that this pool was my home, this pool made me become somebody. Somebody who knew what he was doing, somebody brave enough to go toe to toe with anybody and face any challenge, somebody who radiated with confidence no matter the odds, somebody who knew that no matter what, he would win. This pool made me somebody who I was proud to be.

My phone rang, breaking the silence of the night. I took it out of my pocket. It was my father. I hesitated for a moment. With a heavy sigh, I declined the call and put it back in my pocket. I already knew what he would say, and I knew that I was not ready to hear the words that will come from his mouth.

Tiny ripples appeared on the water beside my knees as tears fell freely from my eyes, joining the water below. I shuddered as the torrent of sadness that I’ve tried the entire night to hold back, finally break free and all at once overcome me.

I have failed. Yet again.

My name, once again, was missing from the list of those who passed the final exams.

Ever since I entered medical school, I have failed again and again. And now, I was to be held back yet another year. So I find myself here, crying my eyes out, looking at my reflection on the water. Looking at a man who doubts every single choice he makes, a man so paralyzed by fear of failing again, a man so ashamed of who he has become.

I took a deep breath. I know that there is no going back to what was. No way I could relive the glory days from my past. So, I sit here, at the place where I grew up, the place that gave me confidence and pride. Trying to find strength from the memory of who I was in these waters. Strength enough so I could rise above my failures, to find the confidence in myself that I had lost.

Then a new set of images flooded my mind. Painful memories of losing and failing, again and again, right at these very waters. Memories of me crying my eyes out as I’ve failed after I’ve tried all that I have. Memories of being filled with the feeling of frustration and self-loathing as I failed again and again. Memories of pulling myself back up again and again until I somehow, someway, succeeded.

Then it clicked. The man this place had created was not someone who won every single time. It was a man who got up no matter how many times he failed. A man who never lost confidence, not because he knew he would win every single time, but because he knows that even if he lost, he would try and try again until he won. A man who was brave enough to face his failures because he knew that it was those failures that gave him strength.

I sighed as I dipped my hand into the chilly water. I watched it as it moved softly around my hands, caressing, cooling my skin as it always had many, many years ago. I pull my hand out and watch as the water slowly falls back into the pool, creating miniature waterfalls around my outstretched fingers. It has been so long since I’ve been here. So long that I have forgotten the man this place shaped me to be.

           My phone rang again. With a heavy sigh, I stood up and took one last look at the pool, giving a silent thanks to its waters that have shaped me and helped me grow. Slowly, I began to walk away. Away from the comfort and glory of yesterday, towards the uncertainty of tomorrow.