Personal Narrative #1:

 When I was living in Canada, there was a recreation center right next to our house. There was one big pool there. It was structured somewhat like the sea, deepening gradually as it got far from the "shore". It was what made me live beside my house, not in it, for I practically made it my home. I loved it.

 I usually just lay on floats and rubber planks in the shallow areas. I would drift slowly, letting the waves rock me gently with their cool hands back and forth, back and forth. The waves began fierce and huge from the farthest end, but they softened out in to a soft swaying as they approached the shore. I would lie there for hours, imagining I was in the sky, on the clouds, drifting. It was a wonderful sensation that remained even after I left the water. When I lay down to sleep at the end of a day I had gone to the pool, the waves would come again. My mattress would become the water than the clouds, and I would fall asleep in the sky. I used to think that the waves followed me home. But I never went to the deeper side.

 Why not? One day, I thought ‘why not?’ So I slowly stepped to the deepest end for just a sip of what it would feel like. ’10 feet’ was what the sign was saying. I had little idea of feet and inches then, and so I believed I the bottom would be only a couple of feet down. How very wrong I was. I was only a little over 4 feet then. Anyway, I decided I would try and get to the bottom I took in a deep breath and made myself into a ball. The ball began to sink. I was quite surprised to find about 5 seconds later that I had barely come half the way. I had little air left in my lungs, so I decided to go up. The second try wasn’t much better. So I failed for a dozen more tries. By then, I had learned how to get down. Curling up didn’t help sinking much. Rather, remaining straight as if standing allowed my body to be as ‘long’ as possible and therefore closer to the bottom, or so I thought at the time. In that fashion, I finally sank more than half. But as I went down, I realized that the more important part of this fun new ‘sinking’ was getting vack up. I at the moment, however, didn’t have the air to do so. I had only calculated the way down when I breathed out in the water, so I was hopelessly out of oxygen. I flailed my limbs frantically in panic. Thoughts do appear in moments of crisis. I got the idea of kicking off from the floor. So, ironically, I sank for a few more precious seconds. Then pushed off from the floor. I kicked and flapped. My face finally broke the surface. “Air!” I gasped. A few heads turned. “Air… air is important, as we all know….” I swam to the side and lifted my self out. I’d had enough for one day. But I didn’t quite think I’d had enough for a lifetime. My body tingled with anticipation for the next wet visit.

 When it finally came, I ran straight out of the dressing room, past a lifeguard shouting “Hey! No running!” and jumped right into the deepest side. I dunked my head beneath the water and fell into the world of quiet; devoid of the same guard’s shouts about I how I should warm up before getting into the water. Then I swam over to the wall that had a ledge into which the pool’s water was sucked in, so that this time, I might have something to grab onto when I lost the strength to swim back up. That was one wise decision. Because when I my feet succeeded in learning the texture of the deep bottom with enough air and strength left in me, the most unexpected thing happened. The waves revenged for my sudden disinterest in its soothing gentleness. It swirled and it whirled, leaving me dazed and full of water. I finally understood why people weren’t allowed in the deepest part without floating equipment during wave sessions. But it was too late. My head churned along with the water. I could not orient direction of any sort. I could not tell where the surface; the exit; was. Terror struck but was quickly drowned as well. Then the hazy chaos stopped. Instead the pool grabbed my legs and started pulling me toward somewhere. In a direction. Direction. Downwards. That must mean the surface is the opposite way. As the thoughts bounced around my water-filled head, my feet scraped against something. With pain came joy for the floor I had long sought was finally here. I kicked off. But I had little strength left. I was about maybe little more that halfway up when I began to lose the ability to swim. I raised my arm hoping there was something grabbing onto which I could pull my self up. My hand caught on the water-sucking ledge. I climbed the liquid. A sigh made its way through as my lungs took in dry air. ‘It is good to be up,’ I was thinking when the mass of water in my danger zone rose up: the next wave began marching out. I hurriedly scrambled out of the water and ran to the safety of the shore, past the lifeguard that said in an exhausted voice, “Will you give it a rest?!” I thought I would.

 I am not afraid to dare the depths of the unknown. I can get back up when I am down. But I know to love the soft waves. I learned how to think in the sky. Water is everywhere.