Fiction: Group 4
responsibility. I am their mother now. I have to do whatever I can to protect them. Even if that meant
learning how to swim.
I first stepped back into the river a week later after the accident. Mustering the courage to venture back into
the waters had been an arduous task, but I concentrated on the thought of my sister and steeled my nerves. I
had to do this. I cautiously lowered myself into the cool, crystalline waters and submerged my head, but the
memories came flooding back and my throat closed up in anxiety and fear. I could see the lightning again,
refracting in my eyes as it ejected me from the boat. I could feel the seemingly salubrious water engulfing
my lungs and the sense of panic that was accompanied by a choked windpipe. But, above all, I could feel the
familiar deluge of hopelessness and surrender washing over me, habitually murmuring in my ear that I was
doomed to fail. I abruptly resurfaced, taking in short, raspy breaths, trying to calm myself. I had to fight this.
If I wanted to learn how to swim, I had to overcome this. I had no choice. I submerged my head again and
managed to do a few awkward, ungainly strokes before resurfacing to gasp for air. I tried again and again,
my following attempts always as fruitless as my last. Disheartened and dismayed, I returned home in a sour
mood, but I couldn’t escape to my bed without Father’s words of supposed wisdom about perseverance.
“
不能一口吃成胖子
” You can’t get fat on just one mouthful.
So I returned to the river everyday to claim my next mouthful, determined get fat. And one day, I finally
did. From one lap to the next, from one bank to the other. One lap took about THIRTY minutes, but I
finally did it. I was overjoyed! Ecstatic! Euphoric! I was finally fat (as Father put it when I told him)! This
was my battle, and I emerged victorious.
When I returned home, according to protocol, I was congratulated by another spout of Father’s sagacity.
But it was in English this time, presumably because he didn’t have enough time to ponder over Chinese
equivalent.
“There is no greater achievement than conquering your fears Meimei. You have done well. But don’t stop
now. Don’t let the fire burn out. Continue to feed it wood until it becomes unstoppable.”
In that moment, I felt an overwhelming love for my father. His everlasting support and compassion for me
has been “the wood to my fire” as he would have said. I don’t know what I would have done without him.
I stood up and put my arms around him. He stiffened for a moment, obviously expecting my usual
monotone reply, but then reciprocated. It was a nice family moment.
As always, I took Father’s advice and continue to feed my fire (ironically by immersing myself in water). I
began swimming at least once a week, regardless of my school and household duties. But however much I
swam, getting into the water was always the most difficult part. I would stand on the banks for ten minutes
or so, assessing the weather and pondering the temperature of the water. Then I would tentatively begin to
remove my clothes, shielding myself from prying eyes with banana leaves. The moment where I actually had
to swim would then arise, but I would vacillate for a little longer, letting my toe linger in the water before I
convinced myself to dive in. But once I was submerged, my embargoes would evaporate and I would
surprisingly enjoy it. I enjoyed the touch of the cool water against my skin and the accompanied
rejuvenation. I enjoyed opening my eyes underwater and observing the minute forms wildlife who were
unaware of an intruder in their presence. Above all, I enjoyed the feeling of accomplishment after I’d swum
from one bank to another. My heart would swell with happiness, almost as if it intended to breach the safety
of my ribs and break out of my chest. A smile would inevitably play on my lips and I would occasionally
even erupt in giggles. This is what made swimming so special.
On my sixteenth birthday, Father gifted me a waterproof watch, so I could time my laps and calculate the
distance that I’ve swum. He worked overtime for months to save up for that watch, carefully avoiding my
questioning. At that moment, I realised my dream. I was as clear as Ye Shiwen on what I wanted to do. I
turned to my dad, the brand new watch still glinting in my eye, and said “
爸爸我相当游泳
员
”. I want to
become a professional swimmer. Tears of joy pooled in his eyes and they swam down his cheeks as he tried
to crack a smile.
