The Time I Almost Drowned

Sometimes I would look on my foot to see what scars I had on them. I have one on my right foot, which permanently has a band aid attached to it at the moment. One that is not there any more was a deep scar when I dashed my foot on the sharp rocks at Rottnest Island.

I remember clearly that I volunteered to go snorkelling for the primary school camp. I was nervous since I wasn't a great swimmer but I went nevertheless, and went in a team with the sports teacher to look at shipwrecks. It was amazing, and at one stage the teacher dived down to check a pipe underneath the water. I was submerged under as well, but just above the surface so I could breathe through the snorkel.

I was a bit stupid back then, and thought that snorkels could allow you to breathe underwater when you dived deeper in the water. So I tried diving as well. That was when I found out that clearly that was definitely how snorkels don't work; at once I swallowed a whole mouthful of salt water.

At that point the whole team had left to shore already, and I was alone in the ocean. And so I knew that I had to go back with them, but I started to panic. Not only was I abandoned I was trying to get my breath and getting the snorkel to work again. I tried so hard to maintain floating above the water while I emptied the tube on my snorkel, but only to end in avail as the water pushed me down again.

I got so worried, because no one was coming to get me. I was waving frantically but no one was paying attention. I felt I couldn't scream for help because I was submerged in the water half the time, and screaming would make me look ridiculous. So I put on a brave face, took off my snorkel and started to push myself towards the shore. I eventually got there, and the whole team was waiting above me on the rocky shore. Almost there, but not quite. I was still gasping for breath when the teacher arrived to pull me up. Floating among the rocks I tried grabbing on to an edge but I felt I had ran out of strength in my struggle. Finally the teacher decided to give a hand and pull me out of the water. I was saved; but while he pulled me up through rocks I managed to get a deep long cut on one of my feet.

First I was initially embarrassed that I was the only one drowning and every one else went on just fine, but eventually it was replaced with an overwhelming sense of relief that I had made it across to the shore without dying. All they did afterwards was place some ointment and sloppily chuck a band-aid over my cut. There was no fuss over what had just happened. Over the years I sometimes check to see if that impressive scar is still there. It's not there any more, but I imagine a faint one where the creases of my feet are.

I can say that experience could serve as a metaphor for almost all of my life battles.