Something about swimming (II)
-The head-on collision-

So. swimming takes my breath away. It starts from the kick-off, thoughts of life and its ironies; the seventh lap, the ‘what would I be having for dinner’ question… and… with a “BANG!” “ouch!” I cough , sputter and flail my arms. Do I look back to indicate contrition or intense pain or do I swim off? This time I continue on my way hoping the other person won’t recognize my blue swim suit and matching turquoise goggles. Always expected but unexpected; inevitable and yet trained to avoid, is the nature of collision. There is always the question of who’s at fault. And of course most of the time, I won’t think it’s me. It can’t have been. The other person must know that when you do the front-crawl you look down, and then tilt sideways to get air, not up and ahead.

There’s the nicely plump, middle age auntie in her flower power suit who can’t control her breast-stroke direction; the 7-year old kid in his lesson-explaining-pyjamas, and the sleek snobbish swimmer who should’ve known better. But when auntie murmurs “OI!” in a shouting kind of way, the kid looks up at his coach and points to my direction, and the sleek swimmer is triathlete whose timing I’ve apparently ruined, it becomes my responsibility to practice pool safety. No wonder judgment comes from above, when you are not in a position to say who’s wrong. But saying all that, the “sorry” is hard and late. It either comes out in a gurgle or the other has swum away.

When I finally finish the laps and rest at the side, still breathing hard and thinking, I ponder that given the natural nature of collision, the only time you may not bump and knock is when you remain like a frog on a lotus leave. Calm and unruffled; undisturbed because uninvolved. Oh is that so? Because even with me clinging to the wall and my back facing the populous, the arm’s stroke of an in-coming swimmer hits me like electricity.


With that, the lotus leaf overturns and the frog plops back into the water.