I’ll be honest, I struggled to write this. My relationship with water is so beautifully complex. I didn’t know where to start. I tossed with this for a while until I realised that I should just start with my earliest memory of this relationship: almost drowning in the waves of California.
When I was seven years old, my family went to visit my auntie who lived in California. I was so excited as it was my very first time in California and I had heard so many wonderful things about it. While we were there, my auntie planned for us to go to this gorgeous local beach. It wasn’t very well known so there were no tourists—just local Californians. I was eager to swim in the inviting sea. It wasn’t anything like the cold British sea that I was used to. I was ready for the warm water. I was feeling very California—wearing an adorable pink and blue bikini that showed off the temporary tattoo of the flower I had put on for the summer. My family and my auntie swam into the sea with me.
As soon as the water touched my skin, I felt safe and at home, like I had been in the water before. We swam out past the huge waves that terrified me into calm waters. Bobbing around, laughing and chatting, I felt at ease. Under the hot Cali sun, everything felt right. Finally, we decided to make our way back to the shore for some well-deserved food. I held my mum’s hand as we swam back away from the calm and into the unrelenting waves. All was going well until an enormous wave came crashing into us. We got swept under the water, everything went dark. The power of the wave caught us off guard and I felt my hand get pulled away from my mum’s. I swirled in the water, crashing from side to side. To a seven-year-old me, it felt like I was under those waves for years. It was probably only a minute. But that minute was the scariest minute of my life. The water no longer felt like my friend but rather an enemy. I felt betrayed by something that had, only moments ago, led me to believe that I was safe and at home. Darkness went away as I floated to the top of the water. I was held up by my dad who had witnessed the separation and had come to my rescue. He carried me to shore as my mum looked relieved and put me down into the sand. I started to cry. I thought I had faced death—the moment exaggerated by my wild imagination as a child. Tears streamed down my face, mimicking the flow of the ocean. My mum came and joined me in the sand. After consoling me, she proceeded to tell me to stop crying. She said that there was nothing to cry about because I was fine. She pointed to the see-through waves where the local children could be seen playing. They were having the best time getting whirled around in the waves. In retrospect, I can see that it was okay. The waves hadn’t swallowed me, they were just showing me their idea of a good time. That is my very first memory of my relationship with water. An ambivalent one but a memorable one, nevertheless.
After that experience, my love for the ocean only grew. Every opportunity that I had, I would go into the ocean. Summer, winter, spring or autumn, it didn’t matter the season—I swam in the ocean. I felt an urge and a longing to be in its embrace. Whenever we would go to the beach in the summer, I would spend half the time begging people to come into the water with me. I would ask and ask until my voice got sore. I was never tired of going into the water. Once people finally caved, I realised how long I could spend in the water compared to others. It felt to me like only seconds before they were begging me to go back to our camp and promising me that we would come back in later.
I remember vividly one time being at the beach with my parents. My mum had gone off to do a proper swim and my dad didn’t want to come in the water, so he stayed with the towels. This time, I was happy to go in the water by myself—I was just desperate to get in there. I bobbed around for hours, occasionally diving under the water, creating different water related scenarios in my head (never about sharks though, another ocean fear of mine). I no longer felt alone in the ocean. Submersed in the sparkling waters, I feel as if the water collects my worries, letting them wash away and get lost on the ocean floor. Every problem, stress or worry disappears as I swim. Instead I feel a sense of happiness—untainted, unpolluted. By the time I came out of the water that day, my entire body had morphed into a one-hundred-year-old lady’s; I was extremely wrinkly.
To me, water also has a cultural connection. Mother Earth is heavily valued in Native culture, which includes water. The Cameron Lake in Canada played a vital role in my Aystuultha (coming-of-age ceremony). On the day that my cousins and I had our potlatch (a gift giving feast practiced by indigenous peoples of the Northwest coast), we started the day early at the lake. The significance and power that Cameron Lake’s water had on me is unmeasurable: it helped me capture a deeper understanding of my culture and myself. The feeling of that water will stay with me forever. A reminder of water’s cultural connection to me.
This year, I’m currently seventeen years old. On my Mum’s birthday this year, she wanted to dip with members of my family in Canadian water as an avid open-water swimmer. Now, for people that know the low temperature of Canada’s water, you’ll know how crazy that sounds. Yet, it was amazing. We dipped in the water, letting its iciness heal our emotional wounds. After we got out, I wrapped a towel around me. I went to stand at the water’s edge with my feet submerged in the water. I can honestly say that in my seventeen years of life, this was the most clarity I have ever felt. Strangely, I felt as if this moment of clarity allowed me to understand not only myself better, but also the world. I have done a lot of mediation in my life, trying to achieve that moment of fulfillment and failing. Yet, standing with my feet submerged in the Vancouver Island water, I felt it. There was a moment in which my sense of time disappeared. My thoughts disappeared. I felt at peace. I think about that moment a lot. I think about how lucky I am to have such a bond with water, that I was able to reach that meditative space. I am grateful for the oceans, the lakes and all the gifts they have to offer.
My relationship with water will continue to grow for as long as I am alive. My calling towards the water grows stronger with every breath that I take, and I am grateful for it. I cherish my relationship with water.
