“how saltwater, stillness, and a boy broke the spell“
It was my sister’s birthday, but the real celebration came later, somewhere between the saltwater and the stillness, where a boy I didn’t know pulled me back to life, turning it into the near-death experience I’d never forget.
The morning was slow and soft, the kind that makes you breathe a little deeper. I walked into the breakfast buffet, dining alfresco with the birds. With no plans and a satisfied belly, I decided to go for a swim. After all, how often do I get to feel warm, salty water on my skin now that I live in California, where getting into the ocean means wrestling a wetsuit?
By noon, the Southeast Asian sun was relentless. Naturally, most people avoided it, so the beach was empty. Just me and the sea. The quiet continues, I thought to myself.
As I stepped into the water, I heard a man behind me say, “Look at that jie-jie,1 swimming alone. She’s so brave.” His daughter, maybe five, watched me curiously. I turned and waved. Maybe I inspired her. Maybe I inspired myself.
As I swam a little farther, I set a small goal: reach the rope line marking the safe zone. It was supposed to be a quick, feel-good swim. Eventually, the sand disappeared beneath me. My heart raced, but I liked that. I felt alive.
The main issue was (among several others, but we’ll get to that soon), I was barely recovered from COVID. My lungs still ached after climbing stairs or even laughing too hard. Sometimes I had to pause mid-meal just to catch my breath. But that morning, I told myself, let’s see how far I can go.
Now, the other issues: I’ve never been a strong swimmer. No goggles. No safety device of any kind. Just me.
Eventually, I made it to the rope. Good job, I thought. Then I turned around.
Gasp. The beach looked impossibly far.
Panic flooded me. Well, this is great. I kicked harder, but the water held me in place. Tried to float. Smooth move. Tried backstroke. Nothing. My breath shortened. My strength faded…
The moment felt endless, part fear, part surrender. I didn’t realise it then, but this was the near-death experience that would split my life into before drowning and after.
No lifeguards. No boats. Just calm waves gently hitting my body, as if everything was fine.
This is it, I thought. This is how I die.
And then came the guilt. My parents had always warned me about the water, especially my mom, who lost her younger brother to drowning. I was just a little girl at his funeral, but it left an impression on me. I remember being lifted up to see his face through the glass of the casket. He looked handsome, a little pale, but peaceful.
After all those warnings all these years, this was how I’d go?
I started imagining my obituary. Would I be called a tourist or a local? Which photo would they use?
Then I chuckled. Drowning at a five-star beach resort. How ironic.
Just as I thought about screaming for help, I saw them, two boys on the shore, about to come into the water. They looked around twelve and nine.
I thought, This is my only chance. Don’t scare them away.
I waved gently. “Excuse me,” I called, trying to sound calm and anything but desperate.
“Can you come over, please?”
Without hesitation, the older boy swam toward me.
“Hi,” I continued, pretending to be calm. “I swam too far. Can you help me get back?”
He nodded and offered his arm. I held it lightly, careful not to drag him under.
We swam together in silence until he said flatly, “I think your feet can reach the ground now.”
“Thanks,” I whispered. I must’ve been so scared, probably curled up like one of those prawn cocktails.
Immediately, he turned to his younger brother, shouting, “JAKE! LET’S GO SWIM!”
And just like that, they were gone.
I sat on a lounge chair for a long time, letting the sun dry the water off my skin. My heart was still pounding, my chest rising and falling until my breath found its rhythm again.
The sea was still calm. The sun still warm.
But I wasn’t the same.
I didn’t drown, but something in me didn’t make it back. The near-death experience wasn’t just the ocean, it was everything that started to unravel in the moments after.
- Jie-jie” is Mandarin for “elder sister.” It’s often used as a respectful or affectionate way to refer to an older girl or woman. ↩︎
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