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Rye Personal Narrative

1161 Words5 Pages

The Reality of a Rye Rescue. ‘I am going to die’ were the words I continued to hear for many weeks. A reverberation in my head like a Catholic Church Bell in a small Romanian village that bellows in continuous motion dominating the night. How did this happen? How did I let fear dominate me? It was time for reflection. My day started well preparations in place, organised and excited. The sun peaked unpretentiously beyond the cloudless blue skies indicating it was going to be a brilliant day. It was Christmas 2013. We have developed a Christmas tradition due firstly to the size of the families and secondly, the need to consider the in laws, so every other year is our family Christmas. Yes 2013 was our year. I wanted to bless the family so I booked a holiday house in Rye on the Southern Peninsula of Victoria for ten days. It had five bedrooms and was excellent for our growing family. Now Christmas day had arrived. Post presents, and prayer our family of sixteen at the time all stuffed up and plumped up from a Christmas lunch to remember, and all moving like overloaded semitrailers in first gear after feasting on; …show more content…

In this season, I swam three times a week at my local indoor pool often forging seventeen laps a session. Not bad for a sixty year old. I was ready for a swim and confident that I could keep up with the boys. I began to make my way to the end of the Pier where the boys were. The water was clear and although I could not touch the bottom I could see the sand below me. There was not much to see except for a few star fish, Muzzles on the pylons and a couple of small crabs in fear for their lives. It was not long before I noted a change in the water! No longer calm and serene the water had become choppy, eerie and menacing. As quickly as I turned to swim in another direction the waves pounded my arms and face violently alarming me further to the weather

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1 I woke up monday morning with the one thought in my mind - Rye Neck. We had gone all the way last year to the section final with them, and after me hitting the pipe in the final minutes to win it, they scored on the counterattack and won the the section. I had never experienced a loss like this one. I was the kid on the team who before the season started, no one really knew if I was good or not.

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In the iconic words of J.D. Salinger 's cynical protagonist, Holden, "the first thing you 'll probably want to know is where I was born, an what my lousy childhood was like," but my early childhood is but a faint glimmer in my past. Born in a small town in the middle of rural Kazakhstan, my early life was as unmemorable as the place of my hometown. In fact, I remember close to nothing about the first four years of my life, the oldest memory being one of my exploration of a interesting new home unlike any I had ever seen. Four-year-old me had not then realized that not only was the house my family moved into far from home, but I had also somehow traveled halfway across the world. Twelve years later, I presently refer to America as my home,

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I decided to take a dip in the emerald waters. The problem was that I have an abnormal persistent fear of deep water. On top of that, I had ventured out myself. Nevertheless, the sun struck like an arrow, which forced me into the water. At first, the swimming came naturally, but as the seconds turned into minutes I drew more weary.

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In the water below, nearby the rough edges of the cliff, was my aunt and cousin treading water. They were both calling out for me to do it. I took a deep breath. My heart was racing as fast as it possibly could. Then, finally, without any hesitation at all, and an ounce of courage, I leapt forward off of the angry face of the cliff.

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The beast kicked as though she was trying to imitate the graceful strokes of those swimmers on TV. My eyes shut, as I reached higher and higher above. My hand broke the surface; I could feel cool air running through my fingers and my lungs were almost jealous. With one final kick, the beast receded and the minuscule amount of air I was hanging on to could no longer sustain me. I was sinking again until I

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My nerves from the first class unexpectedly came rushing back. These students grew into great swimmers, but I knew that the depth of the water could petrify them. The first few students were able to swim back up with little to no effort, but the last girl lost her footing and slipped into the pool and couldn 't resurface. I froze as I saw her struggling to swim and breathe. My mind quickly flashed back to the time I jumped out of my tube and almost drowned.

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My legs burned. I need to keep going, I couldn’t be on the swim team if I couldn’t even make it here. I didn’t know how long I had stayed there but it felt like forever. I continued to try gasp for air, but everytime water filled my lungs.

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The sound of the whistle jolted me into action. I dove from the block, and a wave of silence crashed over me as I hit the water. For a moment, there was a sense of serenity as I swam under the surface. The spell broke as I rose for air. I could hear everyone yelling and cheering.

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I had a fear of water since I was a child, but somehow managed to take a risk and dive. You know the feeling of being underwater? The bone-crushing pressure of gallons of water envelops every inch of your body and sinks into your lungs, your brain, your heart. While you remain remarkably void of feeling, the fullness of defeat dominates your mind until all that is left inside you are the remnants of the sea’s terrors. Underwater, there are no sounds from the outside world - no cries from those you have wronged, no professions of love hidden inside for too long, no vicious words flung ruthlessly at your feet from the glares of passing strangers.

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