Just Keep Swimming

By Anahita Wadhwa

Just Keep Swimming. 

I heard the phrase first in the dark, decrepit movie theater seat I sat at the edge of, eyes widening with every swish of Dory’s fins. That evening, my mother had rounded up the heavier hand of her job earnings to take me to see my first movie, and eight-year-old me could not have been happier. 

As we walked home together, hand in hand and footsteps in sync, she’d bunched up my pudgy cheeks and told me to make her an earnest promise. “Promise me, sweet boy, that in life- you’ll keep swimming, even in the face of a shark and even in the garden of your dreams. Just keep swimming.” 

I’d crossed my arms and looked at my mother with all the derisiveness my body had within me. “Mama, I’m not a fish. You don’t have to tell me.”

My grandmother says that I was – and still am – the hardest to manage of all her grandchildren. I was stubborn and hard headed (quite literally, it’s a surprise that I managed to survive bumping into all those sharp objects) and quite petulant. “I want cookies,” I’d scream, running around the house with my pants on over my head. 

Abuela would let out an exasperated sigh as she trailed my scrawny figure. “Aye! No, Juan-ito. Run back to kitchen. Now.”

It was usually just Abuela and me. My mother died fighting for women’s rights when I was ten years of age. I couldn’t much bear to walk the streets of Mexico after she’d passed, and ended up crouching in a small, solitary corner on the pavement till my grandmother ordered someone to hunt me down. Thankfully, Abuela shared my sentiments all too well. We moved to the United States soon after, and it was as though Abuela and I pressed the ‘restart and renew’ button on our entire lives. 

A new high school meant new friends, new education and a new way of life. The moment I surveyed the long, wide swimming pool after a long, mundane tour around campus, I had known it had to mean something. My mothers soft voice echoed in every nook of my mind. ‘Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimming, Just Keep Swimmi-’

“How soon can I apply to the swim team?”

I’d swim all the time back in Mexico. In deep lakes and ponds during day and night and sometimes, in the sea. So, I sort of considered myself fearless. No man could fear after experiencing life on the edge, right?

And then, I met Coach Trevor. Though I had managed to make the cut, I hadn’t accounted for earning their respect. The swim team was hard on me, but Coach Trevor was even harder. More often than not, I’d find myself being called, ‘Little Fish’ and told to stop splashing and start making waves, like ‘real swimmer.’ 

“Come here, Little Fish,” Coach would drawl. “You have the will, but you’re not willing to learn the way. Get out of my class, and come back when you actually are ready.”

I admit (albeit sheepishly) that I’d shed some tears after hearing that and some harsher, more colorful words thrown at me. But I was there, the next day at practice, ready to brush off myself and keep swimming. 

And then, came my first tournament. 

When the time came, I failed to execute. At least, that’s what my teammates told me after, with a disappointed sigh and a sympathetic pat on the back. I’d kept my head down the whole day. 

That night, Abuela bundled me up in her comforting embrace like she would years ago. 

“What’s wrong, nieto? Tell me.”

I sniffled. “I can’t believe it, Abuela. When he said go, all I could think was ma’s voice telling me to just keep swimming. And then my chest seized up, and my ears were ringing. I was scared I would let her down. It was like my worst nightmare coming true.”

Abuela rocked us back and forth, muttering soft, comforting words as I cried in her arms. The last thing I heard her say before I gave in to sleep was a sweet, “You’re my star, Juan-ito. You can do it all.”

So, I decided to have faith. In Abuela, in my mother, in Coach Trevor. And in myself.

There was screaming and commotion all around. I tried hard to discern what they’re all saying, but it was hard with my swim cap sitting so snug over my ears. I squinted up at the crowd on the stands, spotting the scouts. They had fancy sunglasses and suits on, a checkboard in hand. Waiting to cross my name off the sheet, I supposed. 

I glared at the banner, next. The FINS FINAL Swim Meet. This was my only chance to make the Olympics Training Academy. 

A shuddering breath.

And then I saw them. The posters. Posters with my name on them (even Abuela held one), and with a start I realized, there was cheer all around. The crowd was cheering for me. And somewhere up there, I could see my parents too, cheering me on. I could do this. 

The announcer began to count us swimmers down, and I faced the pool. There was no need for me to be afraid. After all, there was no obstacle I couldn’t face.

READY.

Because I knew, that even in the face of acute adversity, in the face of roaring sharks or in the deepest pit of sea snakes, when I hit rock bottom…

SET.

And at the top of the world, when I am at my strongest and most supreme, the world beneath my feet…

GO.

I will always keep swimming. 

So, this time, I took the leap. And the sound of water against skin never felt sweeter.   

 By Anahita Wadhwa