Getting in Touch with the Inner Fish

*Disclaimer: I understand the different ideologies that Vietnamese and overseas-Vietnamese have, and I want to clarify that the excerpt of my mother’s journey is told through my mother’s perspective from an earlier time period. Our current beliefs are not reflected in this piece, nor can I speak for any individuals or organizations I mention here.

When I was six years old, my mother started taking my sister and me to Carson Park to swim. The public swimming pool at this park offered lessons twice a week on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and my mom was determined to have us learn how to swim. I remember when I first registered, I had to be a certain age to join the “polliwog” group, which was designed for older beginners.

“She’s seven,” my mother said at the registration desk.

“Six and a half!” I argued for no particular reason other than the truth.

So six-and-a-half year old me was permitted into the polliwog group, and I continued learning and advancing groups until I reached the “fish” level, which was two levels away from the highest group. At this point, I was nine and started to lose faith in my ability as my vision weakened more and more. Without 20/20 vision underwater and above the surface, I didn’t want to continue my lessons. And that was that.

Only recently did I come to reflect on why my mother wanted Thao and I take up swimming. I remember every Tuesday and Thursday, she would be the only parent who sat outside of the gated pool to watch us learn how to swim. Other parents simply dropped off their kids and returned to pick them up 1.5 hours later. Whenever I beat the other kids in a kickboard or free-style race, I would run up to my mom with the biggest smile on my face, and her smile mirrored mine. But when I asked if she wanted to do Friday community swims with us, she simply shook her head and told us that she didn’t want to, but she said she would drive us to the pool if we wanted to go.

One day, when I was old enough to understand her journey in context of the war, my mother explained that she almost drowned when she tried to flee Viet Nam. Her and her older brothers were on their second attempt to escape the country, and they were told to meet a group of escapees by a pier. Suddenly, gunshots disturbed the quiet night and people panicked and scurried to safety, unaware of their direction and of the source of the gunshots. In the process, my mother lost her brothers (I would not serve their story justice if I write about their fate here) and found herself at the edge of the pier, staring into the black abyss of the sea. She had two choices: stay and die via torture or regime change, or jump and hope that she would be saved.

While both choices presented a high chance of death, especially since she didn’t know how to swim, she chose to jump. After she jumped, she told me she felt the water fill her lungs as she sank slowly to the bottom of the sea. She lost consciousness, but several moments later, she regained consciousness on a fisherman’s boat. She never questioned how she got there. All she could do was thank God for providing her with the chance to live.

The kind of boat my mom was pulled onto

Because of that experience, my mother was scared to enter large bodies of water, especially those of indeterminate depth. I remember how my mom would hang out on pool steps or on the shore of the beach as my sister and I daringly splashed around in the deep end or in rolling waves. She was too traumatized to try to swim.

This was only true until five years ago. Toward my latter years of college, I received a phone call from my mother and asked her if there was anything new. “I’m learning how to swim!” she exclaimed excitedly.

The silence on my end of the line indicated my shock. She continued, “I realized I shouldn’t let my fear take over my life, and I recently started taking lessons at the community pool close to my work. Oh honey, I’ve been such a quick learner, and everyone loves me there!”

At that moment, I was so proud of my mom. And I still am. Five years later, she still swims every other day and even gives secret lessons to people who play around in the water and don’t have enough money to pay the community pool. Over 30 years after her traumatic incident, she not only overcame her fear, but she became a source of empowerment.

With occasional access to pools or the beach, I find myself thinking about my mom as I relearn how to free-style or even simply breathe while swimming. I think about her watching me on the sidelines, waiting for me to come over to talk about my victorious event. I also think about her swimming alongside, or lapping me as I catch my breath on the wall. Most importantly, I think about the fear she overcame when she jumped off that pier, and when she decided to overcome her anxiety about swimming.

Thao, one of my sources of inspiration, after taking on an Olympic distance triathlon. Still lookin' good.

Along with my mother, I think about my best friend Robert, who updates me about his number of laps around the public pool and laughs with me about our choice of swimming widths rather than lengths. I think about my sister, Thao, who is not only a twice-a-month marathoner, but is also a triathlete who is training for her half-Ironman in July, taking place during the hottest month of the year and in the hottest area in Northern California. I also think about the high incidences of drowning across Vietnam, especially among young children in rural provinces, and I think about the people and programs that dedicate themselves to educating and empowering the community by teaching them about swimming safety. Through their inspiration, I have become more motivated to get in touch with the inner fish, not only to empower myself, but also in hopes of spreading the inspiration that others have granted me.

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This post is dedicated the aforementioned individuals and programs, especially Hue Help’s swimming program. Please help educate young children on swimming safety by donating to their campaign.