I am afraid of the water.

When I say that I’m afraid of the water, I’m not referring to small puddles, rain, shower water, or crystal clear potable water. I’m talking about huge, vast, overwhelming amounts water. I could’ve just said that I was afraid of the ocean or of the sea, but “water” really hits the spot.

It’s an eerie fascination on my part to be deftly afraid of LBW’s (Large Bodies of Water). I can’t really describe the exact feeling, but it comes very close, asymptotic even, to helplessness. When I was a kid, I was so afraid of our huge water drum. I remember this one incident when I accidentally dropped the soap into that seemingly bottomless abyss of a drum. I got so scared of the thought of being asked to get it that I began to cry silently inside the bathroom. The fear of submerging my hand into that void was just so overwhelming that my primal instincts kicked in, causing me to run in panic out of our bathroom. It felt like seeing the gates of hell.

Most people enjoy the sea, the ocean breeze, the therapeutic effects of saltwater, the sand in their shorts. I, on the other hand, despise it. My body even reacts automatically to the slightest hint of a beach outing by instantly coming up with an alibi not to go. But alas, no alibis work against the mighty will of my parents and their promise of a so-called quality family time which will only end up as being this bizarre scene where I endlessly whine while mom barks orders, dad discourses his views of life, ate and bayaw argue about some insignificant affair and ace and ate mai enjoy the water and their innate indifference. The last time that I was dragged to one of these outings wasn’t any different. I promised myself that I absolutely would not jump into the water. And as the saying goes, promises really are meant to be broken. With goggles on my eyes, and fear in my heart, I leapt into the water, I entered hell. As much as I am fascinated with man’s ingenuity and scientific achievements, I couldn’t help wondering how good it would feel to pound the hell out of the person who invented goggles. I fuckin saw the seafloor and it didn’t help one bit. I was so scared that I climbed onto the floating house with haste brought about by absolute terror. Being underwater shook me. It felt like being swallowed alive by a gargantuan beast. I was in despair, I felt sad, scared, helpless, I got a taste of death and it’s bitterness haunts me till this day. That was the third time in my adult life that I cried out of fear (the other two times are not related to water).

So I guess I really am hydrophobic, hydrophobic in a mild sense. But as much as I would like to blame the water for the intense fear that it triggers in me, I know that fear is still just fear and that water isn’t really what I fear but rather, it’s just the key that opens my “doom” box. The realization bit helps, but I’d prefer having someone get rid of my water demons. Think John Constantine.

-out!

-eLiv ~scared~