I’m not saying I’m part fish, but the lake definitely knows my name.
The first time I went swimming with my ex-boyfriend, I jumped in without hesitation in a moment of pure boldness. I swam backwards with a smile, and he exclaimed with a grin, “I had no idea you were a fish!” Maybe being a fish had to do with the fact that I was born on July 1, a time when summer starts to throw open its sun-soaked curtains. Since day one, my days have flowed with water—splashing, floating, and carefree. Only recently, during the middle of a swim, did I realize how silently loyal the water has been to me. As someone who tries to practice gratitude for the little moments in life, I’d somehow overlooked this lifelong companion.
For the horoscope diehards out there, my aforementioned birth date makes me a Cancer—sentimental, prone to mood swings, and as a water sign, supposedly ruled by emotions that ebb and flow like the ocean. Though I don’t often relate much to the typical characteristic traits of Cancers, there’s something that touches me about being a water sign—it feels right.
Recently, I spent the weekend on the south coast of Turkey with two friends—a quick break from Istanbul, where I am studying abroad in a city that straddles the Black Sea and the Marmara Sea. The bright blue Mediterranean Sea beckoned me from the moment I plunged my bare feet into the sand. While my friends lingered near the shore, I—true to my inner fish—dove in and swam out as far as the sea would let me.
Surrounded by green mountains and cupping the clear water to my cheeks, the moment felt purely serene, like I could die right then and still be infinitely fulfilled. Without any social distractions, I was suddenly flooded with memories from childhood: doing underwater somersaults and handstands with my brother, the sharp chlorine scent of the pool during swimming lessons, and the awkward high school years when I didn’t want to wear a bikini or take off my makeup to swim.
As I plunged into the Mediterranean, it struck me—water had always been a quiet, constant companion.
Maybe it started at birth. I was born in Kingston, at the General Hospital overlooking Lake Ontario, one of the Great Lakes, and from the very beginning, water was just outside the window—steady and constant—probably why I’ve always seen it as a trusting and selfless companion.
Throughout university, whenever things got overwhelming, I’d find myself down at the pier. The water never failed to offer me a listening ear without ever needing anything in return. Even now, as I drifted in the Mediterranean, I found myself missing the sharp jolt of fresh water after leaping off the pier with my friends.
The truth is that, unlike many things in my life, I’ve never asked for anything from swimming— I’ve never asked for love, friendship, enlightenment, or perfection. I just swim. Whether it’s deep breast strokes underwater or a light doggy paddle, skimming the surface of the water, there’s no pressure to accomplish something because there are no rules. I simply love it all— love in a pure way that exists without myself even realizing it.
Whenever people ask about my hobbies, I always say reading and writing. These aren’t just hobbies—they’re part of who I am. But for years, I treated them like tasks to be controlled and measured, making sure I never fell behind. What used to be a peaceful escape—curling up with a book—became a strict routine, like medicine I had to take daily. Missing even one page would unleash a flood of guilt and self-criticism.
Besides swimming, it’s hard to find anything I love that doesn’t come tangled up with pressure and expectation.
I often find myself floating around in my head—whether that’s reading, writing, or when I’m staring into space, pondering, my mind is a popular entity—leaving mybody often neglected. Yet, as I was having my aqua-themed epiphanies, I felt thepart of the larger system that is my body. It was a feeling of connection between my body and mind that I don’t frequently feel. It was almost as though water was the glue binding us—my mind and body—together, which isn’t necessarily wrong, seeing that 70 per cent of the world is composed of water and 60 per cent of the human body is made of water.
In that moment in the sea, kicking my ankles and watching my feet ripple through the water, I felt an inexplicable feeling of bliss.
I realized anything or anyone I’ve ever loved has been further bonded to me through a backdrop of water. Whether it was iring a beautiful garden that featured a glittering pond or laughing with my mom while treading together in a lukewarm pool, water has been there listening and watching me grow up, urging me forward.
Water has even been here while I’m so far from home, making my exchange experience even better. Whether I’m swimming in the sea or eating ice cream while watching the Bosphorus shimmer in the sunshine—these are the beautiful, water-centric moments I’ll never forget.
The future is always uncertain, but what I do know is that I’ll dive into the next chapter of my life with an open heart and a cute swimsuit.
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