College Admissions Essay: Why I Hate Water

I hate water. No, that’s not quite right; I don’t hate all water, just water that is deeper than 5 feet. Its deceptively calm surfaces in swimming pools and beautiful green-blue hues in oceans only seem to inspire fear and apprehension in me, calling to mind the smell of chlorine and the memory of a faint ache in my legs from kicking desperately.

My first twinges of panic came in the form of my dad throwing me into the deep end as a ten year old, emboldened by the idea that I would “learn to swim out of necessity.” I remember plunging into the water, the sounds and colors of the world growing mute and subdued. I remember it being calm and peaceful underwater until my body seemed to remember that I needed to breathe; with this reminder, I began to panic at the burning sensation in my lungs. I kicked wildly without any sort of coordination, propelling myself to the surface only to be submerged once more when I grew tired. I remember crying for my dad and everyone in the pool staring at me as I made a commotion. In the end, my dad had to carry me back to the shallow end, where I promptly got out of the water and refused to get back in. Ever since that day, I have staunchly refused to take any swimming lessons, mainly out of fear of drowning and making a fool out of myself.

Stupidly thinking that I could somehow pass the swim test, I decided not to tell my teacher the negligeable fact that I could not swim at all. For one of the tasks, we all had to swim to the other end of the pool; a quarter of the way there, I realized that there was no way I could make it to the other end. I began to flounder, drawing in water with every breath. I managed to get myself to the side of the pool, clinging on for dear life, red with embarrassment and