Khan 1
Roha Khan
Ms. Mia Caruso
WR 121
April 8, 2019
Fearless…Not
“Any plans for the summer?”
Never in my entire life have I ever been able to reply “nothing much” to this yearly “questionnaire” that
the whole population needs to ask. Maybe to the homier soul, this might become a little tiresome. After all, the
reply hasn’t always been as great as “Disney Land.” In fact, most of our summer adventures usually are much
more...raw.
For someone who’s known to be a bit of a scared-y cat when it comes to dogs, bees, jumping off the
stairs from anywhere higher than the third step, jumping into the pool, jumping on the pogo stick, jumping in
general, among other things. It might come across as a bit of a shock to the Average Joe, to know that I have
always loved these out of the blue adventures. From the point when my dad announces his “great” (random)
plan to when my mum scrutinizes, adjusts, and approves of it before having us run around like Cinderella’s
mice, in this case, for the “great” plan, all the way to when we are finally on our way back home.
Now when I say, “I have always loved,” I expect you, my fellow scared-y cats, to understand that this
part often only came after the adventure is over and the laundry after it as well. At first glance, ever adventure
looks doable, courtesy to “a good outlook.” When fear starts spiking, and there’s no turning back, the motto is
to “just get it over with.” The end result might proclaim the honour of “not bad.” Yet to really enjoy is to nod at
the fear. To accept it and move on, regardless of it That was my motto. It didn’t matter if climbing the tree
meant jumping down as well; I’d enjoy going up, and I’d figure a way down. It worked well for me, and despite
my fears, I was fearless.
My ideology was tested during one, unforgettable summer. It was the summer of my uncle’s second
visit. During the first, we had carried him off for an out of state road trip, and so this time we planned on
showing him around our own home state. Not wanting to waste a single moment, my family and I had
preplanned every day of his visit. We decided that other than the time of our upcoming religious celebration, all
other days would be spent out.
The first few days he was with us, Mission #TakeUncleToExploreOregon was a flop. My uncle, a
devoted advocate for the “stay at home and enjoy” club, was completely content with not taking a single step
out of the house. We fell to the desire of being a little a lot lazy, playing Monopoly and cards, day in, day out. It
was only until half his stay later, the celebration long past, that my dad took any action against our indolence
with his own, Grand Plan. It was time to explore.
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The first day was packed. The plan was to begin with a series of different hikes and waterfalls; our final
destination was to be a lake where we would canoe. Our first stop was at Bridal Veil Falls. There, we hiked for
a while exploring different trails. Next, we stopped at Multnomah Falls taking selfies and enjoying the classic
vanilla chocolate swirl ice cream. At this point, we had about an hour more until we reached the lake. Fifteen
minutes into the drive, we stopped at the gas station. This was the exact place our grand plan took an
unexpected change in course, literally.
It began with my dad’s waterfall of questions for the young man working there.
"So what do you guys have to do here? Any water activities nearby? Canoeing, paddle boating?"
The reply came back positive.
"Oh yeah, there're lots of things here. In fact, there's jet skiing right 'round the corner."
“Jet skiing, really? How much does it cost?"
"Oh, I wouldn't know, but the guy who works there is actually here right now, let me just call him for
you."
With my dad’s history of impulsive decisions and crazy plans, it was no surprise that when after meeting
the tall surfer dude who worked with the Jet Skis and receiving instructions on how to get to the rather isolated
beach area, we ended up paying for a sweet ride none of us had ever had any experience with.
It was one vehicle, one hour, six people. We went in two groups, my sister, uncle, and I were up first.
In the beginning, before any one of us knew better, we entertained the delusion that we might get out of the
event without getting wet. That was until “surfer dude” noticed my uncle's vain attempts at folding his pants as
he waded into the water. He was standing near the jet ski, a little farther off from the shore to avoid the
seaweed, where the water reached his waist. With an amused smile, he gestured for us to come over as he called
out, “If you didn’t want to get wet, you chose the wrong sport!”
After this, we wasted no time in getting onto the vehicle and “surfer dude” in instructing my uncle on
how to control the vehicle. Our anticipation was rising, and it had reached its peak by the time “surfer dude”
gave his last piece of advice.
"Remember, the slower you're going, the more unbalanced you are, and if you guys do start tipping over,
you girls just jump off. That way he'll be able to come back for you and pick you guys up."
My sister, from behind me, whispered, “No way,” and silently, I agreed.
Off us newbies went, choppy waters, check. Windy weather, check. Strong current, check. Perfect
conditions!
It was actually going pretty well, at first. The first time we started tipping to one side, I yelled over the
noise of the motor, telling my sister to lean on the other side. The next time we tipped we repeated the
procedure, and everything continued smoothly. As I was about to call for more speed, my uncle decided to
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make a sharp turn...against the current. The jet ski tipped, and we leaned, but it was unavoidable, we were going
to tip over.
The falling itself took bare seconds, not a moment of which I can recall. It was after the fall that is clear
as day. The first seconds I only had one thought, "up," momentarily forgetting that the life jacket was doing that
for me. My sister, on the other hand, immediately started panicking. She clung to my uncle for dear life, one
arm over my shoulder. Despite knowing how to swim my uncle was struggling with my panicking sister. My
own life jacket, which I realized was a bit loose, kept coming up to my neck. Along with my sister's arm, it was
difficult to get in a single breath free of sea water.
I said then, "Alizah, let me go."
My uncle spoke too, "Alizah, let her go," sounding fairly calm.
My sister, in response, took panicky breaths and cried out, "I don't want to die!"
Still clinging to my uncle, she let me go. By this time, he had managed to stabilize himself, and I had
pulled down my life jacket. Some people tend to freeze in these types of situations; that would be my sister. But
my head was filling up with thoughts faster than I was able to think! The strong current, the faraway beach, the
Jet Ski I couldn't see, the giant bridge that loomed to my right, and the fact that I would have laughed at my
sister if I could.
That last thought I voiced, "I would laugh, but there's too much water going in my mouth."
My uncle replied with a laugh, but it came out choked, he then said, "Ok. We have to calm down."
My sister, "I'm too young to die!" (She was thinking here, so that was an improvement.)
I repeated, "Calm down" to myself more quietly, and for a moment closed my eyes, face upward. If it
hadn’t been for the fact that we were floating around in a seemingly bottomless body of water that was
surrounded by net boundaries ready to tangle with our feet, I might have sunbathing. At this stage, we all
started "attempting" to blow our whistles, more often than not, only blowing out the water. Anyhow, we were
too far away for anyone to hear us.
I, of course, started using my rare sense and a couple of moments of looking at the beach set off alarms
in my head, "Land ho, land ho." I "obviously" attempted to swim my way to shore. I would still insist that I was
making some headway, but my non-existent swimming skills would argue otherwise. My uncle, on the other
hand, was looking around for the Jet Ski, but couldn't spot it. Nor could he let my sister go, and later told us, he
didn't want to either.
Finally, “surfer dude” showed up, on his own jet ski, ready to rescue us (mostly now from our pathetic
situation). In a couple of sweet words, he managed to pry my uncle from my sister’s grasp. They went and came
back in moments as promised. “Surfer dude” still calm, as if he did this every day (he probably did), helped my
sister up. The moment she got on, they zoomed off. I took a bit longer in clambering up the back of uncle’s jet
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ski. My uncle and I, somehow more relaxed, came back in style. My uncle stood up, increasing the speed; I
whooped from behind.
The moment we hit the shore we learned that my sister had taken refuge in the car with a can of Pepsi.
On the other hand, any fear my uncle and I may have held was replaced with exhilaration. We opted to warm
our feet in the sand, watching my parents and brother take their turn, my dad cautiously maneuvering the ski
inch by inch. My uncle asked me if I wanted to go again, “for the perfect picture” was our excuse. I readily
agreed. We never did get around to taking another ride, but it was then I realized, I wasn’t afraid of falling
anymore.
It had been another wonderful adventure, thanks to our life jackets, and of course, also a practical lesson
learned. Don’t panic in the water, if you don’t want to go drown, and also, learn how to swim. Despite never
have to make any conscious effort to learn how to swim out of fear, I wouldn’t say I was ever afraid of water
exactly. Rather, I was afraid of…well drowning, to be frank. Yes, I had always managed to acknowledge my
fear, yet somehow, I completely ignored it. I left it up to chance, when it comes, then it comes. For things like a
jet ski adventure, sure it worked out. But what if I didn’t have that life jacket?
In the long run, ignoring the fear doesn’t work. The realization, even after the incident, was slow in
coming. Time after time, I repeated everything in my head. Asked myself questions and wrote about everything
several times. Slowly, I understood, acceptance wasn’t enough, I have to do something about my fear. All my
fears.
Now I have a cat. I’ve let my siblings have their way, and I guess there’s something in it for me too.
Every day I see the furry beast that’s pretty much family now. It’s not a huge step, but at least it’s something.
I’m also learning how to swim. From doggy paddling to jumping in, the progress is slow. Yet it’s there, real,
visible. And best of all, it’s pretty exciting.