My head felt splitting and kind of foggy. Memories kicked into my brains like fragments of images. I practically had to pry my eyes open. My whole body felt weak to the point I was too sore to do anything except my eyes. Judging from the white ceiling I was staring at, an IV drip in my left hand, I was probably lying on a hospital wing. It felt a bit stuffy with supplemental oxygen covering both my nose and mouth. How long had I been out?
As the door squeaked open, Baba stepped in. But he wasn't alone—the doctor was with him. The look on Baba's face suddenly went pensive. Alarm bells clanged in the back of my head.
The doctor said it was SIPE—pulmonary edema that could let fatal breathlessness to triathletes. The chances to reoccur was fifty-fifty. It was best not to take risk.
"No, it can't be. It can't be..." I found myself repeating those words. It took me a couple of minutes to find my voice again. I forced myself to smile, acting all neutral, "Doctor, you're lying, right? I'm fine, right? You see, I'm practically okay, and I can sit properly. I just need a few weeks' rests and..."
I didn't get to finish my sentence. Silent steam of tears trickling down my face. Baba crouched down by my side, his soft fingertips brushing my arms. I shivered from the gentle touch and his skin on mine. I heard him saying, "You'll be alright, Huayu. Baba's here. There's nothing to worry about."
Each of his words crumbled my stances. Tears spilled down even harder on my cheeks, blurring my sight. I choked from sobs. "I can swim, I want to swim! This can't be right..." my eyes met Baba's, and my voice cracked, "I want to swim! I want to swim!"
He held me and thumbed off my tears away. "Baba knows, dear. Baba knows," he said quietly, hushing me as he pulled me into his arms.
"It was my chance to get into the Olympics..." I sniffed. "How many years I've been preparing for this moment? Baba, tell me it's not true. There's no such thing as pulmonary edema. I can still swim; I can still compete..."
"Baba know, dear." His words kept repeating in my ears. He kissed my forehead, but that gentleness only left my heart burning in despair.
That day, that moment, I was crying and screaming from the pain deep inside my heart.
After I stopped crying and my emotion was stable enough, the doctor told me that I could still swim, but not to the extent of going for competition.
But I never lost faith in myself, I believed that something can happen with unwavering determination. Even pounding water can cut through the rock.
And I did the risky action at my disposal when I had just recovered.
Baba and I hadn't talked much about anything since I was discharged. It was completely normal. He was probably being careful with his words, afraid saying anything related to "water" could make me swim into tears again. He must have thought it struck me hard to the point I was unable to show any emotion ever since that day. Little did he know back then, I was scheming, willing to prove I wasn't those fifty chances of recurrences.
I wasn't crazy about the fact that I'd been diagnosed with some pulmonary disease, but I had to admit it was a bad idea.
So, late in the evening, I sneaked out to the swimming pool I used to practice. There was hardly any person left, which was just the way I wanted. The strong smell of familiar chlorine made my nose wrinkling. I took a step closer to the pool. I thought diving, feeling the water splashed on my skin would make my heart fluttered with excitement. But surprisingly, it wasn't like that at all.
I was wrong.
The pool wasn't as beautiful I imagined it would be. It felt... eerie. It was like the silence broken by drip, drip of water falling. And suddenly images started to rush into my head. At once, it sent chills down to my spines.
Oh God, how could I have forgotten the complete hopelessness I felt when I was drowning? I was dying. What if in that pit of water, I could never reach the surface again? What if my body forever felt the icy cold water?
Blood was rushing in my ears, pounding at my temple. I winced like it was some sort of dangerously infected area. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I heard that voice, "Stop kicking, stop swimming. Relax." That woman's words repeated like radio. And the thought of it made my stomach fill with butterflies.
My head reeled. Was that woman my imagination?
The pain, the flogging, blood... It tasted ultimately real.
No. If it was my imagination, I wouldn't have those visions. But again, it was real, who was the "He" she referred to? Why I should escape?
Her words back then left me perplexed. I couldn't think too much about it. Maybe it was just a hunch.
A nauseated chill washed over me. Without even let my feet feeling the touch of the pool water, they found their ways straight back home.
I returned, only to find Baba was placing eating utensils. Two bowls of hot noodles were served like Baba had known I was coming home. As he saw me staring at him still holding onto the door handle, he smiled.
"Dinner."
"Dinner."
It was as if we were speaking in code, skirting around the real issues. I sat down and adjusted my chair, Baba did the same. It had been a week since we last ate together after I was admitted to the hospital.
I picked my chopsticks and dipped them into the soup. The noodles inside were yellow as wheat, with thin slices of beef and roughly chopped scallions. Baba had always prepared this whenever we had come back home from the competition. No matter if I had won or not, he would always cook it for me. For replenishing strength, he said, an athlete like me shouldn't be too skinny. I would have eaten it wholeheartedly without any drop of broth left.
Maybe, I would never have the chance to taste this noodle soup again.
I was too tired to eat. I ended up only staring at it. Tears trickled down my cheeks, blurring my sight. I struggled to hold them back, instead, I let out a muffled whimper.
Just like that, reality sunk in. Not being able to swim was the worst punishment, the horrible thing I could ever imagine. It was as good as death itself. I was swallowed by anger, sadness, and fear—the bittersweet knowledge of my dream of becoming an international swimmer had faded into distant memories. Swimming was the only thing I was good at. I was never into studies, even schools could hardly accept me if I wasn't an athlete. I couldn't do any chores without messing around.
The age of 17 was the prime time for young athletes to start their careers. I barely even started anything and I screwed everything up. What could I do from now on?
"You're lucky." I couldn't see clearly what was Baba's reaction, but I knew he wasn't looking at me. He was focusing on eating his noodles. "Everyone has their own paths. Gods won't allow humans to go into trials if they aren't qualified for it."
"Then, why would the gods allow this to happen?" My voice cracked as I spoke. "Swimming was my everything! Without it... I'm nothing."
"Who says so," he said and burped. "Everyone is something, what matters is what you choose to be. If everything can go smooth, then there is no more suffering, right? You can't blame God, but be grateful. They are the Creators, humans are made to worship them. For keeping them alive, and in return bringing safety. Like bringing you back to Baba."
"Nothing is more important than your life, Huayu. We can always find another thing to do. Maybe, you just need to turn around. Besides, you still need to keep me company. Or else, your Mama might blame me later when I meet her down the Nine Springs."
"Baba," I swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."
"If you are, wipe that runny nose of yours, and eat your noodles before it gets cold." He chuckled, before taking away his bowl and chopsticks.
I left my chopsticks on the side of my bowl. I blinked away my tears, wiped my nose with my sleeve.
Baba was right. We only had each other left. Who said that life was easy, I was probably just one of the luckiest people to come back from the verge of death. Then, this was supposed to be my second chance in life. Life was hard for anyone, I couldn't just blame the gods. It was a selfish thought, and I was wrong.
"What are you staring at? Eat, eat!" Baba gestured at the food with his hand. "The crosstalk is about to start. You better hurry, or you'll miss it."
I sniffled a little and snorted. "What time is it? Are you sure they're still showing?"
"All because of you, silly girl. You've kept me waiting for so long, I ended warming up the food over and over. A girl like you shouldn't go out at night, it's not safe. Today's an exception!"
Maybe living a normal life wasn't so bad at all. Maybe, Baba wasn't trying to remind me from the days when I was still an aspiring athlete. But telling me that life was about longevity for those who loved you.
Because noodles mean longevity.
After the whole roller-coaster mood, my stomach finally growled. I picked up my chopsticks and began chewing my noodles.
Um... Baba was a great cook after all.