Hansen 1
Alyse Hansen
Mrs. Katie Hawley
Senior Project
14/09/2023
Wading into the Present
After a lengthy day of vigorous work, there is nothing I want to do more than relax on the
seashore. Because Tonga is such a small island, I assume the drive to the coast will be short and
sweet. Forty-five minutes later, I wake up completely disoriented. Once I gather my bearings, I
hear, “We’re almost to Good Samaritan Beach!” Before I know it, the bus rolls to a stop and
Parker, our trip leader, tells us to unload. As soon as I dismount the bus, I look out over the
ocean. It is stunning. There is a sandy coastline that leads into gorgeous, cyan water and further
out a reef barrier, followed by the navy ocean. I set my bag down and collect shells. After a few
minutes, Line, a strong, Tongan girl, asks me if I want to go swimming with her and a couple of
the other girls with us. I, of course, say yes.
After wading out for a few minutes, I am confused; the water is shallow. It only reaches
my hip. I thought that the ocean was supposed to get deeper the farther out you go, but it remains
at my hip as we plod forward. Soon we get to a point where the waves are perfect to frolic in. We
jump around and have fun with each surge.
Not long after, we keep wading. I stop for a moment and glance back towards the shore.
That’s when I first notice how far out we are, perplexed, yet again, at the water barely grazing
my waist. I look out ahead of me and see Line, still walking, getting concerningly close to the
Hansen 2
coral barrier. I yell her name to stop her, but she does not hear me. While I am shouting, I realize
how badly this could go; I am horrified. When I finally see Line’s face, she is at the reef, huge
waves are swallowing her whole and she looks more terrified than I feel. The other girls and I
rush out farther, thinking we can help her, but there is a sudden drop-off from the rocky ocean
bottom we are standing on. The water is no longer at my waist, it is above my head.
My feet are swept out from under me and I feel the Ocean start to drag me into a wave. I
am pulled onto sharp, rigid coral and a wave pummels me further into it. Water fills my nose and
mouth, leaving the sting of salt on my tongue and a sense of dread in my gut. I frantically search
and grab for anything to hold on to but the rocks have no texture, except for some small holes
that I manage to jam my fingers into. I gain footing, only to have the Ocean knock me down,
trying to tow me into its depths. After four waves, I surmise to myself, I am going to die. With
the reality of this thought sinking in, my instincts take over, I WILL NOT die like this. Latching
onto the reef with every fiber of my being, I know that if I am carried past the barrier, I will not
make it back.
The Ocean has a certain rhythm to its waves: they suck me in, crash over me, give me a
break, and suck me in again. It’s like they are playing a game. Once I realize the rhythm, getting
out of the endless cycle I am stuck in becomes fairly simple. During the break, I make sure my
feet are on a flat rock, and when the next wave comes over me I jump. I am carried back toward
the coast. After the first leap, I feel relieved; I am fighting out of the mess I got myself into.
After repeating the springing process a few more times, I stop in a place where I can turn my
attention to my friends, still stuck in the intimidating roll of the tide. I want to help them, but
before I can even catch my breath, Parker is here. I see Ed, a Hawaiian boy, swimming out as
Hansen 3
well. I scan the shore, and I see three boys from my group on the way to help. Parker tells me to
go back to shore, but I wait. Not long after, the girls that came with Line and I get out of the
Ocean’s dominating grasp and we trudge back to land together.
Soon after I get out of the water, I spot Parker, Ed, and the rest of the boys, all carrying
Line to the seaside. Once there, Ed and Line both start uncontrollably shaking; they are going
into shock. We load them onto the bus and hurry them to the nearest hospital. Not long into the
drive, intrusive thoughts start to invade my mind: I could’ve just died, I could be dead right now.
When we finally reach the hospital, we have to wait for an agonizing amount of time before
finding out they are stable. After the hospital trip, I ponder about everything that just happened.
As I reflect on my experience, I realize that I needed a wake-up call. I had been going
through my life on autopilot; monotonously going through the motions of a basic human being:
wake up, eat, go to sleep, repeat. I needed to view my life from a new perspective and almost
drowning was the perfect thing to set me in the right direction. Life is precious and fragile. I
could have died, but I knew there was more to my life. I know now that there is value in even the
mundane and everything can be exciting in this life. I choose to see it this way. I don’t just live
day to day and I won't wait to live until I’m dead. Living life in the present is the most critical
thing I have learned.
