where the pool ends

When I was just starting on lap swimming, I never stopped in the middle of the pool. I used to goad myself to go and touch the tiled wall on the other side. It was my little personal goal. A lap, once started, should always be finished. No stopping in the middle of the pool however breathlessly tired I was. I thought, if I could not finish this, then how could I expect to finish my thesis, or anything for that matter?

That’s how I encouraged myself to take lap swimming seriously. I did finish my thesis, albeit haphazardly, and some other little triumphs on the side. But now I feel I haven’t been touching the tiled wall on the other side that much. The water is now too cloudy to give me a clear picture of what’s ahead, not to mention the other swimmers who produce more current disturbance than a quadruple-boiler ship. Sometimes I even end up unwittingly encroaching on other swimmers’ lanes, duped into believing that their goals are mine, too. Sometimes the tides change and I feel I am swimming toward where I came from, suddenly finding comfort and repugnance with the familiar.

Most of the time, I feel the tiled wall at the end of the pool does not exist at all.