I must have been about three years old when, one morning, I told my mother about a strange and vivid incident. I described how I had gone to a river, folded my clothes, removed my slippers, and jumped in. I even explained how, while swimming, I was caught in something like a whirlpool — and drowned.

At first, my mother assumed it was a dream. But she was unsettled by the detail I gave about things I could not possibly have known or seen at that age — rivers, swimming, even death. When Papa returned from work, she told him. He asked me how I knew about this incident, and I replied, “Because I was there.”

To this day, no one really knows what it was (perhaps a glimpse of a past life), but in time, I forgot all about it.

Papa believed in past life and rebirth. Concerned, he had my horoscope checked to see if a similar mishap could happen in this life. Thankfully, it did not suggest so, but my parents became cautious about leaving me near water.

Fifteen years later, just before I began college, Papa told me of this incident. He told me to be careful, and that advice stayed with me. A few mishaps during water sports only deepened my discomfort — and my fear.

Fast-forward by nearly 40 years — a couple of gym injuries left me needing a new form of exercise. The answer was swimming. At first, I resisted — even considering regression therapy to address my fear of water — but better sense prevailed. I signed up for swimming lessons.

It took nearly three months of determined effort, but eventually I overcame my fear. To my surprise, I even began to enjoy swimming.