Personal Narrative: How Can She Be Me

How can she be me? The girl in the photograph does not look like me, her face is young and her collarbones peek out underneath the straps of her swim suit, how can she be me? Determination is written across her face as she prepares to step behind the blocks for her first race of her second season. She has yet to realize how many hours she will spend in her future, swimming the same distance. It was supposed to be just a casual sport, something she would do to make friends in the summer. Who could know that she would spend ten long, harsh years swimming in the dark, chlorinated waters of pools all over the state? I do not often look at old photographs, as it seems dull to focus on the past and not reach for the future. Although, on occasion I find myself being captivated by the pictures that scroll on the screensaver of the family computer, until the mouse is nudged, snapping me back to reality. But this picture captivated me in a
As the memories flood steadily to the surface, I am reminded of who I am, and I am that little girl. I remember my obsession with my pink goggles, I remember my obsession with the pink goggles and towels and swimsuits. I remember the Waterhog tattoos, giddly applying them with the girls who grew to become my best friends. Her memories are my memories, and her jokes are my jokes.
The little girl standing at attention in that photo is me, my face is her face, yet a little older and wiser. She is destined to go through the experiences that I went through, and feel hopelessness and loss, anxiety and self-hatred, just as I felt. It would be at this point that I would wish for her to stay frozen in time, to never experience the terribleness of the world around her. But who would I be without those experiences? We need each other because we are each