When I was a year younger, I did not know how to float.
I sunk into a deep ocean of heavy sadness.
I unknowingly drowned myself there.
When I was a year younger, I did not know how to swim.
I learned how to do so.
I found that if I wanted to breathe,
I would have to kick my legs and reach upwards.
Only on the surface of the water, in the face of the sun, could I breathe.
When I was a year younger, I did not know my purpose.
I still cannot be sure.
But I do know that if stayed in the bottom of the sea I would not get the chance.
I kept fighting for my own life,
In the process I saved another.
And in doing so, I learned why I could not let the ocean kill me.
For if I had perished, my favorite teacher would not have been saved.
For when I wished I had no air in my lungs, he gasped for air and prayed.
For when I thought the pressure of the ocean kept me from getting out of bed,
He could not get up if he tried, unable to control the movements of his body.
And it was not until I saw his life come so close to death that I saw I was very alive.
When I stood next to him to calm him down and keep him safe, I did not know if he would be.
And I was scared.
I was sinking in my own abyss, yet I did not try to escape, though I could have..
He tried to escape, but could not.
I knew in the moment in class that my teacher was dying,
I had to swim upwards, and reach out my hand so he could take it.
My life was going by choice, his life was going involuntarily.
I had the chance to save him.
I took that chance.
If that was my purpose, my life is fulfilled.
I could easily leave the world now and go underwater, but I no longer want to.
I know the value of staying above the water, and not sinking too deep.
I see my teacher every school day and smile.
No longer is that smile the mask I wear in which I would cover my ocean.
There is no more ocean.