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I hadn’t intended to jump. Not until the last minute. Not until I saw tourist after tourist gracefully leap off the edge of the boat and swim towards the hot springs of Nea Kameni with languorous strokes. And that was when I knew that not jumping would become my greatest regret. “I’m doing this, mom,” I flippantly announced to my terror-struck mother, anxiety written in every line of her tense frame. And without much thought, I threw myself into the dark black water of the Aegean Sea. I realize that one of the greatest fallibilities of being human is our confidence that we know what everything feels like. That the powers of our imagination accurately fill in the gaps in our experiences. I thought I knew exactly what the water would feel like. I couldn’t have been more wrong. The dull surface hit me like a wall of ice. I had never known such cold before. It reached into my bones with strong, spindly fingers, leaving me gasping for air. I wanted to turn back to the warmth of the boat immediately, but my pride, which still seemed to be functioning well, told me to keep swimming forward. And so I did. Stroke after stroke, I pulled myself through the placid but deathly cold sea, the ice sapping at my strength, the embrace of the water more like a chokehold than a buoy. My breath was shallow, my heart racing. The hot springs, which had seemed so close, so achievable with my amateur swimming skills, seemed like miles away now. How had I ever thought I could pull this off? After what seemed like years, I reached the springs. The blossoming warmth around me was welcome but didn’t stop my shivering, now more from panic than residual cold. I was thinking – how do I make it back? I had expended nearly all my energy on the way to the springs and doing the whole leg again seemed like an Olympian task. I dabbled in the springs all of five minutes, too preoccupied with the thought of the return journey to really have any fun. Then, with heart in throat, I felt for the edge of the shallow floor, where the springs gave way to open sea, and pushed off. This time, the cold gradually ensnared me, like a net drawing tighter around a shoal of fish. My swimming became sloppier, I began swallowing water, my eyes burned with salt. Desperately trying to keep my stamina, I flipped onto my back and continued swimming, peering over my shoulder every few seconds, willing the boat to draw nearer. My exhaustion was like lead in the pit of my stomach, dragging me down. Against my will, my limbs began to surrender to the dead pull of the ocean underneath me. I turned to look at the boat again and saw, with a sinking feeling, that it was moving further away to moor at a different stop. I lost all hope. With a sudden clarity, I realized I was going to die. Only someone who has experienced a close encounter with death will know what it’s like. It is probably the most despairing, soul-crushing feeling in the world. It’s like a glass jar placed on a candle to eventually snuff it out. It’s like trying to find a needle in a dark room when you cannot even see your hand in front of your face. But hardest of all, it is lonely. But then, I thought of my sister, of how glad I was that she hadn’t jumped in with me. Now, reflecting on those hazy, fear-laced moments, I think that’s what pushed me to try one more time. I removed the glass jar. I found the light switch. I redoubled my efforts and swam to a closer boat. The people aboard saw me approaching and pulled me up as I drew near. I lay on the floor, heaving, my world restricted to the concerned faces above me, asking me if I needed water. I closed my eyes. My head was perfectly empty except for one thought – I am alive. I am alive. I am alive.