Enormous pearly whites jumped out of the ocean viciously latching onto a nearby swimmer. The victim, a middle-aged woman with creases beginning to etch into her skin, squirmed between her electric blue surfboard and the monster capturing her in its teeth. The great white shark gnawed on the woman’s leg as it hung by the last few intact tendons. Blood squirted out of the wound and oozed down her leg as life was chomped out of her; the clear water turned murky as red wine blood diffused and excruciating screams pierced the air. 

Small water droplets splashed onto my face, distracting me from cases of shark attacks all over the news that clouded my mind. I wasn’t scared of much, but sharks were another story. 

It was a clear day; the sky was a solid display of baby blue, not a white pillow in sight. Sun rays cut through the sky as light shone bright into my chocolate eyes. Blinded by the sun, I sat on the soggy wooden benches of a tan speed boat. The sleek ride glided through the rocky waves of the Pacific Ocean so fast wind smacked me in the face and howled in my ears. The salt from the ocean stung my face as the humid air seared my skin…or maybe it was the sunburn starting to surface as my cheeks turned rosy. Either way, I was delighted; my heart was so full. 

As the boat began to slow to a stop, the collected hues of tropical plants grew thin in the distance, the waves calmed into a cradle similar to a mother coddling her baby, and the islands looked like paintings as they got smaller and smaller. The sights looked like CGI, absolutely unreal. While the boat stood idle in a vast expanse of water, my family and I grew antsy like little children in our seats as we awaited our next instructions. 

Deep down I think I knew I was going to be safe from the sharks. I had always been an adventurous little girl—brave—ready for something blood-pumping and exciting. I craved spontaneity. I itched for adrenaline. But as my head depicted images of gory shark attacks and drownings, I nervously fiddled with the buckle of my neon orange life vest—the vest I was previously reluctant to wear but now clung to desperately. Our captain, a tall burly man with gray roots growing from his Santa Claus beard, walked onto the back of the boat as he began to direct us, “Everyone, make sure your life vests are tightened, and go ahead and grab some fins if you would like to dive with those on. Be careful, the deck is very slippery. We don’t want any accidents today.”

Anxiety waved through my body leaving me nauseous. Voices in my head thought: what if another accident happens? Why did I think this was a good idea? Tremors shook my body as I attempted to control my breath. 1, 2, 3, in, 3, 2, 1, out. Of course, he was just talking about a little slip, but even that was enough to give me a panic attack. I knew that my grandpa, brother, and dad were all going to jump into the bright blue water head first, ready as ever to take on a new experience. They were all excited to see the amazing sights advertised by the adventure company in real-time. I, on the other hand, was conflicted; I loved to do things that got my heart racing but I also didn’t want to die. However, despite what my jumbled head told me, I had already decided I wasn’t going to miss out on an experience I would regret later. So I waited in line for my turn to plunge into the depths of the French Polynesian waters. 

As passengers patiently stood to be let down into the warm water, the captain took a metal bucket out of the ice chest that lay on the deck. Without knowing what its purpose was, I inched up on my tippy toes curiously, hoping to catch a peek at what was inside. As he dipped his hand into the bucket, out came a juicy fish, dripping in blood. What could he possibly do with that? Is he going to eat it? I wondered. At the same time, as if he could hear my thoughts, the captain dunked his hand into the ocean’s water as he leaned over the edge of the boat. 

“Chum,” the captain announced. “It should attract more fish and guess what, sharks.”

Then he started bracing his hands as he sent them down the ladder into shark territory. When I finally got to the front of the line, I approached the captain with trembling hands, as he helped lead me down the ladder. One by one, my limbs began to submerge into the warm abyss of the Pacific Ocean. Only a few seconds later, all that was left above the waterline was my head. With my snorkel mask strapped on as tight as humanly possible, and my hands grasping the ladder for dear life, I submerged myself into the unknown. Words can not sufficiently describe how beautiful the scene unfolding beneath me was. The ocean floor was thirty feet deep—which scared the heck out of me—it was the bluest water you could ever imagine. Looking straight to the bottom, coral of all jagged shapes, edges, and vibrant colors sporadically grew from the sand floor. Rays of sunlight penetrated the water, bouncing off the shiny skin of nearby schools of fish, and in the distance, a long gray animal swam into my peripheral vision. 

At this point, my heart was beating like a drum, so loudly that I thought everyone could hear its tempo, including the sharks. My breath was labored in my mask, and I felt overwhelmed, but oddly at ease. It wasn’t what I had expected. The shark didn’t have blood smeared on its mouth or an interest in me whatsoever. It just swam by as if taking an afternoon stroll. To the animal, I wasn’t dinner but instead a fire hydrant in the middle of the sidewalk, an obstacle in its way. After a few minutes of treading water, my grandpa swam up to me so we could take in this once-in-a-lifetime experience together. His big hand encased mine while his free hand pointed to all the colorful fish and ocean life. 

Then, I felt a wave of water push my arm forward as if a torpedo shot past us. Incoming, a shark swam up next to me just feet away. They were different than I had thought. Long, round, and with fins sticking out of their sides. The sharks were scary but not as intimidating as I had thought. The lemon sharks didn’t look bloodthirsty; they didn’t look harmful. They were doing their own thing as they swam by us. What National Geographic episode was I in? The sharks were within arm’s distance; I could touch them. I treaded water right there, dumbfounded. I was so close. I was so close and I wasn’t dead!

After spending more time swimming in the water with my grandpa, and watching my mom sit on the boat gazing at us, I realized how much she missed out on. She let her fear get the best of her, and she may regret not seeing the ocean in all its glory. But I got that chance. I had pushed away the thoughts in my head screaming “shark attack,” and I had dived into the water prepared for an adventure. I realized I wanted to do it all. I want to smile till my jaw hurts, I want to cry till there’s no more tears left to cry, I want to laugh until I fall over holding my stomach, I want to scream in pain, and I want to be shaking in fear. Because life is fleeting and every moment I get to feel is more of the life I will get to see, and the more I will get to experience. Life is extraordinary and worth every last risk. So yes, I will jump into shark-infested waters and dive into the unknown because that is what life is all about.