An Unexpected Encounter

I spent five days drifting in the Indian Ocean off the coast of South Africa, baking in the blistering sun. The cloudless, azure sky stretched on forever. The salt irritated my throat and skin. My sanity began to dwindle. In this place, time had no meaning.

****

My father succumbed to pancreatic cancer twenty-six years ago. My mother was about four weeks pregnant with me when she learned that my father had only eight months to live. My father worked as an environmental journalist and wildlife photographer and devoted his life to his work. He wanted the rest of the world to see his passion for nature. She expressed how much my father would have sacrificed to see me grow, but no one can outrun fate.

My father died on the same day I was born. Every year on my birthday, my mother would point out the hook-shaped birthmark on my wrist. She told me that my father and I shared the same birthmark and that he would keep an eye on me. I idolized my father and wished to follow in his footsteps.

However, things turned out different for me. I was born with Osteogenesis Imperfecta Type I, also known as Lobstein disease, a rare, mild bone disease. I suffered from bone fragility and low bone mass, making me prone to bone fractures. My mother had always been protective of me since I was born.

I spent my entire life at home, shielded from the dangers of the outside world. My world was nothing more than four walls. I yearned to go outside and explore the world that my father adored and dedicated his life to.

****

When I turned 20, my mother gave me a wooden box.

“This is for you, John,” mother said hesitantly.

“What exactly is it?” I couldn't keep my excitement in check.

“Your father gave it to you,” my mother's voice tinged with sadness.

The thought that this box belonged to my father perplexed me. My world of a thousand questions seemed to end. I turned to my mother and asked why she handed it to me right now. My mother cried and stared at me, as if I was about to discover something that would make her unhappy.

I felt a tsunami of emotions surging and invading my heart as I held the box. I resisted opening it for a moment, but my mind desperately wanted to know my father. As I slowly opened the box, my heart pounded faster and faster. My eyes twinkled as I peered inside, where I found a chronograph watch, a travel notebook, a vintage waterman ink pen, and an envelope. I hesitantly opened the envelope and pulled up a letter written on a bamboo sheet. As I read the letter, my eyes widened even more. I looked at my mother, who was still crying and staring out the window.

“The world is out there, and I wish I could go on adventures with you. I jotted down everything I wished I had done with you, son, on the back of this letter.” When I flipped the letter over, I discovered a list labelled "Father-Son Bucket List." He wrote, among other things, "teach my son to ride a bike, teach my son to swim, road trips across Asia with my boy, shark sighting near the coast of South Africa" on the list.

Tears streamed down my cheeks. I looked at my mother, and she knew exactly what I was thinking.

****

After thirty factures and a newfound appreciation for the world, I drifted away in the Indian Ocean off the coast of South Africa, completing the final item on my "Father-Son Bucket List.” The trip supposed to be a simple excursion to see sharks in their natural habitat, but the storm caught us off guard and caused us to shipwreck.

I found myself alone on the wreckage of a ship. I had two fractured left ribs and a deep gash on my right thigh. I stopped the bleeding, but I left a blood trail that drew sharks. I survived on the last ounce of food and water I could find drifting away from the ship.

More sharks followed me as time passed. As the sharks grew hungrier for food, my ostensibly safe haven would soon be submerged. I leaned back, my gaze fixed on the cloudless sky, reminiscing about my travels away from home – with no regrets.

I focused my attention on the fins that rose to the surface of the water, circling me and waiting for their chance to strike.

“Who is going to get what?” I wondered, giggling hysterically.

For years, I've been watching Shark Week. In this desperate situation, I admired these magnificent sea creatures. I only blamed myself for intruding uninvitedly into their territory. Invading their sacred habitat was simply selfish and disrespectful of me.

I stared in awe and respect at the shark fins swirling on the surface. On my trips to various islands around the world, sharks were regarded as vicious and dangerous predators, but I found them majestic and harmless unless provoked by anything. They struck me as ruthless, powerful sea sheriffs, masters of survival who feared no one. As they sailed through the sea, they sent a message of sleek authority to anyone they came across.

My mother shared with me tales of her travels to Asian tribes where people believed in reincarnation and spiritual beings. Those who have been reborn as sharks have had a prosperous existence and have become sea guardians.

I wondered if I'd be reincarnated as a shark. I got lost in my own thoughts and ended up 6 feet under water. Sharks circled me, ready to strike at any moment. I closed my eyes and accepted my fate gracefully.

“I'm going to die right now. I apologise, mother. Thank you for your kindness.”

Seconds passed in the blink of an eye, but nothing occurred. When I opened my eyes, there were no sharks visible, only my own descent. Then I noticed a shadowy and menacing figure swimming toward me.

“I must be dead, and this is the grim reaper, who has come to take my soul.”

It came to a halt in front of me, motionless. It was an albino white shark that was much larger than the other sharks that were present at the time. My time had come to an end, and I felt honoured to be devoured by such a majestic creature. The shark then continued to swim past me, but not before I noticed a hood-shaped birthmark on its fin.

I regained my composure and swam to the surface, where a recruit boat awaited me.