This archive report was first published on 18 December 2019.
As I sit on the eighth floor of my estate, I'm reminded of the devastating effects of heavy rainfall. The once-leafy suburbs have been transformed into a beach plot, with water levels rising to alarming heights.
My neighbours on the lower floors have had to relocate, and I've had to convince my trusty KVX to act as a small boat to navigate through the flooded estate. Despite my hydrophobia, I've been lucky to escape any unnerving encounters with the water body.
However, my fear of water dates back to a traumatic experience in my youth. I was young and reckless, swimming in a coastal town with a group of friends. In a moment of fleeting insanity, I jumped into the deep end of a pool, despite never having been in a full cup of water before.
My first gulp of the pool water drained the main pool, baby pool, and adjacent underground reservoir tanks. The second gulp made the entire coastal strip a water-stressed region. I was rescued and left sprawling on the pool bed, with my distended stomach. Two gentlemen held me down and squeezed my stomach, and the water came gushing out.
Since then, I've relinquished my swimming rights to Brian, and my interaction with water is now perfunctory. I've come to realize that wisdom comes with age, and I'm grateful to have escaped any further encounters with the water body.
