I don’t remember the sting.I read somewhere, years later, that humans don’t accurately recall pain. I wondered if it was an evolutionary way of making sure we weren’t too afraid to do things.I have never been afraid of the ocean.My Dad was always in the water, as early as I can remember. A stark contrast to my mum, who couldn’t swim. She would pretend she could, even though she was scared – hopping about in the shallows of pools and beaches all through our childhood, so that we wouldn’t be afraid to try.I wasn’t a natural water baby, but I wanted to swim with dolphins, orcas and manta rays. Hours were devoted to learning. My dad holding the back of my strawberry swimsuit, green leaves around the neck, embroidered ‘pips’ over its bright-red body.I was 7 when the day arrived. We were in the Mediterranean – my first time abroad. I was finally deemed a strong enough swimmer to go snorkelling – fully equipped with brand new flippers, mask, and snorkel.We had to walk backwards into the sea, so our flippers didn’t sink into the sand. A leap of faith and off we swam. I felt impossibly fast, too fast… my new feet propelling me through waves as salty water flooded the snorkel, leaving me breathless and frustrated. I wanted to go back, but we kept going.Past the waves that washed against the shoreline, the water was calmer, colder, and clearer. Without the swirls of sand kicked up by children’s feet, I could see right down to the seabed, more green than blue. I swam in my dad’s slipstream. The fish were inquisitive and small. I was grateful that there were no orcas after all – the hubris of being 7!Looking under water was like pulling back a curtain to a new world. I could see the ocean floor, the layers of life that existed. Through my cheap mask everything was slightly distorted, as though reflected in a funhouse mirror, as the shafts of sunlight rippled and bent with the movement of the water. I have no idea how deep it was. Fathoms deep to me.My dad, the diver, dipped far below the surface, becoming impossibly small. He was Poseidon, imagined trident in hand, as he swam through spiked coral bridges and bolder fish. I was content to stay on the surface. We were out far. The beach was a memory. My mum was furious – landlocked by my siblings, she scanned the horizon for the daughter she could no longer see.I was surrounded by fish I couldn’t identify, watching through the lenses as my cold fingers stretched out in the sun-streaked waters. Tiny shoals moving away as I plunged clumsily towards them. Only the jellyfish allowed me closer. Too close.I don’t remember the sting.I remember being tugged back towards the shore in my dad’s arms. A mermaid, high on the tide of adventure.