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Sunday, 12 July 2009

  • A Quitter

    "I heard you quit because you didn't get a jersey."

    I followed my sister into volleyball. Having just moved from Bellflower, I was hoping that I could make some friends or have some fun. I missed a month of tryouts, and I was a pretty horrible player. The coach kept me on the team because my sister was in varsity, and he believed she would work with me. I was told that I probably wouldn't play in any games and that they ran out of jerseys, so I had to wear the white one. I was fine with all of that. I was glad I had the chance to prove myself. I tried hard every practice to improve so I wouldn't be cut. And prove myself, I did. By the last two games, I was a starting hitter. I had my own jersey. But it didn't feel as good as I thought it would. I thought that if I tried hard enough and finally succeeded, I would start enjoying myself. I was wrong.

    A few months after season was over, a new round of try-outs started- this time for a JV spot. Being short, I was sentenced to the role of a back row passer by the new coach. If I had cared enough, I would have argued for a spot in the front. If I had cared enough, I would have tried harder at passing. But eventually, I realized that even going to practice filled me with a sense of dread. I was afraid of messing up, so that made me mess up even more. It was difficult for me to even serve over the net when I could do it before.

    At the end of tryouts, I was told that I could stay on the team, but I would once again not get a jersey.

    I didn't quit because I didn't get a jersey again. If I actually liked volleyball, I would have settled for anything, as long as I could stay on the team. Not getting a jersey just finally made me realize- I don't want to be here. I don't have to be here. Why am I here?

    Sometimes, you have to realize that doing something just because you don't want to be a quitter is not enough. If you do something just for the sake of doing it- if you're not going to do it with some heart and passion- then you should ask yourself why you're doing it at all.

    Sometimes, it takes more courage to quit than it does to keep going.

    Yes, I quit volleyball. I don't regret it.

Tuesday, 07 July 2009

  • Practice

    "Make sure you practice!" his mom yelled as he backed the green van out of the driveway.

    "Like the first thing I'm gonna do as soon as I get to college is practice violin," he mumbled to himself. Fat chance. He was the best violinist in his high school orchestra- first seat. He had even received an award for Most Outstanding Violinist. He deserved a break from violin- from the calluses on his fingers, a sore neck, and constantly having the same song stuck in his head. Plus, it was not as if he could forget how to play, right? There was the exciting prospect of college ahead of him- sleeping in late, parties, girls, and most of all, freedom. No more unrelenting reminders from his mother. One thing he was sure he wouldn't miss: his mother's shrieks that carried well up the stairs, through the hall, through his bedroom door, and into his ears- "ARE YOU PRACTICING VIOLIN YET?!"

    -

    He hadn't touched his violin for a week. One week turned into two, and two into a month. Soon, it had been three months since he had practiced. He kept glancing over to the corner where his violin case lay, telling himself that was plenty of time to practice later. But things kept coming up- he had to study, or he was too tired. He felt squirmy every time he thought of his mother.

    Back home for winter vacation, he knew what was coming. His mom automatically asked him to play for her, of course. However, as he started to play, he realized something was wrong. He couldn't remember the first chords of the song- the song that he had practiced for hours straight in preparation for a concert. Shrugging this off, he rummaged through his music folder and pulled out the sheet music. It felt as if he were learning how to read all over again. It all looked oddly foreign to him. He took a deep breath, and began to play once again. His hand, once so adept at finding chords on the strings, faltered. The hairs of his bow did not slide smoothly over the strings as they usually did, and halfway through the song, his violin let out an off-tune, high-pitched squeal that must have surely deafened his mother. As he brought the song to a close, he looked at his mother guiltily. He fully expected her to start yelling at him in rage.

    "You practiced!" cried his mom, throwing her arms around his neck and planting a big kiss on his cheek. Having never touched a violin, she could no more tell the difference between a sharp and flat note as he could between her cries of joy and outrage.

    Somehow, this made him feel even worse than if she had yelled at him.

    "Yeah," he replied. His mouth was suddenly very dry. He glanced down at his violin. It felt as if a weight had just dropped into his stomach. "I guess."

Sunday, 22 March 2009

  • Sadies

    x: hey, do you wanna help me ask alex to sadies tomorrow?
    y: oh
    y: how?
    x: well.. i was thinking
    x: before he comes down to the track, i get the track team to lay down in a formation of SADIES ALEX?
    x: what do you think?
    y: it's good
    x: okay well..
    x: i'll give you the very important job of keeping him distracted while i get everyone ready
    x: are you up for it?
    y: ok
    x: i'm pretty excited for sadies
    x: how was it when you went last year?
    y: alright
    x: umm..
    x: when you say "alright," are you leaning more towards awkward or fun?
    y: awkward..
    x: why do you keep giving me one word answers?
    y: sorry
    y: i'm just... busy
    x: okay, i'll stop bothering you then
    y: nooo
    y: i'm listening
    y: why don't you just ask straight out?
    y: it's pretty gutsy, if you ask me
    x: dude, you're so uncreative
    y: yeah, but
    y: when you do something like your plan in front of a bunch of people
    y: it puts a shitload of pressure on the guy to say yes, right?
    y: so then you don't know if they're just saying yes so they don't look bad in front of the crowd, or if they really want to go
    y: and if they're really truthful and say no, then you come out super embarrassed
    x: aww man
    x: i never really thought of it that way
    y: ahh, don't worry
    y: i don't think anyone could ever say no to you
    x: hahah, that would be sweet if i didn't know you well enough
    y: omg, how come you never believe me when i'm serious?
    x: um..
    x: i dunno
    x: i guess i'm not used to you saying compliments
    x: lol..
    y: uh.. anyway...
    y: i don't see what's so great about this dude
    y: you've known him for a couple of years now right?
    x: yeah but
    x: it's like...
    x: he's always been there, but i've never really seen him
    x: i guess i just started to realize that i like him
    x: has that ever happened to you?
    ...
    x: josh? are you still there?
    y: yeah
    y: yeah... it has.

Thursday, 12 February 2009

  • Idea Magazine Submission- In the Rain

    “It’s just a little rain, girls,” said our coach, “Just a little water. You take a shower with it everyday.” That was such an understatement- unless everyone takes showers with a temperature of about 35 degrees. I stared glumly at the water-bogged field. I attempted to pass the soccer ball to my teammate, and it rolled a grand total of three feet before it collided with a puddle and stopped, dead in its tracks. The wind had picked up, so the rain was being blown directly into our eyes, like water needles of death. “Oh dude,” said my friend, “This game is gonna suck so bad...”


    We waited more than an hour in the rain and cold for the opposing team to leave the warm sanctity of their locker rooms, and they had the nerve to send two girls over to our side and ask us to forfeit, like we weren’t even worth playing. Last year, they beat us 8:0. They boasted the title of league champs in their league, which is in a higher division than ours. From our shoddy shelter under the old bleachers, we watched as they brought their extra tarp up into the stands and left it there- for their audience of zero.


    Two minutes into the game, they scored. It was completely disheartening. Would they crush us again, like they did last year? No, we wouldn’t let that happen. There was no way we would just roll over like dogs and give them an easy win- not after what they did. We struck back with a goal as well.


    The ball landed in the puddle with a giant splash. With no hesitation, I ran to get it. It didn’t matter that it was in a puddle- the whole field was a giant puddle. Rain fell steadily, obscuring my vision. A girl forcefully rammed into my side; I lost my balance and fell on top of her, with my elbow out on purpose. I watched as my teammate directed a sly, swift kick at another girl’s legs rather than the ball. It was raining too hard, and there was no way the referees could catch everything. It was an intense game, and if they were going to play dirty, then we would have to, too. With all the water, even a simple task, like running, was difficult without slipping. The ball was kicked to the other side of the field, and I bent down to tie my shoe- or try to, anyway. My hands were so numb that all I could do was fumble with the laces.


    The ref’s whistle shrilled over the pounding of the rain- another yellow card. For who, I couldn’t even tell. A few minutes later, another whistle sounded- halftime. My shoes, filled with water, squelched as I made my way over to the sidelines. In a sad attempt to warm up my frozen hands with friction, I rapidly rubbed them together. It didn’t work. We huddled together under the bleachers- rain still dripped through the cracks and landed on our heads in giant drops. Sweaters lay abandoned- the only purpose they would serve in their drenched states would be to weigh us down. At least there was no mud on Astroturf.


    We tied, 1:1. The other team may have outranked us in skill, but we outranked them in heart. If somebody had asked us how our game went, and we told them the score, it wouldn’t tell them the story. A score is just a number. It wouldn’t tell them how cold, wet, and miserable we were, and it wouldn’t tell them the intensity of the game. Sure, it was a tie. But for us, it was an overwhelming victory.


    We don’t play for an adoring crowd, or to show off to our classmates. Most people don’t even know when we have games at all. We play for empty stands and for the two or three parents or friends that may have dropped by. Most of all, we play for ourselves, and we play for each other.

     

    We play even when nobody’s watching.

Sunday, 04 January 2009

  • Sports

    "Why are you in so many sports?"

    It's not just about kicking a ball, or staying in shape. It's not always about winning, although winning is nice. Every loss teaches you something- whether it's to never give up or to actually believe in yourself. There are always ups and downs- the euphoria of winning, or the embarrassment of losing. A sport may not teach you how to write an essay, or who the twenty-first president of the United States is, but it teaches you things you'll actually need in life- endurance, heart, teamwork...

    Sometimes we say we hate it, but when we walk off that field, track, or court for the last time, we'll just miss it. All of it.

xLivingintheMoment

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