Last weekend, I played tennis with my cousin. This has been my nth desperate attempt to get back to playing the game again. Years back, tennis was a huge part of my life. When I was a pre-teen, I was absolutely committed to the sport. I did not care if I had to wake up early on weekends to train, even though I wasn't really a morning person. On days when we had training, I made sure that I arrive on time. When there was heavy traffic, I prayed with all my heart and my soul that I wouldn't be late. If I had magic powers to make the car fly or to simply teleport to the tennis courts, I would (but hey, I'm only human). It did not matter to me if my toenails died ('coz the run-stop-run-stop drill the coach ordered me and my tennis friends to do), or if my right arm was slightly bigger than my left arm. All I wanted was to play tennis and to be good at it to the point of winning Wimbledon (yeah, yeah, I know. Who am I kidding? But hey, I was young and... I truly believed that a person can do anything and be anything s/he wants, as long as he puts his/her heart into it; there are no limits).
The thought of stopping tennis horrified me. I was too attached to the sport; it was something I did not ever want to let go of. To me, tennis was life and life was tennis. I would not mind playing it every single day, no matter for how many hours (in fact, my heart sank every time training ended).
But then a sudden twist of fate happened which caused me to stop playing tennis. Needless to say, my heart broke to a million pieces. I was shattered. Tennis was one of the few things that I was sure of. Back then, at least I knew I was pretty good at it. It actually felt like it was the only thing I excelled in. The Gatorade bottles I've earned (it served as trophies in our tournaments) somehow showed that. It was through tennis that I gained self-confidence.
In that same sport, I learned that:
- girls can beat boys (who said boys always win against girls?)
- skill is not enough. You have to believe in yourself in order to win the game.
- being good at something is a step by step process.
- it's okay if you aren't that good at the start; it can be improved. it's part of learning.
- even if you are tired, DON'T think you are tired. Keep moving. Never lose focus.
- you can use the opponent's strength to get back at them (and with the right strategy, beat them)
- you should always be alert and ready.
- you should not panic. Stay calm and collected; time will move slower than you think (therefore, you get to have more control on what's happening even in such a short span of time).
- your greatest enemy is yourself.
But with tennis gone, what was I? Along with the sport, my self-confidence went down the drain. I mourned for tennis like I had lost a special someone, a loved one. I felt incomplete and afloat. In the darkest corners of my heart, I curled up, bruised and wounded.
For a year or two, I completely stopped playing the sport. There were times when my dad casually asked me to play again, but I deliberately declined. Just like breaking up with someone, I needed space in order to move on. In my mind, I thought, "I'm too old anyway, to train for the National Team or to become a pro." (I had that attitude... I wanted it all, if not, then nothing.)
However, like an ex-lover trying to give romance a second chance (isn't love sweeter the second time around?), I did give tennis a shot once in a while. Yet it always hurt me. It was always so difficult to play in the court again, and to actually witness how rusty and sucky I have become, compared to my old tennis player self. I know it is only normal to lose touch at something, especially after years of not practicing it. But still.
There's this part of me that hates myself for it. I can't help but feel like a singer who has permanently lost her voice, or like a prima ballerina who had a stroke and has consequently been paralyzed because of it. Looking back, perhaps I should have and could have done something about tennis. Maybe I should have fought harder for it, rather than moping around in my bedroom like a damsel in distress waiting to get rescued. I could scold myself for being too weak, but what would that do? Deep inside I know that I've acted as such because that was what I thought the best thing was to do back then. Perhaps I did make a mistake on being passive about quitting the sport, but... well, I tried. I tried to face the situation the best way I could.
Your greatest enemy is yourself. Last weekend, I played tennis with my cousin. This has been my nth desperate attempt to get back to playing the game again. At the start, the score was 1-0 (or as the umpire would say it, "one-love"), in favor of my cousin. I gulped hard and fought back the tears that was irrationally welling up in my eyes. Your greatest enemy is yourself. I witnessed myself screw up several times, and millions of times, I was on the edge of getting furious with myself for messing up. Sigh, I am back to love (zero).
Your greatest enemy is yourself. Accepting that reality and fighting my wrathful tendency, I forgave myself for my faults. When I did get to hit the ball at the sweet spot, I gave myself a pat on the back and told myself, "Alright, Tin, you can do this. You got this."
Hmm, going back to love isn't so bad after all...
