Life's Challenges

It's not about who won or who got hurt in the end. It's about finding clarity, accepting what happened and growing up.

Being committed doesn't mean having a world of your own with your partner. It means growing together to become better individuals in order to relate better with the world.

Crossing the Finish Line

I still remember it quite clearly. It was noon. The sun was scorching. In the back of my mind, I knew I wasn't ready and that I was scared, but I had to proceed, nevertheless. My body exuded otherwise; I was in my ready-to-start position.

"Ready... Set... Go!" I ran as fast as I could.

My strategy was not at all ideal. My coach always said that I should save my energy for later, yet during that time, I felt that I could maintain my speed. At times, I felt that I should slow down, but I fought hard stubbornly. I kept running. My competitors were far behind me. I was winning...

for the most part, until the last 100 meters of the final round. I ended up landing in the fourth place --- a position low enough not to get a medal.

I almost had it. Victory was only a few meters and seconds away. I had the lead, but ended up to well, nothing.

Looking back, I realized that several times in different instances I have been like this in life: giving everything to achieve something, and when I'm only a few inches away from succeeding, I hold back or give up the last minute. Perhaps I cannot be entirely ready for anything and maybe Fear will always there lingering in the shadows, but this time, I want to be courageous enough to complete well whatever it may be that I have so passionately started and to be deaf to Fear's intimidation.

Twirl around Piglet,

step lightly Pooh,

This silly ol' dance is perfect for two.

( I stumbled upon this quote while surfing the net)

It has been

exactly one year today since
we discovered that fiction could be real,

that what we read in books
and watched in movies
were not mere products of the imagination.

We found it --

what people thought never existed

or what others label as madness,

but to us, was bliss.

The old, the modern, and

whatever was in between

fell perfectly in place in here.

No rules, no status quo,

no contracts to conform to.

Here, it was just us two

marveling at what we couldn't touch

but terrifyingly wanted so much

because the words

we held back was

in the middle

of it all.

Tennis: 1-Love

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...

For the love of belly dancing

I've been devoting my entire weekends preparing for this one. 6 more days to go! I hope to see y'all there. :)

Much love,

Tin

P.S. We're pre-selling tickets... You can contact me through Facebook, Twitter, email or SMS.