I wished I could’ve told you the throbbing inside my chest as scenes of my journey flashed before my eyes. I took in the reality of this very momentβmy opponent and the crowd in my peripheral vision. I closed my eyes and tried to compose myself, aware of the noise in the background joining the rhythm of my heartbeat.
“I couldn’t afford to lose,” I told myself, swearing to the heavens about the effort and practices that had exhausted me for days.
“Give it to me this time,” a silent prayer escaped from my trembling lips.
Inside the enclosed space of the gymnasium, I poured out my strength. My muscles were taut from the movement of my body, which had already been covered in sweat. Each labor of breath told storiesβthat this competition wasn’t an easy feat and that my body was beginning to get exhausted. But I persisted. I shaped my own determination, murmuring encouragement to myself while the crowd screamed my name.
The game was a scene of clashing bodies, sweat, hot breath, and dreams.
I had played my part. I had given my very best. Every fiber of my being knew how much I fought. And I buckled at my failure, losing something I had long wanted to get. And there, on the cemented floor, I wept, not because I lost but because I disappointed peopleβ of the optimism I told them, despite how I teetered at the edge of my promise.
But maybe I wasn’t destined for this moment’s victory. Maybe my time was yet to come. Maybe this epiphany meant nothing but to clap on someone else’s victoryβto acknowledge the effort and dream similar to mine. This was not over yet, and people telling me those words were enough to keep the flame burning in me.
This game may be my last, but at the same time not.
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Words: Charles Jaojao | The Josephinian
Photos: Dan Rughie Cadano | The Josephinian
Dion Keith Animos | The Josephinian
Dunstan Louis Angub | The Josephinian