Life, to me, was all about playing it safe. At school, I didn’t particularly stand out, but I didn’t academically as many may think, same with sports and my part time job, I was average at best and I liked it that way. It’s not that I was lazy, it’s just that perfection, once attained, doesn’t taste good anymore. I was introduced to this feeling when I dropped out of my high school volleyball club. Seniors, juniors, even the captain and coach, they all said I was the greatest player they had. My position was a libero, the backbone of a volleyball team defense. My mission was to protect the court we played in and save the ball from falling. Every time the opponent team attacks, I would get this sudden rush of euphoria as I watch the ball make its way down to the ground, and I would immediately dive in and save it. But, the more we played, the less I felt motivated to go on. The attacks had a repetitive pattern, and were easy to read, so in our last match, Just as the opponent was about to attack, I closed my eyes, and let the ball fall down on the ground. When I heard the whistle blow, I opened my eyes, and that’s when the truth hit me hard: winning means nothing when you know for a fact that you will win.

The following day, I quit, and I haven’t heard a word about the club from then.

Do I regret it? I don’t know, ever since I left, I became more aware of my weaknesses, so I tried to take up things I knew I wasn’t good at, and challenged myself to at least become decent. It was hard at first, especially with my part time job. I was really bad when I first started as a waiter, I thought I would definitely get myself fired, but when the owner saw my rueful face and my pained expression, he heaved a sigh and told me something I would never ever forget in my life

‘I don’t care if you mess up a costumer’s order on your first day, but I would definitely fire you if you do that on your seventh day here’

It was his way of saying ‘mistakes are okay but not learning from them is not okay’, and oddly enough, I felt it, I deeply felt it. I remembered the beginning of my libero days when I hardly ever saved the ball. My hands were so fragile and tiny so I initially thought that a small kid like me would never be able to catch a strong spike like that, but one day, when I was bandaging my slightly swollen finger, my old coach said this to me: ‘the one thing that can give you power, is your will to fight on the court, physical strength is just a bonus. If you’re willing to stand on the court along with the rest of your teammates, then you’re already strong, and six who are strong makes the team even stronger. Height and weight don’t matter, as long as your eyes are focused on the ball, you will survive’

I almost cried when I first heard those words. They made me realize how much I loved volleyball, and how much I’m willing to give for its sake.

That thought itself kept me going, and I never looked back again.

But I can’t say the same thing now.

As I thought, the high difference in levels makes things boring for the strong, and hard for the weak, but if you’re in between, you won’t get the end of the stick.

It’s a win-win, yet, why do I find myself reminiscing about my glory days? Is it a guilt thing? Or am I just being delusional?

“Maybe it’s a pride thing”

“pride?”

“well, simply put, you want to go back, but your worthless pride won’t let you, because you’re ashamed to admit that you became weak. You’re not the same old libero anymore, your skills are below average now, and you know for a fact that once you come back you’ll bring the team down because of you lack of skills, I mean, you haven’t played volleyball for 4 years and you’re not ready to face the humiliation,that’s why your pride is stopping you”