I’ll be competing for badminton in three days time at Boston Badminton, in the B/C division for women’s doubles and mixed doubles. I’ve been working to round out my character mentally and physically: learning when to push through or yield to the inertia of my body.
Something must have paid off, as I discovered that I am the first seed for WD this year.
But in my mind, I am still an underdog…
Let me tell you about my first few tournaments.
It was freshman year of college and I barely qualified among my peers to play against Yale. In my self-deprecating ways, I laid in the trunk for the several hour drive, convinced that this was a rite-of-passage for newbies like me. I wore my hand-printed shirt with poop puns on it…. and once there, all I could think about the gymnasium was how menacingly suicidal the stained metal panels looked above my gaze. There is a sad and soggy photo of me with the team somewhere on the internet, featuring my “SuperCuts” short hair which fared less Audrey Hepburn and more lice-filled gender confusion.
And faking my entry for the Boston Open several years ago, I was perhaps no less delusional. At this point in time I had been taking a few courses at Community College of Rhode Island, and thus slid by with my pseudo-student status.
I should have been awestruck to even breathe in the same space as Beiwen Zhang, let alone compete in the same division as her. I had been watching far too many motivational YouTube videos and figured a few sets of sprints a day was sufficient. And just like before, my dad’s stop-and-go driving made me nauseous, which only confirmed my bias about certain pre-game rituals.
The result? I lost first round, with a surprising 13 points to my name.
I wasn’t too shaken, and my parents took me out for dinner in the city.
Here’s where things got freaky.
Sure, I’ve had delusions about badminton in the past: reaching into the toilet for psychological training, only short-sleeved shirts are allowed to be worn, the disrespect of turning your back to the net at any point, even that the double’s short serve was invented to draw attention towards your private parts… but none could prepare me for what came next.
In my funniest moments, I often associate sex and the divine.
We entered the busy, humming Chinese restaurant.
I was already on a different level of consciousness by this point. My dad ordered eggplant, by which I thought… is this God’s dick? Never having had any interest or experience in sex, I closed my eyes so it wouldn’t be as bad.
I finished the meal early, so I left the restaurant to have some time alone. I waited at the entrance, just below the awning at the storefront. The dripping of the rain onto my forehead, must be God’s cum, I concluded.
What I find to be so fundamental about the human experience… is this.
If you remain doe-eyed about the world, every moment you touch reality is a gift.
Your interpretation could be completely wrong, yet you could win the whole tournament and not know why. You could have the perfect game plan in your head and be the first to lose.
With feedback and careful reflection, every competition is a chance to start anew. On a grander scale, your life enriches when you accept unexpected moments that emerge along the path you choose to take.
I believe that what binds us to the earth is a hope for greatness, and a dash of curiosity.
Hope becomes action. Curiosity becomes knowledge. Experience bridges the chasm between what you want and what you get.
And above all, have fun. Be good, laugh as much as you can… That’s how love is born.