I have only punched one person in my entire life. And unless my very existence is at stake, I do not intend to do it ever again.
The details are rather sketchy. I remember I was around five or six years old and I was in school. The reason for the vagueness was that through the years, I had decided to push aside this strand of memory into the deepest innards of my brain's synapses because it was not really my favorite thing to replay.
I do vaguely remember my reason for allowing my fist to rip through the air like an X-wing fighter. I was being taunted to no end by a classmate and as a kid, I really disliked being taunted. My tormentor was a boy (yes, a he) who was bigger, taller and naturally stronger than me. Perhaps at some point, the taunting got really worse so instead of running to my homeroom teacher with tears as big as meatballs flying off my cheeks, I yielded to my irritation and decided to deal with him with my own hands (pun not intended). So I summoned all my strength and released my best punch like a rocket missile, a jab which my boxing teacher in college would later say was allegedly better than the punches thrown by some of the guys in my PE class.
If I struggle with the circumstances behind the fight, I do vividly and completely remember the feeling of my fist and knuckles landing on a wad of tissue, flesh, blood vessels and bone. The chorus of "Eye of the Tiger" playing in my head came to an abrupt stop. Nowhere in my strand of memory was it confirmed that it was a pleasant feeling to actually hit someone, even if he were a boy who perhaps deserved it because he derived great euphoria from making my life difficult by kindergarten standards. It was actually nothing short of sickening. The disturbing feeling did not end with that. It felt even worse to realize that even if the punch left my knuckles stinging, my opponent was still looming before me like the Empire State Building to a streetlight, unflinching and obviously unaffected by my pathetic attempts to be Muhammad Ali in a jumper.
I stood before him, hoping my defiant face was effectively masking my alarm. I mentally calculated how many milk teeth I could lose when he made his counterattack and tried to console myself with the fact that he would save me several trips to the dentist. I waited...and waited...and waited even some more. To my great surprise, he simply moved a step backward and then walked away. All the air left my body as I secretly heaved the biggest sigh of relief that my six-year old lungs could manage.
On that day, I re-learned one of the earliest lessons my grandfather taught me - by breaking it. He told me that in any battle I find myself in, I should not charge head-on brainlessly like a bull. I needed to choose my opponents wisely and I should weigh my chances of winning or losing. On that day in the schoolyard as a six-year old, I let my emotions rule over my head and I narrowly missed being beaten to a pulp. I thank that classmate of mine, wherever he is now, for not taking up on my false and misplaced bravado, for saving my head and my teeth and walking away, even if it probably meant for him to be teased for turning his back from a fight with a girl.
Every day of a person's existence may not always be a walk in the park. For me, it has been so for the past couple of years. The mornings find me struggling with pulling away from my pillow and dreading what the day will bring. Sometimes, in the course of studying, I allow my head to drop on my open book just to catch about 15 to 20 minutes of sleep. At night, I find myself closing my eyes and whispering a prayer of thanks for having gone through the day and emerging intact. If there is one thing I am thankful for is the vividness of my dreams. In my entire lifetime, I have never had dreams as realistic as the ones I have now. I even have dreams even when I am aware that some part of me is still awake!
We may win some of our duels and lose in significant ones too, breathe sighs of relief one minute and and later lick our wounds alone in a dark corner. An old song by Stevie Wonder has been gaining mileage in my MP3 player, a tune called "Used to Be." I particularly love - and hate - one particular line which goes "used to be that failure only meant you didn't try." A lot of things used to be true and I think I'll need to redefine a lot of terms nowadays.
Life after all the mistakes, is also all about second chances. People sometimes get too pessimistic they just focus on the negative aspects of failure, like a black dot on a piece of white paper. The dot gets all the attention. They forget there is so much to work with on the white space. If it would involve taking one step or getting through one 24-hour day at a time to get over the black dot, then so be it. The point is, you shouldn't be like an agar-laced petri dish simmering in a nice warm temperature, nurturing bitterness and anger in the best growth medium. People may have different motivations for taking a step forward but what gets me going through days of horror would be faith in my God's sovereignty and in His promises that His plans are always better than mine. Behind the seeming somberness in every dark cloud is the beauty of the silver lining.
I was talking to my best friend at around 1 AM a couple of nights ago about walking away and about letting go. "When do you walk away and venture into avenue 'Q'?" My best friend couldn't even say the word out loud, allergic as she was to it just like any other person on this planet. That's how I would rephrase our questions. As I sat by the window, looking at the half-empty street, I came to the conclusion that walking away or letting go of a battle to be fought can actually be as noble as duelling to the death. It is a resort which two kinds of persons have turned to through the years. The first person quits and stops midway not only because he is paralyzed by his loss of faith and belief in himself but also because he has to cling to his pride. The second person on the other hand stops and lets go not out of fear but because he knows he has to. He believes that his pride is not all it is hyped up to be. It is not something which should hold you back from doing something you ought to do. It is something which needs to be lost along the way and trampled upon because it may be the very hedge which keeps you from experiencing the endless possibilities of tomorrow and the days after. Ever since my botched attempt at a fistfight in the schoolyard, the years have taught me that the best and most memorable battles are the ones that are not only worth fighting for but also the ones fought really well.
******************
As a fitting epilogue to this entry, I'd like to congratulate another person who is equally allergic to Avenue Q. Huge hugs and congratulations to my friend Shashi (a.k.a. Sharon Rose de la Rama) for passing the Chemistry board exam. I know she would want to kill me for putting her second name here but since I'm way taller and bigger than her, I'd like to see her try.
She is one of the most amazing people I've ever been so blessed to encounter and she has gone through a lot in her life but has always emerged the winner. I have been so lucky to have crossed paths with her and to have her in my life not just as one of my closest friends but also as a sister in Christ.
Now that we have three chemists in our posse, maybe it is time to start on that...er..group project Doi thought about a couple of years back.
Of course, I am kidding.
No comments:
Post a Comment