For the Love of the Game

It's not about approval.
It's not about fame.
It's not about money or riches or being the best in the game.
It's about passion.
It's about heart.
It's about deciding from the start
To pour your soul into all that you do.
It's about expressing yourself through the things that make you you.
It's about love.

Do what you love. If you don't love it, don't do it.

Everyone has a dream. Live it.

Everyone has a goal. Pursue it.

Everyone has a gift. Find it.

"Whatever you are, be a good one." - Abraham Lincoln 

To Climb a Mountain

I stand at the foot of a mountain.
My goal is at the top and I am at the bottom. In order to change that, I have to climb; there's no other way to reach it. I shoulder my pack upon my back and take my first step.

I begin my ascent. The ground is gently sloped, the path is firm and clear. Clouds swirl in the sky, hiding the summit from sight. I still have a long way to go. But for now, the sun shines and the birds sing. I continue on.

The terrain changes, steeper now. The sun still shines but now the wind blows, loosening my grip. I slip several times, but I catch myself. I begin to tire from falling and making up lost ground. The pack on my back grows heavier. I continue on.

The climb becomes perilous. The rock is brittle beneath my feet, breaking and falling when I step. My progress slows. I move forward and upwards on hands and knees. The path becomes less definite, less clear. I continue on.

I can't turn back now. Climbing down is much harder than climbing up. To jump would be suicide. In the early going, people on the ground would jeer and yell. I can hear them no longer; their voices do not carry this far up the mountain. 

The going is tough. I am tired and weak, my strength is leaving me; I am stretched beyond my limits. The path no longer exists. The pack on my back is tight and restricting. My breath comes in short bursts and my head throbs. My lungs scream and my legs cry for relief with every step. I press on.

The sun no longer shines. The wind rages and the clouds begin to loom overhead. The rains come; the path becomes mud. I slide with every step; the mud is everywhere. I fear that I may fall, gripping the rocks with the little strength I have left. I wish the way was flat and easy but I know that when the path is flat, I do not progress closer to my goal. I head further up the mountain.

The biggest challenge, the hardest part of the climb. Fog has set in; I cannot see what is before me and my hands are numb with cold. The climb is progressed from dangerously steep to completely vertical. The rock face stares me down, daring me to ascend to heights unknown. 

Above the clouds now. The sun is bright and the wind is cold, but the goal is in sight. No voices or jeering, no birds singing, just the sound of my labored breathing as I near the top. I shed the pack on my back, watching as it tumbles down the maintain, through the clouds and out of sight. With my destination before me, my legs are gifted with a new strength and my spirit is lifted; past troubles and failures are no more. 

I climb the mountain.

Conversations

Something I've given a bit of thought to and I'm trying to become more comfortable doing.

Conversation - a two-way, verbal interaction between two people. It's unavoidable, it's common, it's part of being human. No matter where you go or what you do, it's one of the most basic parts of living. We engage in conversation all the time, but it's amazing how many people don't know how to hold a good conversation, myself included.

Why am I so bad at it? 

I tend to be reserved and keep to myself in public so I'm usually not the one to initiate the conversation and therefore I'm awful at it. However, in the rare occasion that I do find myself verbally engaged with someone, I really enjoy it. I feel like my conversational skills are garbage and I really need to put some effort into making them stronger. Running out of things to say, appearing awkward and being uninterested are all weakness I need to improve upon. I was also told I need to smile more. This is true.

I think most people can appreciate a solid, engaging conversation. But like I mentioned earlier, I think the problem is that a lot of people (specifically referring to people my own age) don't  know how to hold a good conversation or initiate one, and don't do it on a regular basis.

Don't be one of those people. I posted several links below that reveal some quick and easy pointers to improving your social/conversational skills. Remember, everybody is different. Just because you are naturally talkative does not mean you are naturally good at it. For me, I need to be more engaging and outgoing in conversation. Other people maybe need to talk less and listen more.

http://www.wikihow.com/Have-a-Great-Conversation

http://happytoinspire.blogspot.com/2012/05/how-to-have-good-conversation-with.html

http://conversation-skills-core.com/how-to-strike-up-great-conversations-every-time

Just like anything else, it takes practice. Start with one point and work on it until you get comfortable with it and then move to the next. Just from reading these articles, I saw a difference in the way I talked to people I encountered today. It works. If you are willing to put in the effort, it will work.

Random, sorta off-topic: Small talk. I hate it. I know all convos start with some sort of introductory bit of small-talk chit-chat but I hate the obligatory, recycled greeting questions you could call them, that people say to each other in passing or in brief encounters. Its meaningless and its just done out of politeness. I hate it. But that's a rant for another day.

So yeah. Go out and be a better conversationalist.

New Year's Resolutions

I know I'm two weeks late but hey, better late than never. 

I could rant about the American tradition of New Year's resolutions. Making a resolution or a promise for the entire year is pretty daunting when you think about it. It's no wonder people always break their resolutions. It seems like because it is a New Year's resolution, it's okay to break it. I usually don't make resolutions because I know I'm just going to break them too. "My New Year's resolution is to not have one."

I'm trying something new this year. Don't get me wrong, I do what to succeed and improve upon myself and do better than I did last year. If you were or are one of those naive Americans (I'm kidding) who made a resolution for this year or past years, then more power to you. I'm not against it. The motive is right. But I think the method is wrong.

So this year, I promise to -- oh wait. 

I promise to do my best to be my best, to work hard, to put in the hours, to push through the good days and the bad, to do well in school, to maintain a positive attitude no matter what, to never complain, to have fun and  make memories, to appreciate what I have and the people I'm with, to always be myself and never compare myself to anyone else. I promise to make this a daily resolution; everyday I will abide by these promises to the best of my ability, and start with a clean slate the following day. I promise to take this resolution one day at a time, that this declaration of change will be a means of improvement for myself, and not a chore or a burden. 

Today is a big enough battle in itself; if I survive today, only then can I tackle tomorrow. 

That's my resolution. An experiment, a work in progress. But it's progress. I aim to keep it. Let's see how well I do. 

An Attempt at Poetry

When the party's over and the music drops
When your friends go home and the drinking stops
When things fall apart and your plans all flop
When emptiness is all you know
And the smiles you make are just for show
When it's all you can do not to sit and cry
And it seems the entire world has passed you by
It's only then do you know who you really are
True colors revealed when faced with fire
Only then will you understand what it truly means to be a man
To face yourself and question why
How you became an ugly lie
Filled with doubts and regret each day
Maybe these feelings have come to stay
But it's how you persevere that matters most
And how you press on after you've given up the ghost
You already have what it takes within
Go wash your face and repent of your sins
Look in the mirror and face your fears
Growth is not instant; it usually takes years
But if you really try to live each day
As if everything you have could be taken away
Then you'll appreciate what you have and know
Being content is a good way to grow
Having doubts or fears isn't necessarily wrong
It's how you survive them that makes you strong
Always strive to confront your fears
And those crippling doubts will start to disappear
Just be who you are and do your best
Tackle goals, chase dreams and never rest
Not every dream will pan out and come true
But at least you gave it a shot and did it while being you
Live a life worth living and never forget
The hand you've been dealt is the one you get

Divided and Conquered

They told me I had to leave him behind. They told me I couldn't bring him with me. I didn't care. I brought him with me anyway.

He lived in my closet; I fed him secretly. At first, he only came out at night; almost every night he would work his magic, do his thing, just like he used to in the glory days. But as the days wore on, the days got busier and the nights grew colder. Things got more complicated and he wasn't able to go out as often. Days, weeks, months went by without him working, practicing, performing. He grew sluggish, unresponsive, weak. They chained him to a chair, made him sit behind a desk and told him to study, learn, grow up, be responsible, make decisions. He stopped going out altogether.

When I brought him back, he was changed. Different. The things he used to do that were second nature before felt strange and foreign to him. He felt awkward and out of place in the space he used to call home. He wasn’t the same. He was worthless. I considered abandoning him, I told him to give up; it wasn’t worth it anymore. He had had a good run but maybe now it was time to call it quits. I argued and fought with him. I gave him until the end of summer to retire, to forget the dream, to look in the mirror and come back to reality.

It was that time. Summer was over. They told me I had to leave him behind. I considered it. And then I smuggled him with me again.

This time he was bolder, showing himself during the day. He was still weak and out of practice, but he was determined to regain what he had lost. In one week, he had made good progress. And then injury.

He was devastated. I had given him a second chance, a chance to prove himself and regain my trust, and the worst had happened. He could not go on. He had to stop, recover, start over. I shoved him back into the closet, angry and upset. Every week I would check on him to see if he was ready to return. Every week the answer was the same. He remained in the closet.

I went home to see my family. I brought him with me. Everyone was happy to see him, but he was only a shadow of his former self, it was plain to see. Nothing was the same.

I was leaving home again. They told me I had to leave him behind. So I did.

Broken Mirrors

Cold, white, plastic. Rosy cheeks, a painted smile on the lips, two holes for the eyes. The mask lay on the bed. He eyed it cautiously, not wanting to make prolonged eye contact with the endless darkness in its eyes, but he knew would have to face the music. What if he didn't wear it this time? Unthinkable at first. He had worn it for so long he had forgotten would it was like to be bare-faced in public. But the more he thought about it, the more it became a possibility. A small seed of hope grew into a monster that he could not shake.

Could he do it? Was he willing to step outside and face the mob without protection? Was he really  ready to brave the harsh world outside with the angry scars that distorted his face?

Scars.

It hurt to think about it. The burn marks on his face still hurt, after all these years. He reached up to touch his face and then thought better of it. He knew what they looked like. He had tried to forget many times. The mirror that used to hang on the wall now lay smashed and shattered on the floor for a reason.

School.
Crowded halls, noisy, public, exposed. Surrounded and alone. The cold plastic chaffed his wounds. He tried to make his voice sound cheery to match the painted smile that covered his lips. Short and brief in all he said, afraid if he spoke too much, his plastic falsity would become apparent. Eyes on the floor, avoiding conversation and interaction at all costs, slipping away as soon as the introductory small-talk had been exhausted.
"Hey bro, how you doin'?"
"I'm good."
"You sure? How are things?"

Smile, eyes up, fight the tears, don't let your voice break. "Everything's good."

Drained and exhausted but he knew the end of the day brought a false hope. Home was no better.

The mirror still lay in pieces on the floor. Ten million shards of glass and tears. The countless pieces scattered across floor. Each one a memory. Each one a fault. Each one a monster. Pain, fears, nightmares; they all came flooding back. His wounds burned as the tears began to flow. Fight the tears. Stop it before it erupts. Cover your mouth. Calm down, relax, breathe; drown them quickly, quickly. Recover. Deep breath.

He had put it off as long as he could but it was time to leave. The mask lay on the bed. The bus was pulling up outside. With trembling hands, he donned the smile. He knew why he had to wear the mask.

"I'd seen that look on your face before. It's the same one I taught myself.. I figured it out too late. You gotta learn to hide the pain, and practice smiling in the mirror. It's like putting on a mask."