Olympian Jackstone
When I was in elementary, there were only three things that intermittently disrupted my youthful enthusiasm. Far more traumatic than a 10-inch stain on my white school blouse or losing in a jackstone match. Number one was Mathematics, for I was highly gifted in getting low grades for that subject. Number two was blushing in front of a guy whom I thought to be a human version of an anime bishounen. Finally, Number three was filling up an autograph. Among these three problems, the first two had already been coped with after getting a Best in Math award in high school and moving on with a more realistic love life. Number three remains to be one factor that may disrupt the process of self actualization. Answering an autograph is not big of a deal; it is actually cool and gossip wise because you would know many important facts about someone: how she defines love, the name of his crush, and their most embarrassing moments. But, whenever I reach the question: "What are your Sports", every minute dimension of my being loses every bit of self esteem. I love sports, but it never learned to love me. I kept on waiting for seventeen years, but it seemed fate had been harsh.
From then on, I would just write the words "I'm a weak leg at sports" and happily proceeded to the next questions. If only jackstone was a sport, I could have made a long essay on how I got passed breaking one to seven, falling stars and double falling stars. But seeing at how uncoordinated the rest of my body movements are, I still enjoy watching and remaining satisfied sitting on the audience bench. I still find awe in the power of adrenaline rush flowing through the vessels of a determined runner, sprinting towards the finish line. I still see beauty in the dripping viscous sweat of a basketball player
under positive momentum for a three point shot. I still love sports. Two weeks ago, even if midterm exams found happiness in hauling the strength out of me, I still can't overcome the driving force to stop for a few minutes and peek at the television for the live stream coverage of this year's Beijing Olympics. What struck me were neither the competitions nor the good looking athletes like every Olympics does, but the lesson that sprouted in my idealism after the three-hour opening program starring the 15,000 performers.
I desperately dreamt of taking the next flight to China and witness the spectacular show of creativity and elegance. The amazing fireworks display, technical and visual effects, the harmonious music, those jam-packed in one stadium they called the Bird's Nest. Yet, my jaw couldn't stretch as wide as it already had, during the magnificent Chinese performers forming huge pictures of doves, sceneries and Chinese characters using themselves
to complete the formation. It was a ten-month preparation, and it indeed paid off after receiving global admiration. This year's Olympics showed me that great extravagant masses come from a small nodule of discipline.
Sports teach us a very important lesson; you can perfect and master its course through discipline. Everything starts from learning how to control. A world champion boxer wouldn't have gone home with a multitude of title bearing belts without experiencing several years of intense training, diet, and strict schedules. Some people say champions are made of strong visions and dreams. I say, everybody has them, everybody has dreams and visions. It is discipline that transforms these visions and dreams into actuality. The same goes to simple day to day living. Every student has the vision and dream to graduate or even to top their batch, but some special others decided to sprinkle their dreams and visions with discipline and worked their way out to academic excellence. Every laborer has the vision and dream to reach a good paying job or a promotion, but some special others decided to garnish their dreams and visions with discipline and earned their way to leading companies or even owning them. Being full of creative ideas and unique philosophies is worth a round of applause. But, channeling these with firm discipline towards making them concrete is worth a standing ovation.
I may never be at the same court playing with the Olympic athletes. It's fine, I can live with it; I am contented seeing them on television. It's okay; I can live another seventeen years and more writing the same phrase on autographs. Yet, I'll be surely playing with the same discipline each Olympian has. Playing on the court called life. I admire all athletes. I salute all who play with discipline.
I hope one day, they make jackstone part of the Olympics.
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