Worried about the Wrong Things

I never understood why it was so scary. With all of the animated glowing creatures and unusually creepy decorations, Halloween always had me nervous. Everyone called a scaredy-cat—which I kind of was—even my parents teased me about it. Can you manage to open the door for trick or treaters? 

I had my reasons for being scared of this holiday that many others find enjoyable, one of them being my arachnophobia. If I were to fight one, statistics would name me the winner because of the difference in size and strength. Well it doesn’t work like that. Especially when I wouldn’t be able to touch one to save my life. Now back to my confusion. I usually went with a group of friends and family that I had known for as long as I can remember yet I could never follow them to knock on the houses that seemed even slightly suspicious. Hey come on, look how much candy we got, they said. When we left to go onto the next house, there came more kids, kids younger than me that feared nothing except not getting enough candy to last them for an entire year. 

It looked so easy to be able to overcome fear by never learning what it actually is. Or is it really.

Discipline

Punishment has always been that one driving motivation to do better. For other kids their parents just put them—in timeout—and call it a day. On the other hand  I get scolded for my bad behavior until I start begging because they believe it builds character. Is that why those kids don’t grow up disciplined? 

It’s not even the fact that they are let go so easily for their actions but rather they think they can just take it for granted. There was a kid once who was waiting outside of a classroom for the first day of school. He happened to be disrespecting his parents for not getting him the newest video games, so when he was about to walk through the door, I stuck my foot out, causing him to stumble and fall like a spinning top losing its balance. I forgot my parents as well as the rest of the kids waiting outside saw what I had just done. I apologized since I knew I was going to get in even more trouble if I hadn’t. I thought: Maybe I shouldn’t feel bad because now he’ll be truly humbled. Was he really going to be though?

Nothing to Fear, Right?

I was the one who could practice five hours a day and still forget how to play. Imagine being me but in front of a crowd, in front of a spotlight, in front of other families. I already get the chills just thinking about it as I wait behind the black wavy pieces of fabric that separated my group from the choir. We heard the choir sing with their melodic tones and soulful harmonies through the curtains while we were tuning our strings quietly enough to prepare for the big moment. We were all nervous, some eager to show off their dedicated solos and others just determined to make the audience satisfied. I was the type of person to have worries fly in my stomach. Unironically. Then I heard the applause and the curtains pulled back, unveiling a guitar class dressed in a uniform fashion. Our director scanned over us to make sure that we weren’t in shock or anything. Everything was a blur. All I can recall was the intense touch of my pick hitting the metal wires and following the music sheets messily placed on our stands. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would’ve been. It was probably because of the same sound of clapping that somehow erased all of my uneasiness. I was the one who believed that.

Reflection

I remember being in the mountains for my science camp trip. We were all outside when the sun beamed down with its mighty ray of light and the breeze of air slapped us in the face. That day, our class decided we take a hike to explore the surrounding area with ancient trees scattered across like toothpicks in the box. There were blind insects crawling all over the trees and squirrels looking for a home. Smashed oranges and crumbly leaves. Oddly shaped rocks laying around the route were enough to knock a group of kids over if not careful. All around, nothing more could describe what I was experiencing other than the word “nature.” 

We all began to feel tired until we approached what appeared to be a lake. It looked completely melted, it looked too perfect to be real. A boy from our group immediately ran to the surface, staring at his own face in the water. Then out of nowhere a fish, thirsty for air, flew up and chomped on his nose. He screamed for help, help, help, help, but it wasn’t until he started crying that the fish decided to let go. He felt the embarrassment of our laughter and never looked at himself the same way again.

The Beautiful Game

The first time my feet touched the grass was when I didn’t know how to read or write yet. Now I am greeted by its comfort every time I step on the field. It has become like a brother to me. Soccer. My dad had gotten me into the sport at a young age and I sort of grew up with it as time passed. I didn’t know what it was like to have a hobby until the passion inside me took over. From that day on, I began to learn the basics, get familiar with the ball, give it my best. As I progressed more competitively, the physical and psychological toll it took on me could’ve left me discouraged forever. But it didn’t. I regained my desire to play. Our relationship was like a fire and the wood that keeps it alive were the people that I have been so glad to have played with. Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go. The only way I can give back is by making them proud.