Pride
Had my ears heard wrong? Had the commentator made a mistake? How could this be possible?
“In Lane 3 we have the winner, of the hundred meters sprint, Low Boon Kiat from class 4e3!”
The metallic voice, which blasted from the speakers, penetrated my heart like a frozen dagger.
A storm of emotions clouded my mind, leaving me flummoxed. What had I done wrong?
* * *
Moments ago, I was the champion of the track, the athlete others looked up to. After all, I had dominated the track for three consecutive years since my entry into the school. Running was my forte, my pride.
Ever since the first time my fingers closed around the gold-plated trophy, I was determined to be top athlete of the school. Even if it would take me hours of training a day to achieve this goal, I was willing. The smell of victory enticed me; I was unwilling to settle for anything less. The recognition, which I received did nothing but fanned my pride. With every trophy that was bestowed on me, the pride in me grew larger, so large that there was no longer room for advice and criticism.
Three years had passed and I stood back on the track again, preparing myself for the fourth trophy, which I had already set my mind on. I bent down, caressing the coarse tracks with the tip of my fingers. It felt the same after all the years. Crimson, which painted itself across the tracks, spelt nothing but familiarity. It was just another race, another victory; a race that would bring an addition to my collection of trophies.
I glanced around sneaking a peek at my competitors, or more to say, the participants in the race. The face of an opponent caught my attention. A vague thought evoked, reminding me of a warning from a friend, that this ‘newbie’ was a strong competitor. I could not help but turn away in disgust after a once-over, seeing the feeble stature and the way he looked. A strong competitor? I thought to myself. I would shake his hand if he made it a foot near to me during the race. Racing never felt like a competition to me. It felt like a performance, an exhibition of what speed was. A smirk surfaced on my face as I glanced away after showering condescending glares at my ‘worthy opponents’.
I looked forward; focusing my vision on the raffia string which was stretched across two poles. The feeling of achievement when my chest hit the string three years ago never repeated itself. The thrill of victory no longer was evident. Confidence spread itself throughout my mind. Not a thought of failure struck my mind; it had already washed with pride, which entertained no such thoughts.
The command was soon given for us to get into position. I bent down, spreading my legs across the track, positioning myself as how I did for the last three years – the position which never failed to clinch me the trophy. The final command was given, raising the heads of the competitors on the track in unison. The trigger was pulled, producing a sound, which resonated throughout my head. Adrenaline coursed its way through my veins as I kicked my feet off the ground. The winds, which opposed me, brushed violently off my cheeks as I ran; eyes focused on the string; mind, focused on victory.
My legs spread across the tracks; the studs on the sole of my boots sank into the tracks beneath my feet with each stride. I espied my opponents with a corner of my eye. No one was an inch near. I turned my head back to the track, which now seemed closer – just as victory was.
Roars of cheers enveloped the stadium as I crossed the finish line. I looked up at the crowd. Voices shouted unanimously a name, a name that seemed foreign to me. As I listened carefully, trepidation of defeat struck the doors of my heart.
Had my ears heard wrong? Had the commentator made a mistake? How could this be possible?
“In Lane 3 we have the winner, of the hundred meters sprint, Low Boon Kiat from class 4e3!”
The metallic voice, which blasted from the speakers, penetrated my heart like a frozen dagger.
A storm of emotions clouded my mind, leaving me flummoxed. What had I done wrong? Was I not running at my best? What is this voice, which I hear of, that condemns defeat unto me?
It finally occurred to me. Someone was better than I was. Someone managed to win me. This oblivion, which I lived in, thinking that no one was better than I was, finally took its toll on me. ‘Pride goes before a fall.’ Pride had blinded me. Pride left me kneeling on the ground in sorrow and disappointment. Pride caused my defeat.
Flight
Ever since death claimed my parents when I was seven, I lived with my uncle and aunty. Both of them disliked me. They thought I was a dimwit, and nothing I did pleased them. My uncle was and probably still is an alcoholic. He returned home everyday drunk, with rosy cheeks that made him look silly. His fingers closed around a beer bottle which he barely managed due to his stupour, and a packet of cigarettes which he held in the other hand. He was also a compulsive gambler, and a rather unsuccessful one to mention. He often returned home wearing a wrinkled frown on his face. I had only wished he’d curse under his own breath as he often announced his disgruntlement to everyone, blaming everyone else but himself. The skin of his cheeks hung loosely off his face, and together with the big flat nose which he had above those thick, ugly lips, he looked like a ferocious bulldog, preparing to dismember anyone who came its way.
Uncle was not the only one who made home a hell-hole. Aunty was probably the head of gossipmongers, speaking so fast that her lips moved just as fast as the flabs which looked like wings under her fat arms while she ran. The condescending cordiality which she showered me with disgusted me. Concern was shown for her convenience’s sake. She often persuaded me to get home before it was dark, as being a petite girl with a frail stature, I was prone to attacks by the amorous men which lurked by the void deck. It was somewhat paradoxical as she often told me off when I looked myself in the mirror, reminding me of how unattractive I was, and how men would keep their distance away from me as she claimed that I was so ugly that it was contagious. I reckoned that she made these unreasonable rules as she wanted to lock me up at home, to allow herself out of the house in pursuit of the juiciest and latest gossip which circulated around the neighbourhood.
I knew that this wasn’t the life I wanted, and this definitely was not the reason for my existence- having to put up with two of the devil’s spawns. I needed to get out of this; I needed freedom; I needed flight.
* * *
Pregnant clouds made their way across the skies. I looked out of the window, seeing the clouds which greyed as the clock ticked. A single raindrop fell onto the surface of my fogged window. A million followed, creating a rhythm which I enjoyed- a rhythm which overpowered the voice that was at my door, telling me things which I’ve heard a thousand times. Soon, lightning flashed across the skies and thunder followed. The fierce and monstrous masquerade which Uncle and Aunty displayed collapsed as the sound of thunder resonated through the house. The doors of their bedroom slammed shut, hiding their timid souls under the sheets of the bed. The both of them had Astraphobia, and every time a storm came, they were sent hiding in their room. The storm this time was a storm like no other; this storm brought me out of the mess I was in; this storm bestowed me with flight.
As their doors slammed shut, I strapped on the bag which I had packed for my departure. Determination coursed through my veins, mustering courage in me like never before. I opened the door and walked my way out. Turning my back to see the door of my room behind, I sauntered my way across the hall victoriously. I will never forget this place and how this ‘family’ of mine has brought me to where I was. I thought to myself as a smile surfaced on my lips, knowing that in minutes, the life I led here would be a thing of the past; history which would never repeat itself.
A powerful voice propagated itself to me, when the ears of my Aunt, which were like those of mice, heard the click of the door when I turned the lock.
“Where do you think you are going?” yelled a voice which seemed ironically powerful for someone who had hidden herself under sheets.
I kept the emotions which were going to erupt within as I valued respect for elders and she after all, was the person who had fed me through the years. I smirked, turning the key once again to sound the second click. I pushed the gate open. The voices behind me softened with each step I took. It didn’t matter how arduous the journey ahead was going to be. I was free, and that was all that mattered.
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