Saturday, April 10, 2004

I was up nearly all night, tossing and turning. It's almost like my memories are tired of being bottled up inside, and now they're forcing their way out of me. I've decided that I'm not running from them anymore.
When I first came to my new school, I took part in a couple of the extra-curricular activities, namely badminton and field hockey. I never enjoyed badminton, it was too slow and boring for my liking, so I stopped. But hockey intrigued me, and I continued playing.
The coach was a very down-to-earth guy, very understanding and got along good with the team. He could never remember our names, so he made up nicknames for us, which we really didn't mind. Hockey was his passion, and he enjoyed his job thouroughly.
He and the team were really close. His attitude for competition was always "Try your best to win, but have fun." When it was the end of the term, we all ordered fast food to celebrate his birthday. We were surprised when he showed up with two large water guns, and we, armed with only our water bottles, began a fierce water fight.
The next term, he constantly had us exercising and making dozens of laps around the adjacent football field, and we used to get tired and frustrated. Afterwards, he would divide us into two teams and let us play. Sure, once I got a couple bruises and scars, but I continued trying. Coach thought I had real ability.
I remember the first time I ever went up for competition. It was an indoor hockey tournament, and I was nervous. I got bruised when someone from the other team purposely ran into me, but I had fun nevertheless. We placed third overall, and coach was satisfied.
Practice and training continued as usual. Coach got married, and he brought pictures for the team to see.
Then one day, he didn't show up for practice. We didn't think much of it, and continued training on our own. This happened a few more times.Then one day, while we were waiting yet again, we saw him go into the principal's office, looking somewhat saddened.
After talking with her, he came out on the field to talk to us. His voice was hoarse, and his speech was interrupted by fits of dry coughing. He said that he had developed a lung infection of some kind, so serious that he could never play hockey again. He said that he had decided to stop coaching us, but he had also said that he had gotten someone to replace him, and that he thought we all had amazing ability and that we should never stop playing hockey.
The news came as a shock to us, but coach told that his replacement was just as good. Then he asked us if we wanted to play just one more match while he was still here. We consented, and we played that day with heavied hearts.
About a week later, I came to school when I heard the news: Coach had passed away that night at the hospital, and his now widowed wife had just contacted one of the girls on the team to let us know. I was shocked. How could this happen?
The principal called all of the girls on the team to her office. Some were crying, others were sobbing disconsolately. I felt strange, cuz I was one of the few who were not yet crying. The principal said that the funeral was tommorow, and that she would arrange transport for us.
I went home that evening, feeling depply saddened. I told my parents what had happened, and they were also shocked. I hurried into my room, locked the door, and had a long overdue cry.
I tried to return to hockey weeks after. It was what Coach would have wanted. But the new coach had a different attitude. "Have fun, but win in the end." He was harsh, strict, and entirely obsessed with winning. Try as I might, I could not bear his attitude, so I left hockey for good, and started jui jitsu.
A year has passed since the coach died. I still see some girls practicing hockey on evenings, and I feel momentary pangs of guilt, that somehow I should've continued hockey training. Coach would've wanted me to continue, and somehow I feel like I've gone against his will.
...If you took the time to read all of this, thanks...

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