“Take a chance,” says him subtlety while we were having lunch at Chef&Brew. Telling me that without taking risks in life, success will never materialize.
But I was more annoyed by other things. Annoyed that Des lied to me.
A day earlier, I told him I’m no longer interested, that I got other commitments to pursue. He said he was fine by my decision but insisted that I give it one last try, hear him out, again.
“Just meet me for lunch at Chef&Brew, one last time, cool?” he insisted.
I was not so looking forward to it. So I re-assured him that my answer would still be the same. But I agreed anyway.
“OK, deal. But on one condition. I meet you there alone, one on one. Don’t bring anyone else along,” I said, knowing his tactics, “Deal?” I ask.
And he agreed.
But he didn’t keep to his word. I wasn’t surprise. In fact, I knew he will break the deal. Hence I dragged Drey along with me. As a back up plan since she has a meeting to attend after lunch.
After all the mumbo jumbo and the promise of a better life. As expected, the boss calls Drey and that was our queue to get the hell out because I’ve been cornered. Not only did he bring along his superior, he pre-planned 2 more members to “join” us by chance. So saw that coming.
But sadly, I have to admit, because my family isn’t in the upper-class ranks, I’m easily seduced. By money. My “No” was slowly evolving into something else. Possibly a “Yes”. I had to dig deep and do a little soul searching. I need guidance. I need someone to show me the way. Because whatever it is that I decide, I will never be firm. I can’t be sure.
I turn to football. It’s the only pure passion I ever have. It’s my drug, it’s my release and it’s my escape from everything. ‘Cos when I’m in the pitch, the world around me blurs away. Nothing else matters. Nothing. I’m in the zone.
“I’ll let football decide for me,” I told Drey, “I’ll set a target of 10 goals, if I make it, I’ll join, if I don’t, I’m out.”
10 may seem a lot. But it’s a 2 hour game. I’m fired up. I got stress and frustration to vent out. It’s a fair deal. And it’s with a bunch of Intel dudes. I got Zach on my side.
1 hour into the game, I’ve only netted in 2 goals. I added one more 30 minutes later with another half hour to go. Then Zach turned to me from the left flank and asks,
“How much?”
“3” I said.
“We’ve still got 30 minutes. Can still make it. Let’s do it!” he suggests, “Still fired up?”
Seeing all these weary, tired people, “Yes, let’s go for it! I still got some spark left.”
We’ve never played so creatively before. The zig zagging passes, the one touches, the crosses. The samba rhythm within was unleashed. Suddenly, fatigue and our battered legs mattered no more. Stereotypically, Indians naturally have better stamina than us, Chinese. But even our Indian team-mate couldn’t keep up. We felt so good. And I’m a smoker.
20 minutes, I conjured up 5 goals from all angles, Zach crafted 4 assists, 4 brilliant assists. Left leg, right leg. 10 more minutes to spare. 8 goals scored.
A few shots just wide, 2 hitting the post, I gave everything, because it has to be fair. It has to be pure. I must give it my best to hit 10. But the post kept rejecting. Chances go begging.
The bell rings. Our 2 hours is finally up. “Awww dude, just short of 2 more, man!” says Zach.
I was aware. Suddenly, it all seemed so clear. It felt right. I gave it my best. I tried. It didn’t happen. “Haha, its cool, man. It was close though,” I said to him, “Real close.”
I texted Drey in the car. It reads:
Scored 8. Hmmm, I guess that says it.
I’m taking my chance.
But I was more annoyed by other things. Annoyed that Des lied to me.
A day earlier, I told him I’m no longer interested, that I got other commitments to pursue. He said he was fine by my decision but insisted that I give it one last try, hear him out, again.
“Just meet me for lunch at Chef&Brew, one last time, cool?” he insisted.
I was not so looking forward to it. So I re-assured him that my answer would still be the same. But I agreed anyway.
“OK, deal. But on one condition. I meet you there alone, one on one. Don’t bring anyone else along,” I said, knowing his tactics, “Deal?” I ask.
And he agreed.
But he didn’t keep to his word. I wasn’t surprise. In fact, I knew he will break the deal. Hence I dragged Drey along with me. As a back up plan since she has a meeting to attend after lunch.
After all the mumbo jumbo and the promise of a better life. As expected, the boss calls Drey and that was our queue to get the hell out because I’ve been cornered. Not only did he bring along his superior, he pre-planned 2 more members to “join” us by chance. So saw that coming.
But sadly, I have to admit, because my family isn’t in the upper-class ranks, I’m easily seduced. By money. My “No” was slowly evolving into something else. Possibly a “Yes”. I had to dig deep and do a little soul searching. I need guidance. I need someone to show me the way. Because whatever it is that I decide, I will never be firm. I can’t be sure.
I turn to football. It’s the only pure passion I ever have. It’s my drug, it’s my release and it’s my escape from everything. ‘Cos when I’m in the pitch, the world around me blurs away. Nothing else matters. Nothing. I’m in the zone.
“I’ll let football decide for me,” I told Drey, “I’ll set a target of 10 goals, if I make it, I’ll join, if I don’t, I’m out.”
10 may seem a lot. But it’s a 2 hour game. I’m fired up. I got stress and frustration to vent out. It’s a fair deal. And it’s with a bunch of Intel dudes. I got Zach on my side.
1 hour into the game, I’ve only netted in 2 goals. I added one more 30 minutes later with another half hour to go. Then Zach turned to me from the left flank and asks,
“How much?”
“3” I said.
“We’ve still got 30 minutes. Can still make it. Let’s do it!” he suggests, “Still fired up?”
Seeing all these weary, tired people, “Yes, let’s go for it! I still got some spark left.”
We’ve never played so creatively before. The zig zagging passes, the one touches, the crosses. The samba rhythm within was unleashed. Suddenly, fatigue and our battered legs mattered no more. Stereotypically, Indians naturally have better stamina than us, Chinese. But even our Indian team-mate couldn’t keep up. We felt so good. And I’m a smoker.
20 minutes, I conjured up 5 goals from all angles, Zach crafted 4 assists, 4 brilliant assists. Left leg, right leg. 10 more minutes to spare. 8 goals scored.
A few shots just wide, 2 hitting the post, I gave everything, because it has to be fair. It has to be pure. I must give it my best to hit 10. But the post kept rejecting. Chances go begging.
The bell rings. Our 2 hours is finally up. “Awww dude, just short of 2 more, man!” says Zach.
I was aware. Suddenly, it all seemed so clear. It felt right. I gave it my best. I tried. It didn’t happen. “Haha, its cool, man. It was close though,” I said to him, “Real close.”
I texted Drey in the car. It reads:
Scored 8. Hmmm, I guess that says it.
I’m taking my chance.
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