THE WEIGHT WE BORE IN SILENCE

I heard Mum screaming my name from the crowd. I could feel the excitement in her voice. Yes, that was her daughter on the pitch, representing the Super Falcons. My heart was floating in the excitement in the air, the joy in their voices, and the cheers their faces reflected. As though the referee hated that all of this was going on, he blew his whistle. I was gingered. I had high hopes and made every effort to control the ball. I couldn’t. I ran around the pitch aimlessly. For the first 10 minutes of the match, I saw Mum beaming with smiles and urging me to go on. That was the little push I felt I needed. I was energized. I continued running in a futile attempt and gradually, I got weak. Doubt crept in. Perhaps I wasn’t supposed to do this. I could just relax and be nonchalant about the match. The attacking midfielders of my opponents were fierce. They played like they wanted the victory. In the midst of my mind’s confusion, the referee blew the whistle that summoned us for half-time. During the break, I wondered: What separates the ordinary from the extraordinary? Why are some people at the top while others remain average? Why do some score hat-tricks while others are just players? I realized it’s beyond doing the basics. It’s doing what others aren’t ready to do. It’s taking the risk. It’s still aiming at the ball even when I couldn’t hear Mum’s cheer anymore. It’s staying on one thing persistently and consistently until you track coded details no one else can because it’s “boring.” That was all I needed. I finally recognized that what I needed was a different mindset. If I was going to win, I’d have to play hard enough to win. It’s practicing like a goalkeeper to keep that clean sheet. It’s practicing counter-attacks until you become unbeatable at them. I got back on the pitch for the second half. Mum was dozing off already. I did better than my best. I worked for it. I was dribbled, I tripped, and I fell, but it didn’t matter much to me. Some moments felt like losses. It got tough, and I grew strong. It paid off. I took control of the ball, dribbled, and nutmegged my way through the field. There I was, right in front of the net and the goalkeeper. With every ounce of determination I could muster, I kicked the ball. I was clueless for a second, and then I heard the deafening scream of “Goal!” from the crowd. I saw Mum smile again, and I concluded: “If you’re really going to get something, you’ll have to work hard for it, because there are so many people aiming at your target too. What makes you different is going miles they aren’t willing to go.” And for the crowd, they only see the screaming victories. They don’t see the silent sacrifices. They recognize the success, but not the struggles.

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