My reasons for blogging are pretty simple:
1. Everyone is doing it (is this a xanga craze or what?)
2. I have stuff to complain/share/write about.
3. Oh and FYI -- YF are my middle initials so it's not VICTORY FLU (just saying).
It's not exactly rocket science, but it's been a while since I've decided to document the things that go on in my head. Don't worry if you have trouble understanding, sometimes I feel like I can't figure myself out either.
I've always wanted to be a writer, so I guess I'll experiment with some stuff here and see what everyone thinks. This is kind of a cop-out, but as a first post I'm just going to recycle an old Facebook note I wrote a few years back -- it's one of my favourites and one of the most meaningful ones to me. It's also kind of inspiring for myself right now because I just sprained my ankle tonight (again); rehab here I come. Enjoy.
Title: "One."
the clock is ticking down,
10.. 9.. 8..
the seconds are vanishing,
fleeting just as your presence did in the air of the night
i'm afraid.
the tension is thick,
dimming the shine of the lights,
dulling the shouts of teammates and of the crowd.
7.. 6.. 5..
one part of me pleads,
begging the ball not to come in this direction
sick of having to shoulder the burden of responsibility,
to have everyone's hopes and
expectations contingent upon a hurried jumpshot
that lacks as much strength as it does faith.
another is screaming for it,
the excitement that builds from within urges,
wills the ball to fit in the mold of my hands
because when it counts,
i want to take that shot
i want to be in control of whatever i'm given so that
i can be the cause, not the consequence.
i start believing that maybe;
i can do this.
no you can't
how can you?
you're fat
you're slow
you're ugly
you're unpolished
you're just not good enough.
4.. 3.. 2..
but how can i know if i don't try,
when i've never been a quitter by choice?
how can i live with the regrets that will surely tear me apart from the inside,
that destroys the utmost passion i have for this game.
i may not be good enough,
but this is the best i can give,
and i will give all that i have,
enough to ensure that regret will not seep into the cracks of my frailty
and define me.
so when time is running out,
and the odds are against me,
i will still believe.
1.
1. Everyone is doing it (is this a xanga craze or what?)
2. I have stuff to complain/share/write about.
3. Oh and FYI -- YF are my middle initials so it's not VICTORY FLU (just saying).
It's not exactly rocket science, but it's been a while since I've decided to document the things that go on in my head. Don't worry if you have trouble understanding, sometimes I feel like I can't figure myself out either.
I've always wanted to be a writer, so I guess I'll experiment with some stuff here and see what everyone thinks. This is kind of a cop-out, but as a first post I'm just going to recycle an old Facebook note I wrote a few years back -- it's one of my favourites and one of the most meaningful ones to me. It's also kind of inspiring for myself right now because I just sprained my ankle tonight (again); rehab here I come. Enjoy.
Title: "One."
the clock is ticking down,
10.. 9.. 8..
the seconds are vanishing,
fleeting just as your presence did in the air of the night
i'm afraid.
the tension is thick,
dimming the shine of the lights,
dulling the shouts of teammates and of the crowd.
7.. 6.. 5..
one part of me pleads,
begging the ball not to come in this direction
sick of having to shoulder the burden of responsibility,
to have everyone's hopes and
expectations contingent upon a hurried jumpshot
that lacks as much strength as it does faith.
another is screaming for it,
the excitement that builds from within urges,
wills the ball to fit in the mold of my hands
because when it counts,
i want to take that shot
i want to be in control of whatever i'm given so that
i can be the cause, not the consequence.
i start believing that maybe;
i can do this.
no you can't
how can you?
you're fat
you're slow
you're ugly
you're unpolished
you're just not good enough.
4.. 3.. 2..
but how can i know if i don't try,
when i've never been a quitter by choice?
how can i live with the regrets that will surely tear me apart from the inside,
that destroys the utmost passion i have for this game.
i may not be good enough,
but this is the best i can give,
and i will give all that i have,
enough to ensure that regret will not seep into the cracks of my frailty
and define me.
so when time is running out,
and the odds are against me,
i will still believe.
1.
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