Last in line

By Alessandra Paul

As soon as I opened my eyes, a basketball was flying straight towards my face, my hands automatically caught it, hurting my fingers; it was my responsibility to shoot a basket, but unfortunately I missed, and this sad story repeated itself over and over again when PE class was in session.

Sports always have been sort of a demise of egocentrism to me; just the thought of being “rough” or even playing does not fit my character, and even worse, the fact that I never got picked out and that spectators would be mad at me killed me.

When I was growing up, nobody wanted me in their team.  With my height and figure, I was always the last one to get chosen, and in the end, my team even hated me more for not performing according to their expectations.

I don’t blame anyone for having such a disastrous view on me; I am not sporty; I can’t run, my aim is horrid, my perception seems not to exist, and all of this makes it impossible for me to throw, kick, pass, etc.

To this day, the memories of my teammates and the members of opposing teams screaming and laughing at me with such fervor has turned me off from sports  for life, to the point of scorning all sports.

Not always have I had such animosity for sports; I remember that as a child, I had the most fun with sports, till I discovered art and metal music.

Art and metal built a heaven for me; and as soon as I entered that realm, exclusion, competence, and my physical hurt seemed not to exist.

As a transitory part of my life, sports unconsciously pushed me to discover a world where I can be my own individual  self, feel at ease, and sure of myself without the agony of being the last in line again.