It was back in 9th grade. I was in the principal’s office with my mom, the principal, the school psychiatrist (he was more of a psycho-atrist), and the Spanish teacher. The Spanish teacher, her name was Hererra. She was a fat short Mexican woman who was complaining about my study and attitude. She went further to tell a lie: “He tells other students to ignore me and distract the class!”
Completely untruthful. I later imagined myself taking a firm stand and telling her: “That is a complete lie, by making that untruthful statement you are legally defaming me and I will sue you and report you for your dishonest and disgusting actions!” What actually happened was, I made a “WTF” look on my face, kept quiet, and sobbed. Was crying. And not a word could come clearly out of my mouth because I was in that state of vulnerability.
Fast forward 10years, after growing up, challenging myself to many activities, and focusing on training my mental and physical strength by starting boxing…the exact same thing happened. Not a word could come out of my mouth. My body was shivering. I was angry, and worried if I’d open my mouth, tears would splatter out with some high-pitched irrational and emotional garbage. I still have a weak heart like my boxing coach told me. I’m still vulnerable. I’m still weak as hell…
March 31st 2012 (Saturday)
Perhaps the windiest day I’ve ever experienced. After 2hrs of sleep, I wake up exhausted and leave home for my soccer match. There, dust was blowing, and things were flying everywhere. The fucking goal (normal size soccer goal) tipped over. Luckily the golie was further out, otherwise it could have landed on his fucking head. The weather was pretty average too. Not a good start. Not to mention, I played very badly.
Feeling exhausted, I randomly message one of my soccer coaches to ask about today’s other match. I lose to peer pressure and decide to go. Find it challenging getting there, eventually get to a soaked up muddy bitch in the middle of some freezing rain. Get dressed. Played a half. Then substituted out to be a linesman (stay outside and watch for offside) for the rest of the 2nd half. I was pissed off. I felt I was treated unfairly. Like the time I wasn’t picked for the school soccer team. I couldn’t believe it. I’m usually discreet and keep things to myself when I’m pissed, but this time I let it out. While I was outside, I was shouting to the people in my team to substitute me in. I was completely ignored. Some people were sitting down because they couldn’t be fucked to run, and here I am with 120% energy and stamina – outside waving a fucking flag.
After the match, I went to the organizer and told him: “Why didn’t I get to play 2nd half?” with a semi-arrogant attitude. Then this mother fucker called Nakatani started shouting out-loud giving me shit: “where the fuck did you learn your manners? your parents never teach you this shit? what the fuck is wrong with you?!”. I simply told him, “I just asked a simple question, why are you over-reacting?” Then he started shouting again. While I was changing, I gave him the death-stare. Nakatani’s this 45+yr old guy, he comes up 10cm from my face and starts shouting at me, and tells me: “c’mon, fucking punch me! punch me!” Then one of the other mother-fucker in the team said to me: “you didn’t get to play because you suck. maybe when you’re better, you can play, but you were the worst player on the pitch, so you don’t get to play.” Then Nakatani said: “you should be thankful we called you, fuck! fuck! fuck!”
Throughout this whole interaction, I was almost silent. I gave them death-stares, and looked like I fucking hated the guy. But I didn’t speak. Not because I found the whole thing ridiculous, and the guy was being childish. But because I was scared. I was fearful. This 45+yr old shithole, I could have fucked him up along with the other guy who gave me shit. But I was scared shitless. I didn’t show, but I couldn’t open my mouth. Because in the past, whenever I felt scared and opened my mouth, words wouldn’t come out. My voice would be shaking, I’d almost be crying. And crying would be the ultimate sign of loss.
What I really wanted to say was this:
“You’re like a little boy aren’t you, at least I was raised to be smart, but you only have the brains to shout and try hard showing the world you’re worth something, while you’re not worth a single piece of shit, I bet kids at school bullied as a child, thats why you’re so desperate to get your point across eh? Everybody here’s laughing at you inside their hearts, for you being an idiot screaming your head off for something so small. And you’re not even worth punching, nor worth my time, so please act like a humble man…you’re ridiculous (LAUGH HERE).”
While 10yrs ago, I probably wouldn’t have had the guts to go up to him and complain I wasn’t on the field. But 10yrs later, I still don’t have the guts to give him shit without fear. With all this boxing, personal development, porno, I’m still weak. Weak as hell. Emotionally, mentally weak. I’m a piece of trash.
In contrast to what I wrote in my last post, perhaps I never had the winning spirit after all. Perhaps I was born to lose. I’ve already accepted loss before I’ve stepped onto the ring. Fuck…I’m really really weak.
Solution?
Within 60minutes of the clash I had today, I wanted to punch bags like a crazy mother-fucker. I wanted to beat that bitch up. Then I felt helpless and accepted my defeat. Then now I feel a little hopeless, and somehow know if anything similar happens in the future (which is bound to as long as I’m alive), I’ll end up not being able to say anything. It pains me.
Now I feel I was really shitty on the pitch while playing and I’m embarrassed at how ineffective I was. I really have to work harder to improve my soccer skills in full-matches…I have to be honest with myself, I’m shit…
But it doesn’t change the fact Nakatani was a mother-fucker and if another episode like this comes up in the future, I have to open my mouth discreetly, antagonize the guy, and piss him off so I appear in his dream, haunting his fucking existence.
But I don’t know how. I just don’t. One thing I do know is, I need to keep training in both soccer and boxing. The mental strength will hopefully develop from physical confidence of being able to beat the hell out of people. It starts with beating Nao, the guy whom I have a minor grudge on, on Thursday when we spar. I’m going to kick his fucking ass, I promise.
100 reps of anus rectum contraction. And 50 reps of lower tummy suction. Fuck it was more tiring than a 12minute circuit run. But thats what takes to become a machine who can fuck, ejaculate, rest 5minutes, and fuck again. Which at 25, I’m supposed to be able to do…according to the Chinese massage therapist I went to see today in Shinjuku.
