Reflections of a Bench-warmer

Ever wondered what a bench-warmer, or a reserve thinks? Better yet...ever been in that position?

I have...And it's suddenly came back to me these past few days. On a whim, I decided to share just what it looks like from the perspective of a reserve.

Being a reserve, a backup, a substitute, a bench-warmer or worse still - a 'water-boy' has been common for me. Only above average in sports despite my passion for it in my school days, I recalled having the ability to grasp the basics of almost any sport in lightning-quick manner - Only to realise that the advanced techniques and tactics were very slippery fish that could not be caught without the net of guidance and support, both of which I lacked.

I recalled being enthusiastic about soccer, yet the only real good ability I had was that I loved to run and hassle opponents. Even though I was tired, I remembered chasing after more skillful peers like a bloodhound who smelled the game in the round thing that was (figuratively) glued to the feet of the star player on the other team.

As time wore on, influences from various mediums - books, television, fellow soccer enthusiasts - began to help me evolve my game. It helped everyone evolve theirs. Slowly I began to be aware that I had a better sense for when that through pass was coming, or which direction my friend was going to feint to.

But that was it. That was the extent of my abilities. I could not cross, nor take a thunderous freekick. I could not do long throws, or calmly slot in penalties. I could not do the Zidane turn or the nutmeg properly without looking like an idiot. I could not pass properly, nor even shoot.

And despite my efforts to improve, that was the end of the route. While others improved, while others were fortunate enough to have a company of people they were always with to form a team, I was relegated to being the 'bloodhound' or when there wasn't anyone willing to do it, the goalkeeper. The custodian who has to face the onslaught of attackers and where every mistake is magnified a hundred times.

The relegation remained, of course, all the way into university. While injuries forced me to remain in the futsal courts and I did relatively well, I was never the best. My teammates were sometimes hesitant to switch me to a outer role for fear of my lack of composure and ability.

It didn't feel good, of course. It never did, knowing that you were just the substitute. Ever since primary school, I ignored it. "Just have fun!" A part of my mind, still innocent then, cheered me on. But that part has been stifled, or it has passed on.

The only bright spot, perhaps, was that I managed to make something out of the substitute role. A dash of hard work, a dollop of determination, and I felt as though I had pulled it off. Not quite rags-to-riches, but certainly something akin to it.

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I wasn't so lucky with my badminton school team, however. Things started out fine. Being without a bit of background at all at Secondary 1, it was almost a glorious moment when I heard my coach said that I was alright for 'C' division regular doubles the following year.

Yet, an unexpected (and I still believe, highly unintentional) betrayal came when a fellow player who knew my number, was close to me in the CCA and in class did not inform me that there was holiday training. Being an ignorant young pup, I had no idea...And it was unfortunate he did not inform me either, despite knowing my contact.

The axe came swift. After I found out and got to my coach as soon as I could, I got a great roasting from him, was nearly kicked out had it not been for some of my seniors and suffered a huge dip in form and confidence.

That was the beginning of my nightmare as a bench-warmer then. It soon became apparent that I will never regain my form or confidence despite the hard work I put in, and I daresay that I worked the hardest among all the players.

And I remembered the feelings, the perspective of a bench-warmer. Always being the cheerleader, the water-boy, the praying man, the man to count on for the regulars to warm-up. The man to be the linesman in a badminton match for other schools.


Always acting, but never in the main role.

Always working, but never lauded.

Always around, but was never paid any attention.

And though I finally, finally FINALLY got my turn as a regular in JC, it turned out I was probably put there because we already lost. Simply put, the other school was too strong. To rub salt into the wounds, The first singles that I played against was, in actuality, their third singles.

And I was beaten easily despite good spells.

Just a sacrificial lamb, thrown on to 'see what you can do'. Till the very end, it was all for naught.

Perhaps it was after that I thought that working hard amounted to little. Unless you had good support. Unless you were likable. Unless you had talent.

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Depressing as the whole thing sounds, I did learn things as a reserve. Being more helpful and kinder to those who were weaker because you knew how it felt to be inferior and looked down upon. Being able to cheer those on the frontline and build a cordial relationship with some of them.

In the end, though, it feels like I'm still a reserve. The Michael Owen of Manchester United. The player you always benched, "Just in case", but only played when all is won - or already lost.

Even now, sometimes it feels like that.

But the move of God can be mysterious, no? He uses the foolish to shame the wise, no?

Those few strands of hope...are things that a reserve can hold on to.

And once given the moment to shine, I can only hope that I will wow the crowds so greatly that no one else - even if it was for that one fleeting moment - dazzled as greatly as I.

I can only hope.

Learning in Brokenness

"What is it that You want me to learn from this, Lord?"

Out out all my moanings, grumblings, whinings, chest-beatings, bouts of weeping and delirious ramblings, that was the one sentence I remembered.

Earlier in Facebook I posted something like this:

Sometimes, God takes away everything you've ever depended on for strength - Health, finances, talent, charisma, strength, knowledge, wisdom, relationships - and breaks you down so thoroughly so that He can mould you into something so much more than what you are, so that He can bring you through the change and breakthrough you've always yearned for.

So that you get to know Him on a deeper level...

Many friends - or at least those who cared enough - would have known by now that I've been sick (and still am) for 6 days counting, and these 6 days have been literally a different kind of hell for me. The fever took away my ability to think coherently, working in tandem with a completely blocked nose and a ear blockage that inexplicably happened one fine humid night. To make matters worse, it was the ear that could hear clearly, as my left ear is partially muted due to a half-assed operation to take something out 10 years ago.

The ear is still blocked, by the way, and I can't judge the volume of my own voice at all...So if you actually READ this at all, (which I really hope you do) I'll apologize first for being a little hard of hearing of late.

In any case, I felt punch-drunk, staggering most of the time when I walk, wondering why I suddenly had two mothers at one point. Then the voices came. Nothing but mere gnats at first, they grew exponentially as the days wore on with almost nary a proactive call or message from friends (only one or two).


"They don't care about you." "See? You call these 'friends'? foolish, foolish man...Didn't I warn you before?" "You're just a number, just a statistic. You're there because you're useful, not because you are who you are."


No, really. I get the feeling many think I'm exaggerating, but simply put, I'm not.

There was that. Next came the sleepless nights, where the pain in my right ear suddenly became terribly unbearable ONLY AT NIGHT. Perhaps this is spiritual warfare, I thought, and prayed for that. Nothing happened.

The last straw was the silence. Literally.

He stopped speaking to me, stopped letting me feel Him at all, despite repeated prayers, despite mounting desperation as my ailments worsened.

I don't know when it came about, but it reached the boiling point (literally. My body was probably hot enough to cook several dozen eggs in one night) and my desperation felt so tangible that I despaired and cried out, throwing everything behind. The lack of concern shown, the inability to go out, the differences in response to same words or questions I ask of some people compared to others, the insufferable drunkenness of a world with muted sounds, The setbacks from the resolutions I set....

....Everything.

And then I realised that what I've missed most terribly is the presence of God. At the point, desperation gripped my heart with an iron fist and threatened to crush it. It was then I realised, that perhaps this period of suffering wasn't forced upon me.

It was allowed. Permitted.

God had allowed it. He had permitted it.

As those thoughts registered and I thought of the many questions I asked God back then, it zoomed in to the first one.

"What is it that You want me to learn from this, Lord?"


Indeed, I've learned quite a bit. At least, enough such that I know it's impossible to be the same after this experience.

What have I learned?

Perhaps I might just share in the next one as I allow Him to heal me over time.

 

"Your Last Save Game is..."

You know how when you play some games, such a sentence always appears after you lose? After failing to defeat an enemy, which leaves little argument to the outcome; After running out of time hopping from one train car to another to defuse a bomb; After failing to save a character key to the progression of your story.

That's what games are. You die, you lose, no worries. There's a save game there for you to re-load and retry it all over again. Do things differently. Use poison instead of spamming fireballs at the boss character. Memorise the timings of the enemy guards' patrols. Remembering to use a Healing spell at the right moment for that damsel in distress. If you failed to save...Well, that's really your own problem, then.

And if you think I'm going to say how games aren't like real-life, complete with the finger-wagging and stern look that lecturers always give to students who get their answers wrong, you're right. At least with the first part.

But recently I've discovered that Life isn't simple like that. It doesn't simply mean that since games don't resemble real-life in all it's glory (or infamy), there's no room for a depiction of principles found there in reality.

You see, the curve balls Life throw...They have a pattern. They are, after all, thrown according to the one constant - Your life.

Your life, your experiences, your emotions. The joys and sorrows, the trials and blessings, all of them are in accordance with your life and how you live it.

And every now and then, some of the curve balls are so remarkably similar that you can say, "Hey, I've seen/experienced this before!"

That is, if you've been paying attention to yourself and seek to learn from every success and failure experienced in your life.

Recently it's been a little like that, and almost immediately I thought of the Save Game analogy. It certainly isn't the same situation, with the same elements, but they are similar. For example, I might deal a critical hit to the boss which helps me finish him off easier this time round, and such actions are subject to the computations and calculations (some of them random) of the programmers.

And just like that, it's not the same, but definitely similar. Symmetrical, even. 


Similar circumstances. Similar people. Similar emotions. Similar (or perhaps even the same) motivations.

The key thing, of course, is to learn from previous experience, then make a decision not to do things that caused one to lose what he/she could have been blessed with.

It isn't easy. But armed with the knowledge of what went wrong and what you can do right this time round, it  gets a little less hard....Like decreasing the difficulty of the game if your entire party was massacred in a heartbeat.

So what's your Last Save Game?

MaTtEr

Does it really matter in the end?

All these things...the apparent signs, the little bits and pieces of ruined jigsaw floating around, sometimes twisting and turning till they forcefully fit themselves into the unfinished picture of your life.

These worries, these concerns....They are certainly beyond me to handle all at one shot. Not especially when every single one of them is fighting for my attention, whispering maliciously about all the possibilities, seducing me to start comparing and keep on doing it, enticing me back into the blackest state of mind.

They are truly beyond me.

....But they are not beyond 'I Am'.

'I Am', from whom light comes forth, where Hope resides and the prospect of a beautiful future shines brightly like a blazing sun, burning away the insidious voices as they scream in agony, fading back into the shadows, hissing and gnashing away.

'I Am', who grants you the Sword and the Shield, the Armor that protects you from the maddening vicissitudes that threaten to consume your sanity. The One who, the mightiest warrior ever, makes you to be like one. Like a Lion.

'I Am', who tenderly cradles you in His bosom, comforting and cooing you to a tranquil peace and a wonderful rest. He makes you like Him. Like a Lamb.

'I Am', who, despite our disobedience, forgives our waywardness and always finds it in Him to welcome us back into the fold with open arms, embracing us, loving us.

'I Am', who gives an unending supply of dreams and visions to those who wish for it. The One who revives dying lives, dying aspirations. The One who makes the last first, who makes the foolish wise.

Does whatever we have on our minds matter, then?

Yes, it does.

For we are human, and have been given free will.

In the end, though, it is still a choice we make.

Do we set our troubles and disappointments above Him, or do we make the choice to believe in Him, the 'I Am' who has and WILL make all things good in His time?

What really matters?