What happens to those good-at-nothing children?
A personal story of not being good at anything
2002. School. Childhood.
The sun shined on the brown-colored ground with patches of green grass. The children from grade five chewed their nails and watched the boys from their class run and kick ball trying to defeat the villains from the other school. Those fifteen guys appeared to them just like Ronaldo and Beckham did on their TV that year.
That was an interschool interclass football match. That match was where normal school boys shined like sun and stars for their classmates. They became heroes who would go on to occupy the minds, hearts, and possibly the genitals of the spectators.
A boy who wasn’t on the team must have begun imitating the walk and the hairstyle of the classmate who saved a sure goal and whom the girls cheered for. A girl watching must have fallen in love with the forward who scored that crucial goal that won us the match. She must have gone home and danced thinking of him. Dreaming of him.
Of course, I wasn’t on the team. I was the spectator.
2007. School. Teen.
The cloud blocked the sun as four boys climbed up the stage made up of ten tables covered by a carpet. The children and…
