All of the backyards on our side of the street were connected through holes in the fences, and so for two days I joined them as they scampered about. They were there, climbing a tree. It was a pretty easy tree to climb, but I didn’t climb trees, so I just sat on the ground and read and talked to them occasionally. 

I only remember two things from that interaction. The first was that one of the boys started bragging about how he fell asleep with his eyes open during class, which is almost definitely not true, but it made me try to fall asleep with my eyes open for the next four years. The second is that I accidentally told them too much about mammals and they made it very clear they no longer wanted to talk to me.

To this day, I don’t run around with random kids. Most of the time, I only talk to like three people, and it probably has something to do with that experience. They eventually moved away, but my avoidance of unfamiliar groups of people never did.

The way I see it, Me Later is a completely separate person than Me Now. Me Later is going to be all the things about the world that I love and more. Me Later is going to leave a print on the ground she walks on. Me Later is going to be everything that Me Now isn’t. But I have no idea how to get there. Right now, I’m just throwing things at a wall and seeing what sticks; praying that whatever it is will somehow get me there. The world throws obstacles in my way and I shift forms to fit through them. So little of my present is my choice, that I have no idea if my future will even be mine.

By now, I should know that the beginning chapter or scene is never really the beginning. There’s always something that came before. But wouldn’t it just be easier if I could open a new storybook altogether?

However, the truth is always so cruel.The wrists always seem aching, the legs always seemed unable to lift it up, the feet always seemed to have a discrepancy from the patterns it should follow, and the body always seemed too weak, unable to make the greatest strength to hit the sandbag. Dreams are always so close, but always so hard to chase. 

During the break, I was sitting on the floor, wondering whether it is right to have too much passion on one thing, which is too hard to do good. I can feel the eyes of other club members just looking at me with contempt and a little bit, wondering why such a little girl has come to a club mostly for teenagers and grown-ups. I can even imagine the coach talking to my parents saying that I am not suitable for the training.

With great disappointment, I went back home. Seeing his little daughter so depressed, my father came and talked to me. I am a bit worried, will he still support me in the boxing club while knowing I did not have a gift for it?

Then I saw my father back from the gym, he seemed a bit tired but also really happy. I suddenly remembered he has been going to gym for years, and when he first went there, he told us how heavy the weight lifting stuff was, how fast other people can run, and how much effort he used on yoga. However, he still persists on what he is passionate about, why can’t I?

Thinking of this, I did hard on have practices by myself, gradually, the wrist were not aching while hitting the whole sandbag, the legs are easy to lift, the patterns are easy to follow, and                           

I gradually have the compliments of the coach and other club members. Nobody knew how hard I practiced, nobody knew how many times I hurt my arms and legs, nobody knew how hard I tried to bear the pain and kept practicing. 

When I finally finished the last practice of the summer and prepared to leave the club, I barely felt the sadness of leaving the whole club, but felt a sense of accomplishment and great trust in myself. On the life long road, I always learned to persist on what I am truly passionate about, never give up easily and be the best self of mine.