I am so cold. Cold to other people. I sometimes can’t see when people are trying to open up with me. When a stranger tries to start a conversation with me, I don’t see the layers. I don’t see that they are trying to be friendly. All that I think is, they asked me a question so I give them an answer and I carry on with whatever I was doing. And think to myself, that was a stupid question. Only to realize hours later that they were trying to start a conversation with me. And I give myself a whack on my forward. This is why I have only few friends. But that’s not the whole story. I sometimes try to start a conversation with strangers too. Only to get shut down hard. So, where do I go from here? Continue to bite my tail? Or withdraw myself in a shell?

 
I see that there are lots of people on the web writing about their distress in form of web log. It looks like I’m the 31 millionth person to write about my own distress on the web. Is mine even worth it? Should I even bother to clutter up the web even more with yet another web log about my distress in hopes of enlightening others and at the same time learn something about myself? The web’s got so many other great things to offer other than my distress vaguely transformed into words, for example, porns. Actually, that’s a bad example. But back to my point. Would anyone bother to read my blog? Would anyone give a damn? There are so many other blogs that any one of us can choose to read instead of this one. Why should anyone read mine? Do I have particularly different stories to tell? Is mine particularly different than others? Well, maybe a little different, but not something you can notice when it’s all laid out in digital text format. I have a question for you. Yes, you, you sitting in front of a monitor. Why do you read my blog?

 

High School Football Glory

Few nights ago, I was flipping channels and I saw the high school football recaps on the local television station. It was the Sir Winston Churchill High versus St. Francis senior’s match, and there were at least five other matches. Sir Winston Churchill High is where I graduated from not long ago. Looking at the high school kids in shiny helmets, staggering broad shoulder pads, and blue, red and white jerseys made me quiver. I thought, could have joined the football team?

The play continued on. There were big crowd shriveling in their winter coats, yet I saw the excitement in the air. A tall guy made a spectacular catch and the girls in the stands screamed the name “Todd”. He was a 6’4”, 18-inch bicep, blond hair, blue-eye pretty boy.

If I had joined the high school football team, do you think it would have made any difference in my life? Would I been like the “Todd”? Would I have been popular, like him? Would I have had big circle of friends, like him? Would I have attracted all the girls’ attention like “Todd”? But I realize I am no “Todd.” I was not 6’4”, and I probably won’t be. And I am not the blond hair, blue-eye pretty boy.

When I was in high school, I never thought about joining the football team. I never even considered it as an option. But now, looking back, what would have been like if I did? Do you think I would have made a running, over-the-shoulder, one-handed spectacular catch while being tackled at the shoulders? And cleverly and swiftly dodging three other helmeted bulldogs charging me and drive to the end-zone? And the crowd goes wild, people are screaming name. The touch-down in the final minute of play gives my team a narrow victory, a victory good enough to give my team the championship. I think not. I was a skinny little guy in high school. My back-pack weighed more than I did. Not a bone in my body would survive a tackle from a 250 pound guy.

A chance to seize the high school football glory has already left me years ago. But what is my glory to seize?