The four of us stood at the taxi stand. We were no longer restrained by a need to put on a façade. We no longer had to joke to mollify others. We leaned against the familiar, peeling railing, for a while just staring into space. We talked about nothing and everything . We talked about the future, the past, and even the debate itself. But it was not what we talked about that was important, it was how we talked that bugged me.
Something was gone, extinguished. Something that had been our driving mechanism all this while.
Previously, we knew we were good. We knew nobody thought we were good. And that was why we wanted to prove that we were good. Now, after so long, we were ready to concede that others were superior. It reminded me of the time when both teams were kicked out of the preliminary rounds last year. I had said, at a taxi stand that “the only way we can make up for this is to win the damned thing next year.” Yet now, we were finally ready to concede that we could NOT win the thing. I had no idea what to say to that. I just wanted to reverse time, to find out where it went wrong, to do something, just something to make it not end this way.
But it did.
I went home and went in front of the computer. Amidst my mother’s insensitive ramblings, I tried to type something about what had just transpired. It went like this…
A forgettable journey that we shall all hold dear…
I never was a big fan of oxymorons; they always struck me as typical Shakespearean snobbishness, something I have always had an aversion to. However, now, as I sit before this computer, stoic and crestfallen, having gone through the ignominy of an acrimonious defeat, no other phrase seems as apt.
To any outsider, debating would probably seem like a bunch of pseudo-intelligent mumbo-jumbo, and to a certain extent it may be. However, only one who has immersed himself into a debate and committed an unreal amount of time to it, can truly pinpoint the intangibles behind what keeps us going back, again and again, ad nauseam.
I had wanted it to be a tribute to debating and the people whom I have debated with. But I stopped there. I could not bear typing anymore. The emotions were too raw, too real for me to translate it down into a Microsoft word document.
And that is why I am typing it out here, 1.11 AM on a Monday morning, nowhere near completing my history essay, a year after it had happened. After so long, I finally found the mood and the time to pen all this down. Finally. I don’t know why I did it, but I did.
-Fuhrer.
if one evr gets the chance, one should read the 1600 word build-up of causal writting. it is no wonder he scores 45/50 for gp essays. i nearly cried admist reading it and it caused me 2 hours just enjoying the memories we shared for the past 2, nearly 3 years.
There was still one more chapter to be written about my secondary school debating career, and to most (maybe even me) that was probably the most memorable night. But now, I have chose to write about that night, and so it shall be.
Now time to move on.
Something was gone, extinguished. Something that had been our driving mechanism all this while.
Previously, we knew we were good. We knew nobody thought we were good. And that was why we wanted to prove that we were good. Now, after so long, we were ready to concede that others were superior. It reminded me of the time when both teams were kicked out of the preliminary rounds last year. I had said, at a taxi stand that “the only way we can make up for this is to win the damned thing next year.” Yet now, we were finally ready to concede that we could NOT win the thing. I had no idea what to say to that. I just wanted to reverse time, to find out where it went wrong, to do something, just something to make it not end this way.
But it did.
I went home and went in front of the computer. Amidst my mother’s insensitive ramblings, I tried to type something about what had just transpired. It went like this…
A forgettable journey that we shall all hold dear…
I never was a big fan of oxymorons; they always struck me as typical Shakespearean snobbishness, something I have always had an aversion to. However, now, as I sit before this computer, stoic and crestfallen, having gone through the ignominy of an acrimonious defeat, no other phrase seems as apt.
To any outsider, debating would probably seem like a bunch of pseudo-intelligent mumbo-jumbo, and to a certain extent it may be. However, only one who has immersed himself into a debate and committed an unreal amount of time to it, can truly pinpoint the intangibles behind what keeps us going back, again and again, ad nauseam.
I had wanted it to be a tribute to debating and the people whom I have debated with. But I stopped there. I could not bear typing anymore. The emotions were too raw, too real for me to translate it down into a Microsoft word document.
And that is why I am typing it out here, 1.11 AM on a Monday morning, nowhere near completing my history essay, a year after it had happened. After so long, I finally found the mood and the time to pen all this down. Finally. I don’t know why I did it, but I did.
-Fuhrer.
if one evr gets the chance, one should read the 1600 word build-up of causal writting. it is no wonder he scores 45/50 for gp essays. i nearly cried admist reading it and it caused me 2 hours just enjoying the memories we shared for the past 2, nearly 3 years.
There was still one more chapter to be written about my secondary school debating career, and to most (maybe even me) that was probably the most memorable night. But now, I have chose to write about that night, and so it shall be.
Now time to move on.