About to join yet another padel tournament, I thought it was apt that I did a quick recap of the last one.
For the first time ever, I joined the Women’s Beginner, whilst my husband competed in both the Men’s and Mixed Beginner. Though my partner and I didn’t progress past the Quarter Finals’ round, my no-stranger-to-tournament husband proceeded to win back-to-back championship in both categories he competed in.
At national level, the tournament was well documented in pictures. Starting with the customary pre-match snaps of flashing your most amicable smile as you stood side-by-side with your opponents – made more genuine when said so-called opponents were your good friends, the abundance of action shots ranged from the laser-focussed look painted on your face as you wait to receive a serve to flaunting appropriate body formations as you prepare yourself to execute bandeja/chiquita/vibora.
Posted solely on his IG story, the raw emotions displayed on both their faces – captured at the precise moment the ball was still bouncing slightly off the ground – was nothing short of special, and truly remarkable.
Starting as a chance match play one Friday night when my husband (and I) just started ‘padelling’ (yes… that’s a word!), the chemistry between him and his now mixed double partner was a) almost instantaneous; and b) undeniable. Of similar levels and skills, their movements in court grew more in sync with each match play. Tipping more towards the extrovert side, they fed off one another’s overflowing positive energy – on and off the court. In short, having forged and nurtured a powerful bond of friendship-slash partnership, competing in the Philippine Open tournament seemed to be the most natural next step.
With so much adrenaline and focus coursing through your veins, it was impossible to recall every. single. detail of every. single. game; more as players, but also as spectators. As Roger Federer stated in his commencement speech to the Class of 2024 Dartmouth graduates,
When you’re playing a point, it is the most important thing in the world.
But when it’s behind you, it’s behind you. This mindset is really crucial, because it frees you to fully commit to the next point… and the next one after that…
Sure, there are certain details that had become permanently embedded in your brain, you could simply – and vividly – recall them at any given moment, even without having to refer to the footage you’ve recorded and permanently saved on your smartphone. Seasoned tournament participants, both my husband and his double partner for the Men’s Beginner choked on their first-ever match, trailing 4-0 on the first set before they could shake their jitters off, take back the first set and subsequently winning the second. You remember perspiring as you watched a nail-biting third-setter game ending in an equally intense, neck-to-neck tie break before the whole place erupted as your friends won the semi-finals. A return delivered so fast and powerfully would have knocked an opponent right on his stomach (or lower!) had he been too slow in putting his racket up to block the ball. Or a cross court smash aimed so beautifully the ball simply whizzed past the opponent’s unguarded side.
Having witnessed my husband and his mixed double partner celebrated little victories as a way to further motivate one another throughout any match, seeing the picture above was perhaps not only warranted, but also to be expected. Completely uncoreographed (and practically impossible to ever be replicated again!), neither my husband, his partner, nor myself could pinpoint which part of the game warranted such R-O-A-R. Perhaps, they were celebrating a win after ‘cooking the shot’ to perfection. Or maybe they were relieved that the opponent hit the ball out after a long and intense rally. For all our fuzzy minds could recall, they could simply be celebrating an oh-so-beautifully-executed switch, for my husband and his mixed double partner usually occupied the opposite ends of the court. But, for all the utter jubilation exuding out of both their faces, one would never contest this could as well be the moment they won that oh-so-pivotal championship point (even if in reality, they were occupying the other side of the court)!
With only one day separating Valentine’s Day and my husband’s birthday, the first half of February (and sometimes the few days after, depending on what we have planned for one another) remains a busy one in this household.
Being the month of love, I thought it would be appropriate to pay homage to the two loves of my life.
No words could fully describe how much I love and appreciate my husband, though a few songs have come close. He is ‘everything I need’ to ‘move(ing) through this world as a two-man team’ (‘You & Me‘ ~ James TW), the ‘line in the sand when I go too far’ (‘Everything‘ ~ Michael Buble), the ‘only thing I want when one drop hits my mouth’ (‘I Quit Drinking‘ ~ Kelsea Ballerini and LANY), and the man ‘(I don’t ever have to wonder) where my home is’ (‘Antidote‘ ~ Guy Sebastian ft Sam Miller). On this day, and every day, I celebrate the man that you are, knowing that
Growin’ old with you will be my biggest blessin’ Holdin’ hands while countin’ our gray hairs We’ll be toastin’ to the two of us, thanking God as we raise our cups ‘Cause we made it, we’re the lucky ones… (‘Every Lifetime‘ ~ Jamie Miller feat. Tori Kelly)
The second love of my life is, undoubtedly, our Jack Russell x Maltese dog Nala. Starting as a balm to our wounded hearts after losing our first dog, 18-year-old Jack Russell Sasha (hhhmmm… wait 🤔🤔🤔… does that mean Nala should be my third love??? 🤷🏻♀️🤷🏻♀️), this petite girl packs an abundance of personality traits. From turning her menacing-sounding growl to a squeal-slash-yawn to assuming a meerkat pose to beg for either food or a walk; from pouncing happily along the corridor post-walk or around the padel court chasing either a ball or my husband to burrowing under a blanket to sleep (with or without us!), she is a constant source of entertainment, brightening up our (sometimes!) gloomiest moods and turning an already awesome day even more special.
With my husband as my double partner, we participated in the Mixed Beginners’ tournament.
The club decided to hold the preliminary rounds at the outside courts to (and I quote) “make the most of the cool January breeze.” Well and good in theory, said breeze was non-existent during the night of our preliminary round. Dripping sweat less than five minutes into the warm-up, my husband actually stopped us, stating “we don’t want to run out of energy before our first official match!” as we stepped out of the court.
Lasting a total of four days, the quarter finals and subsequent rounds started at 9 in the morning. A pair of night owls usually going to bed way past midnight and getting up no earlier than 10(!), even the dog protested as she burrowed back straight under the blanket, equally unimpressed with the early wake-up call!
The face says it all…
I stumbled upon one of those shorts’/reels once (and for the life of me couldn’t find it again since) stating something along the lines of “Padel: the only sport in which friends become enemies for 90 minutes (or however long the match play lasts).” Though I didn’t go that far, there was a degree of truths in the sentiment as my husband and I competed against those whom we had befriended during a club’s gathering, and had played numerous matches socially since (Armie and Don during the preliminary round, Liza and Joseph in the semi-finals). Below were official photos taken prior to every match; before we had to shed a large portion of our amicability towards one another as we stepped onto the court and put our serious ‘game faces’ on, concentrating solely on playing our best.
For quite some time now, snippets of podcast and movies I have listened to and watched had a single, underlying theme; that of aspirations we dare to set, and the voices – both internal and external – that might hinder us from keeping said aspiration alive, let alone setting the habits to support it. To this day, a segment of ‘That Was Us’ podcast that continued to resonate within was when three of the stars of the series ‘This Is Us’ discussed about guarding vs sharing your dreams with those dearest and closest to them. Watch the snippet here. In ‘Deadpool & Wolverine’ movie (warning: a minuscule spoiler coming, but hardly a jaw-dropping surprise for those whom had been following the film series), Happy Hogan told Wade Wilson to “find his place” when Wade believed his wish to be recruited and be part of ‘The Avengers’ had finally come true. One of the things that continued to move me from watching the movie adaptation of ‘Wicked’ was the song ‘I’m Not That Girl’. With lyrics such as ‘Don’t dream too far/Don’t lose sight of who you are/Don’t remember that rush of joy’ and ‘Don’t wish, don’t start/Wishing only wounds the heart’, the whole notion that someone needs to squash her growing feelings for a certain boy largely because she isn’t of a certain standard/appearance breaks my heart every time I hear it.
With this in mind, my one and only goal for the tournament was quite simple; to not completely suck😆! Adopting James Clear‘s idea of turning goals into systems from his #1 New York Times’ bestseller author of ‘Atomic Habits’ (which involves identifying the goals you want to achieve, breaking the goals into smaller habits, and repeating the daily habits over time to create a system), I/we:
Focussed solely on each of the three one-setter matches held for the qualifying rounds, and nothing further;
Try our hardest not to have a ‘0’ score; and
Try our very best not to lose all three one-setter games.
Said goal/habits/system had to be adjusted when we reached quarter-finals; when the one-setter turned into proper best two out of three sets with the third set being a super tie-breaker. Usually performing better the longer we play and knowing that a lost first set could be redeemed in the second (and subsequent sets) during a 90-minute/2-hour social match plays, we were conscious of preserving our energy for subsequent matches and tried our very best to not go into a third tie-breaker set; a goal we managed to sustain until we reached the semis!
This goal changed significantly when we lost in the semi-finals, but still had a chance to compete one last time for third place. Fuelled with an overwhelming desire to achieve the seemingly unattainable dream now within our grasp, we coated our overall “let’s play our best and try to avoid the tie-breaker set” philosophy with a thick and impenetrable dose of determination and enthusiasm!
Standing at the podium to receive our 2nd runner-up medals
Our immense thanks to Play Padel for hosting this tournament, and to those community members whom have cheered us on; your ‘Vamos 💪🏼💪🏼’ (let’s go!!!!) messages, conveyed either in-person or through messages, have helped boosted our confidence and morale throughout, and beyond this tournament.
Life Post-Tournament Whilst I am in no hurry to enter another tournament, participating in one had given me valuable insights about myself, the most prominent being that I actually thrive under pressure (when the ball is coming right at you and you have to keep it in play otherwise you lose the point for your team, you just have to try to hit it any way you can, hoping that even your miss-hit would carry enough power and precision to a) get the ball over the net; and b) not hit any of the outbound areas!).
Now proudly hanging on our wall, the medals serve as a constant reminder that I belong in this sport, and that there are still so many things to learn and master. Like multivitamins you take every morning to keep you feel energised, it gives me an extra boost of confidence to play my best game every time I step into the court, regardless of whether my opponents are friends I have regularly played with, or those I have thus far only greeted in passing.
In the blink of an eye, January had come and gone. In a nutshell, the month that was had been unsuspecting, though far from the foreboding kind.
Just as echoes of Christmas and New Year celebrations fizzled out and I was gearing myself up to once again embrace the daily routine, whispers of a Mixed Tournament held by the padel club my husband and I have become regulars of grew louder and stronger.
Allow me to digress to give context to the story.
We first encountered a padel club whilst strolling through an upper-class neighbourhood not too far from where we are currently living. Amused by the picture of funny-looking rackets but remaining discouraged by the name (thinking that the word padel, similar to paddle, meant it involved rowing boats), we continued walking past and never thought about said sport ever again.
Until one night in early October last year when my husband stumbled upon a snippet of people playing padel on YouTube and discovered it was a racket sport similar to tennis (in which both my husband and I had played recreationally in the past) and squash (a sport my husband had excelled in when he was young). Further discovering that there was a padel court within walking distance from our place, we decided to check it out, trial a game… and have never. looked. back. since!
Now… those who knew me well would attest that I had never been sports-inclined, nor ever been invested enough to spend any considerable time or energy to excel in one. Though I have quickly become addicted to this particular sport, having only been playing for three short months, I was of the firm opinion that I was nowhere near ready to join a tournament, even at the lowest level.
My husband, however, tried his darndest to convince me otherwise. Swayed by his most prominent argument of gaining a lot of unforgettable experiences, I signed up for my first-ever sports’ tournament!
Stay tuned for the next instalment where I will share some highlights.
However you celebrate the holiday season, I truly hope you have had a peaceful, joyful and relaxing break.
Our New Years’ Eve/New Years’ Day grazing spread
Amidst the influx of celebrations and gatherings with relatives and friends, non-stop eating, and increased intake of alcoholic beverages, the creative part of my brain has seemingly adopted the two-week shutdown period most businesses observe during the Christmas-New Year period. Perhaps it was the subconscious mandating my mind, body and soul to fully surrender to the joyfulness of the festivities; to cherish and savour the company of those I have willingly chosen to surround myself with. Just like a car needing regular, major servicing once it reaches certain kilometrage, or a body needing plenty of rest to help get rid of a cold, perhaps, this was my mind’s way to slow down and recharge, preparing me for the year ahead.
Regardless of what the real reason might be, any semblance of writing – website-wise or progressing any of my WIPs – has come to a grinding halt. In-between watching the must-see Christmas movies and binge-watching episodes of TV series my husband and/or I need to catch up on, visions I had imagined so clearly become fuzzy as though seen through an unfocussed lens; the sophisticated-sounding words and flow-on sentences echoing inside my head vanishing soon as it had materialised much like a hypnotist could erase part of your memory simply by clicking his fingers. It is even fair to say that apart from writing the Christmas message (published on Christmas Eve), this was the first time I have fired up my computer and started anything resembling writing!
Unlike those businesses, however, there was no telling as to when my mind would resume the ‘business as usual’ mode. Apart from my own personal deadline, there is currently no other stakeholder mandating said part of my brain to open shop, for fear that indefinite closing period would mean losing a certain amount of profit. And whilst I could periodically hear (and entertain) a niggling voice at the back of my mind wondering whether, left idle for too long, my inspiration would ever return, I continue to remind myself that: a) Track record indicates that it has continually done so; and b) Like everything, this is nothing more than a phase, and ‘this, too, shall pass’.
Until such time said inspiration returns…
Magic lives in your creative mind, and flows best when you least expect it. ~ Ellen L. Buikema
I had originally planned a completely different blog post for this month’s ‘Throwback Thursday’, but to blatantly borrow the words Lucy Eleanor Moderatz’s (the main character in ‘While You Were Sleeping’) father had imparted to her, “Life doesn’t always turn out the way you plan.”
With the Festive Season fast approaching, my husband and I thought it was appropriate to begin our ritual of watching some of the Christmas movie classics (since it was quite a list to get through); from ‘Miracle on 34th Street’ to ‘Serendipity’, from ‘Love Actually’ to ‘The Holiday’. Periodically, we even sit through the ‘Home Alone’ series.
Based in Chicago, ‘While You Were Sleeping’ tells the story of Lucy (Sandra Bullock), a lonely fare token collector for the Chicago Transit Authority secretly in love with Peter Callaghan (Peter Gallagher), a handsome commuter she had never said a word to. When Peter is mugged and then pushed onto the train tracks on Christmas Day, Lucy saves and accompanies a now comatose Peter to the hospital. When Lucy isn’t allowed to visit him, a nurse overhearing her musing “I was going to marry him” ends up telling Peter’s family that Lucy is his fiancée. Caught up in the misunderstanding and finding comfort in her supposed fiancee’s quirky family, Lucy ends up spending a belated Christmas celebration with the Callaghans, where she meets Peter’s younger brother Jack (Bill Pullman). Synopsis adapted from Wikipedia.
If memory serves me correctly, this was probably one of the first Christmas movies my husband (then boyfriend, and subsequently fiancee) and I watched together in the lead-up to Christmas. And every year since, it has always been a strong contender to be the first Christmas movie we watched to put us in the Festive mood.
As far as storyline goes, it leans (those whom have watched the movie could probably notice the pun here) towards the cheesy side. But, to us, there is always something so refreshing about Sandra Bullock’s performance, projecting a relatable, sometimes clumsy girl-next-door who just wants to spend Christmas with someone other than her cat. The score is, hands down, one of the best soundtracks we have ever heard, dubbed by my husband as timeless. A few staccato notes could send you giggling, predicting that something quirky or comical is about to happen. The beginning of two long notes played in repetition could pluck at your heartstrings, make you swoon, or both.
Packed with memorable quotes – and the fact that we could recall and pre-empt some of them ahead of time didn’t diminish the movie’s allure whatsoever, here are some of our favourites.
“Okay, there are two things that I remember about my childhood – I just don’t remember it being this orange.”
“Oh, geez, I was talking to myself.” “Well, next time you talk to yourself, tell yourself you’re single and end the conversation.”
“Lucy, you are born into a family. You do not join them like you do the marines.”
“You know, you do remind me of someone. It’s probably you.”
“Oh! I don’t want any flowers from you, I am not wearing black underwear, and I definitely do not want to move in with you, Jo… Jack.“ “Well, I don’t have any flowers, I wouldn’t mind seeing the black underwear, but under the circumstances, I don’t think we should move in together.“
A bit more on the serious side – and one of the underlying messages of the movie, the following quote would, at the very least, make me catch my breath, if not downright bring a tear to my eye.
“Have you ever been so alone you spend the night confusing a man in a coma?”
What about you? What are some of your must-watch, favourite Christmas movies? What is/are your yearly Christmas ritual(s) (other than putting up the Christmas tree)?
1828. Robin Swift, orphaned by cholera in Canton, is brought to London by the mysterious Professor Lovell. There, he trains for years in Latin, Ancient Greek, and Chinese, all in preparation for the day he’ll enroll in Oxford University’s prestigious Royal Institute of Translation—also known as Babel. The tower and its students are the world’s center for translation and, more importantly, magic. Silver-working—the art of manifesting the meaning lost in translation using enchanted silver bars—has made the British unparalleled in power, as the arcane craft serves the Empire’s quest for colonization. For Robin, Oxford is a utopia dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge. But knowledge obeys power, and as a Chinese boy raised in Britain, Robin realizes serving Babel means betraying his motherland. As his studies progress, Robin finds himself caught between Babel and the shadowy Hermes Society, an organization dedicated to stopping imperial expansion. When Britain pursues an unjust war with China over silver and opium, Robin must decide . . . Can powerful institutions be changed from within, or does revolution always require violence? Synopsis and picture sourced from Goodreads
A hefty 542 pages and heavily sprinkled with footnotes, Babel reads like a mammoth research journal; something Kuang has copped some negative criticisms for. Initially reluctant to relive my university days, I gradually appreciated the supporting information provided in a way that wouldn’t convolute the main part of the story (besides, can you expect anything else from someone who has multiple Masters’ degrees?). The author could also be forgiven for the initial slow pace of the book as she set up the magnificent world-building that was the Royal Institute of Translation and the breadth of languages spoken by the students in it. Once you persevere through the history ‘slog’ making up the first third of the book, however, the rest of the book picks up and becomes un-putdown-able.
Told almost entirely from Robin’s perspective, Kuang takes the time to shine the spotlight on three of his fellow cohort. Ramiz Rafi “Ramy” Mirza, who quickly became Robin’s best friend, was a Muslim Indian student from Calcutta. Like Robin, his admission into Oxford was sponsored by a wealthy British man. Victoire Desgraves was a black Haitian whom had fled to France with her mother. She forged her letter of recommendation to Oxford from her mother’s late employer. Letitia “Letty” Price was the daughter of a British former admiral. Successfully gaining admission into Oxford after her brother died in an accident, she craved for approval and recognition.
Though I have dabbled, and enjoyed reading historical fiction before, at first glance, a speculative/historical fantasy isn’t a genre I’m familiar, or usually interested in. Highly recommended by my niece, there has been times throughout reading this book I wasn’t sure whether to thank her, curse her, or throttle her (endearingly, of course) 😜!
What constitutes a good book? To me, it’s the ability to elicit strong responses from the reader. An opening line that hooks you, perhaps; a few sentences or paragraphs describing heartbreak so precisely it brings a tear or two to your eyes; a whole section dedicated to detailing how a villain with no redeemable qualities you have hated all throughout the book is served justice, withering to a slow, torturous death administered by the main character you have been rooting for; anything but the overwhelming desire to snap shut the book and toss it to the other end of the room in sheer frustration because you’re half-way through and something is yet to take place.
Never before has words on a page affected me the way Babel did. As though imbued with some magical powers, the book possessed hands that were able to reach deep into my soul, yank it out of me and pull it apart. Just like one attempting to glue back the pieces of a broken cup, it had taken me several days post-finishing reading the book to fully recover from the enormity of the experience. Almost five months on since I read the very last word on the last page, attempting to write this review remains a highly daunting task, for fear that I might not give the book the justice it truly deserves.
As a POC immigrant, I could more than relate to the feeling of disassociation Robin had felt when he was plucked out of the only home he knew and expected to land on his own two feet soon after he was thrust into a foreign country. As a linguist enthusiast whom had to learn and eventually become proficient in the English language (how come ‘door’ rhyme with ‘bore’ despite the slightly different spelling, but different to the way you pronounce ‘book’ or ‘poor’ despite the same number of ‘o’s?), Robin, Ramy and Victoire’s constant struggle between mastering a language of a country you live in whilst also maintaining the fluency of your native tongue resonated oh-so-strongly. Reading the incident of Robin and Ramy’s casual-turned-hostile encounter with a group of fellow Caucasian students upon realising that Ramy was a man of colour whom shouldn’t be wearing Oxford scholar gown was an echo of the racism I had been subjected to during my childhood and early teenage years.
“I’ve always just tried to blend in,” said Robin. “But that’s impossible for me,” said Ramy. A sobering and painful reminder that racism has levels of severity, this was one of the very first heartbreaks I experienced, so early into the book. I was reminded, once again, of the fight-or-flight tendencies gripping every POC when faced with prejudice/discrimination/racism. Do you tone down your otherness, keep your head down and walk away from potential altercation like Robin and Victoire, for it increases the likelihood of your survival? What part of yourself (however miniscule) are you willing to sacrifice for the sake of assimilating to the majority? Or do you adopt Ramy’s philosophy of having “had no choice but to stand out… decided he might as well dazzle”?
The character with the least common ground, I could, to a certain extent, sympathise with Letty. Sure, compared to her fellow cohort, she came from a cushy, more privileged background. Just as Robin, Ramy and Victoire were discriminated based on their race, being one of the few women scholars in the whole of Babel, Letty (and Victoire) received discrimination purely because of her gender. Amongst her POC friends, she was the minority, failing to comprehend her friends’ struggles that consequently shape their actions.
Whilst giving away any spoiler is frowned upon when writing a book review, when Robin realises that “The university tells us we are special, chosen, selected, when really we are severed from our motherlands and raised within spitting distance of a class we can never truly become a part of…”, a revolt against the system that has exploited him and other students recruited into Babel in the first place is insinuated. With the alternate title of the book being ‘The Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators’ Revolution’, the ending is, literally, spelled out.
Not equipped to discuss the broader issues Kuang tries to address in the book – namely British imperialism, colonisation and capitalism – with the same amount of passion, I will just leave the following quote here, which perfectly sums up my thought on the subject. “Never, Robin thought, would he understand these men, who talked of the world and its movements like a grand chess game, where countries and peoples were pieces to be moved and manipulated at will.”
Jam-packed with memorable, thought-provoking quotes, here are a handful that continue to haunt me.
“The Oxford-to-Paddington railway line was not laid until 1844, but here it was constructed several years earlier for two reasons… because I needed to get my characters to London a bit faster.” “If you find any other inconsistencies, feel free to remind yourself this is a work of fiction.” ~R.F. Kuang on ‘bending’ the facts to accommodate for the set up of her book.
“They were men at Oxford; they were not Oxford men.”
“Later, when everything went sideways and the world broke in half, Robin would think back to this day, to this hour at this table, and wonder why they had been so quick, so carelessly eager to trust one another. Why had they refused to see the myriad ways they could hurt each other?” A foreshadowing paragraph at its best!
“But the answer was obvious – that they were all four of them drowning in the unfamiliar, and they saw in each other a raft, and clinging to one another was the only way to stay afloat.”
“English did not just borrow words from other languages; it was stuffed to the brim with foreign influences, a Frankenstein vernacular. And Robin found it incredible, how this country, whose citizens prided themselves so much on being better than the rest of the world, could not make it through an afternoon tea without borrowed goods.”
“Translation means doing violence upon the original, it means warping and distorting it for foreign, unintended eyes.”
“… an act of translation is always an act of betrayal.”
“Would you let someone come in and tell you what words in your own language mean?”
“A dangerous trap indeed, for a player to believe his own stories, to be blinded by the applause.”
“Anger was a chokehold. Anger did not empower you. It sat on your chest; it squeezed your ribs until you felt trapped, suffocated, out of options. Anger simmered, then exploded. Anger was constriction, and the consequent rage a desperate attempt to breathe.”
“Language was just difference. A thousand different ways of seeing, of moving through the world. No; a thousand worlds within one. And translation – a necessary endeavour, however futile, to move between them.”
“History isn’t a premade tapestry that we’ve got to suffer, a closed world with no exit. We can form it. Make it. We just have to choose to make it.”
And lastly… “You fly no one’s flag. You’re free to seek your own harbour.” Hands down the best two sentences I have ever come across to date. Uttered to further drill down the notion that gratitude, obligation and servitudes aren’t warranted when a saviour’s motive in providing you with a so-called better life is more about advancing his own agenda (and little to nothing to do with the goodness of his heart), I continue to unpack the full impact and power of this sentiment to this very day.
