Regret?

"Aieeek! Too hot-lah. Wait on the grass first-lah," I thought.

My mind flashedback to 3 years ago - when we were all little first formers. I recalled being right at the same spot - 3rd runner, as always - thinking along the exact same lines.I remember going down to the track at 10 something every sports day to check my lane for any sharp objects. We always ran about 15 minutes later, about 10.15. The latest would certainly be about 10.30 or 10.40, when the Sun could barely lick our skin. Definitely. It would never ever be later than that. The tracks definitely won't be hot. Definitely. No doubt about that. Got that?

"Lorong 4! Lorong 4 mana?"

"Sini, cikgu!" I replied jovially.
Wow, the track's REALLY hot.

"Cepat-lah masuk trek.. dah nak mula ni...!" Cikgu Musawir's 'merajuk' voice came from behind me.

"Panas-lah, cikgu!"

"Apa ni.. panas panas.. cikgu pun panas lah..!"


then..


"BANG!!!"

The gun-shot. The start of a race.

I hurried into my lane. Gosh, this is waaaaay hotter than when we were in Form 1. It was the first time I was running in my first year in a new school.. and I frequently revisited the memory of the adrenaline rush that raced through my blood from the second the baton entered my grip till it left my hand for the finish line.

Hmm.. I wonder whether we will do as well as the previous years?
Perhaps not.
Will we win?
Can we win?

My eyes were focused on Yune-Lyn.

At that moment, as I saw her long legs racing round the first bend, I felt instant admiration. This was the girl who said she couldn't sprint. This was the girl who we begged to join the relay to help us, beacuse there was no one else we could depend on. We knew she could do it, but apparently she didn't think so. And once she was registered as part of the team, she went to ask for help - from her pet brother, to our house captain, to almost every sprinter she knew. And while yours truly was dancing away at gymrama training, here she was, right here in MPSJ, 'learning' how to sprint, although she already could. If that isn't admirable enough, I don't know what is.

She was running, for the first time in her life, in a sprinting event - and here she was, leading the way.

Then it was Liesl's turn to shine.

Liesl, the funkeyh monkeyh, who injured her (was it?) tailbone when we were back in Form 1. Injury, after injury... Form 2 as well... She could run, but she still couldn't run run. Then Form 3, - at last. The first runner who lead us off to an explosive start last year. It was as if she was never injured. And this supermonkey injured (or was it a pull?) her thigh muscle which was aggravated by her participation in long jump. Liesl wasn't even sure whether she was able to sprint on the sports day, which, by a twist of blessing, she was able to. Yes, indeed, God is awesome.

She was leading - all the way - and then it was my turn to perform. It was up to what I did whether the Red shirt emerge victorious around the third and fourth bend.

The tracks were hot. Real hot.

"UP!"
I started running.

"Pap!"
The baton was in my hand, it was up to me what I did with it.

So I ran.

I ran like I had never run before - and I could tell that I wasn't slowing down at all, unlike the previous years when I could practically feel my energy leaving me.

The shouts, the yells of my hooligan-friends, so many audible voices, so many familiar voices that I even as I ran, I could tell who was shouting and from where. So, so many -

"This track is really hot!" My mind was yelling."HOT!!!HOTT!!!! Now I know why so many people were saying it was so hot. I hadn't imagined this at all!"

The heat was literally burning into my soles, the faster I ran, the quicker the heat tore through my toes.

"Faster, Beatrice, faster! The faster you reach, the faster you rest!!!" My feet screamed.

Must. go . faster. Pain..

I was still leading, but all that was in my head was pain, pain pain pain PAIN.

Winning? What's that?

I could barely concentrate on where I was running, all that I thought about was the scorching flame that were consuming my feet bit by bit.

I....must...finish....

I couldn't think anymore. I forgot to say 'UP' to Se Yieng, our faithful fourth runner. I barely saw where I placed the baton. I could barely think about anything but -

Something red flashed in the Sun, on it's way to the ground.
The baton.

I couldn't think. My hand instinctively went down, grabbed it and put it into Se Yieng's waiting hand.

Something so crucial, that people would normally groan at while watching, something so BIG -
bur barely registered in my mind.

I stumbled over to the grassy part of the field. Must....sit.....down.....Faster....

I fell to my butt, my teeth gritted, my hands clenched and gripping the grass on the field like they were going to save my life. The soles of my feet were going to fall off any moment.

"Pain.. pain.." was all that I could mutter.

But no tears came. No surprise. Pain, so what? Your own fault, for not wearing shoes to ru-

"Se Yieng!" A voice suddenly said. Who was it? Oh, me.

"Who won? How did red house do? What place we got?" I heard myself asking anxiously, nervously.

The comforting bodies around me hushed me, saying that my feet were alright, I was going to be fine-

The baton. The baton! THE BATON! I DROPPED THE BATON!

Something that I couldn't understand why so many people did, it was so simple, so easy, just passing a hollow tube into the hands of somebody else..

Or rather, passing on the hope and expectations to emerge triumphant unto the next person, who in turn was going to prove whether the hopes will stand or will fall.

And I had dropped it.

The salty stream started flowing freely down my cheeks- I had let my house down, I had let my house captain down, I had let my faithful teammates down, they - who had done nothing wrong at all, I had let my friends down. The people who were constantly there, ever supporting me. I had let people - who I knew were banking on me to go further - down. Down, down, down.

I gave into the emotions of being the one who let down others.

Most of all, I had let myself down.













As I let myself be smothered by my friends who were trying to hush me - Lee Yuin's "breath in, breath out", Diane's "You okay or not?", Wen Min's "Beat, don't worry okay", Yee Fung's "Beeaaaaat", Justin's "Beat, don't crylah", the St Johns, Brenda's extremely worried face.......
(please do let me know if i left your name out, because I'm in a rush to finish this post, so I'm just typing anything that comes to mind..hold on. not like anyone's going to read this anyway. It's just going to be me, myself and I. HOHOHO. Anyway. just let me know, kay, now- back to story)

I felt anguished, dismayed, almost distraught. Yet at the same time so touched and basking in the love that my friends shared.

Until I caught a glimpse of a watch.

12.45 pm.

The numbers jumped out at me.

What?

What happened to 'definitely'?

I looked towards the sky and was blinded by the rays of light emanating from the Sun which was directly above my head.

I looked at my toes - now red and burnt - I saw the blood slowly seeping out from the gigantic circle beneath my big toe, where the skin already exposed the raw meat.

And cried.

This is great. Take a moment to read it; it will make your day!
>
A wealthy man and his son loved to collect rare works of art.
They had everything in their collection, from Picasso to Raphael.
They would often sit together and admire the great works of art..

When the Vietnam conflict broke out, the son went to war.
He was very courageous and died in battle while rescuing another soldier.
The father was notified and grieved deeply for his only son.


About a month later, just before Christmas,there was a knock at the door.
A young man stood at the door with a large package in his hands.

He said, 'Sir, you don't know me, but I am the soldier for whom your son gave his life. He saved many lives that day, and he was carrying me to safety when a bullet struck him in the heart and he died instantly. He often talked about you, and your love for art.' The young man held out this package. 'I know this isn't much. I'm not really a great artist, but I think your son would have wanted you to have this.'


The father opened the package.
It was a portrait of his son, painted by the young man.
He stared in awe at the way the soldier had captured the personality of his son in the painting.
The father was so drawn to the eyes that his own eyes welled up with tears. He thanked the young man and offered to pay him for the picture.
'Oh, no sir, I could never repay what your son did for me. It's a gift.'

The father hung the portrait over his mantle. Every time visitors came to his home he took them to see the portrait of his son before he showed them any of the other great works he had collected.

The man died a few months later. There was to be a great auction of his paintings. Many influential people gathered, excited over seeing the great paintings and having an opportunity to purchase one for their collection.

On the platform sat the painting of the son. The auctioneer pounded his gavel.
'We will start the bidding with this picture of the son. Who will bid for this picture?'

There was silence.

Then a voicein the back of the room shouted, 'We want to see the famous paintings. Skip this one.'

But the auctioneer persisted. 'Will somebody bid for this painting? Who will start the bidding? $100, $200?'

Another voice angrily. 'We didn't come to see this painting. We came to see the Van Gogh's, the Rembrandts. Get on with the real bids!'

But still the auctioneer continued. 'The son! The son! Who'll take the son?'

Finally, a voice came from the very back of the room.. It was the longtime gardener of the man and his son. 'I'll give $10 for the painting..' Being a poor man, it was all he could afford.

'We have $10, who will bid $20?'

'Give it to him for $10. Let's see the masters.'
The crowd was becoming angry..

They didn't want the picture of the son.
They wanted the more worthy investments for their collections.
The auctioneer pounded the gavel. 'Going once, twice, SOLD for $10!'
A man sitting on the second row shouted, 'Now let's get on with the collection!'

The auctioneer laid down his gavel. 'I'm sorry, the auction is over.'
'What about the paintings?'

'I am sorry. When I was called to conduct this auction, I was told of a secret stipulation in the will. I was not allowed to reveal that stipulation until this time. Only the painting of the son would be auctioned. Whoever bought that painting would inherit the entire estate, including the paintings.'

"The man who took the son gets everything!"

God gave His son 2,000 years ago to die on the cross. Much like the auctioneer, His message today is: 'The son, the son, who'll take the son?'
Because, you see, whoever takes the Son gets everything.

FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON, WHO SO EVER BELIEVETH, SHALL HAVE ETERNAL LIFE

...THAT'S LOVE.




keep smiling :D