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Losing What You Invested in Your Passion

Losing What You Invested in Your Passion

Every individual is passionate about something. May it be a hobby, a talent, a course, or anything they enjoy doing. People always have this passion burning inside of them. Many may not have discovered it yet, others are making the most out of it, and some are losing what they invested. So, what happens after that phase? After losing your investment in something that you love?

Losing What You Invested in Your Passion

I discovered my love for sports at a young age. When I was 11, I started holding a badminton racket. It interests me how it works and how you make it work. It seems to have pulled a string in me that made me so attached to it. I trained and built a relationship with the racket. A harmonious one that only I can be so familiar with its strokes. I know I did well in this track I decided to take because lots of strings of gold, silver, and bronze hangs in my closet. I’ve been here for long years of my life. So long that it scared me that when the time would come, I would have to let it go. That means I would have to prepare myself to lose what I invested in my passion.

By the word ‘lose,’ I don’t mean losing worldly things. Not the shoes that helped me get better with footwork. Not the jerseys that say, “Province of Rizal,” nor the racket I’ve attached myself into. By the word ‘lose,’ I mean the time I’ve given in every training session. Every drop of sweat and every gasp for air. The sudden muscle cramp and consistent body pain. Every effort to improve, the fire to do more of what my coach told me to do, and the hunger to bag a string of success. I’ve lost the chance and opportunity to continue the passion I have for this sport.

Will the healing ever come?

After eight years of investing in it, it’s all gone in a snap. No more training, no more sweaty jerseys and towels in the bag, no more tight grips on the racket every time I would smash a shuttlecock. Though every training session leaves my body sore, I bet I would rather have it that way than feel no pain from it at all. But I can no longer bring back time, and after four years of not feeling that racket inside my palm, I still have not moved on.

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A part of me is hollow, like an empty vessel, with the remains of cold charcoal that formerly burns for what it loves, for its passion. I can no longer feel the enthusiasm when I see my weapon for every match. I dare say its soul left its body when I lost my links with it, for which I take the blame.

If the time ever takes itself back, I hope to go for the path my feet will rejoice walking in. I would probably take the one where I could continue excelling in the passion that I have fallen in love with. Or should I return to that moment when I was 11 and first saw a racket? And change my decision of laying my palm on it? Maybe it would have saved me from the agony.

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