Swallowed in the Sea

I'm going to tell you right now, if you're not into lame, emotional bullshit, don't read this. This is me blubbering on and on, and it gets pretty sloppy, so sorry for that in advance. Well, if you don't care about all that, here goes, I guess ...

I'm not very good at goodbye, and I've been putting this off for as long as I could manage to. This season, I've had the immense pleasure of having this blog to write in. Whenever I needed a break from school (practically every day), I had this blog to work on. In additions to all the Fan Clubs I manage (Aaron Carter, Hilary Duff, Paris Hilton, MaryKim, Claire Wright, UCLA, Wisconsin, etc. etc. which will all still be updated while I'm away, by the by), this blog gave me an endless source of entertainment. Somewhere along the way, it also became something very personal to me. It became my baby, my hard work, my pride and joy -- I care very deeply about the things that I write. The anticipation that quivered from my words before tournaments. The immense pride I felt in writing about my teammates' great exploits after tournaments. But this blog was here for me in the hard times, too. After my disappointment at Texas Throwdown and my even greater disappointment following Regionals, I had an outlet for it all.

Let me put it this way. I'm not the best player on the field, and I never will be. I'm not flashy and I'm not athletic, and unless you're searching for douchebags or Asian Jews, I won't be the first person you point out on the field. I'm not the type of player that people take pictures of, unless, of course, I'm doing something inappropriate like putting my hands in my pants every other second, or I'm in the background of some glorious picture. And while I really enjoy every second spent behind the lens, I'm not the best photographer out there either. But when I'm writing, I feel like someone totally different. Nobody can touch me, not because people perceive me to be "better" than others at it, but because it's so intensely personal for me.

In person, I'm unimpressive. There are awkward silences and glances, not knowing what to do with my hands, sweaty palms, knots in my stomach, and red in my cheeks. I stutter and struggle to find the right thing to say, I look at my feet and put my hands in my pockets. But on paper, I'm composed and cool, and I always have the right words. I'm funny and entertaining, and sometimes I even come off as intelligent. I coin ridiculous words and phrases and introduce my ludicrous vocabulary to my readership. On paper I'm better than the person that I really am. People give a shit about the things that I have to say on paper. And for that, I thank you. I know I haven't said it all this time, but thanks for this great opportunity to write for you. You have no idea how excited I was to watch new dots form on the Hits Map on my site meter. Since February, I've had over 2000 unique visitors. I know it's nothing compared to Match Diesel's readership or whatever, but holy fucking shit. Over two thousand different people have come to my blog and read what I've had to say. Some of them have even kept coming back for more. And you have no idea how exciting getting those first few comments was -- especially when it was from people outside my team, people I look up to. Let's just say I changed my underwear more than once that week.

I'm sorry for gushing and blubbering about; I usually try to keep my ultimate blog as impersonal as I can, hard as that is to believe. My "personal" writing is, well, much more personal and emotionally vulnerable -- I've always felt that there's no point in being dishonest with your writing, and foar srsly, if people don't care about you, why would they keep reading? That being said, this blog will be seeing reduced direct-action for a few months while I'm abroad -- I'll be studying in Shanghai, China this fall semester. See? All that studying and bitching and moaning about Chinese is finally paying off, I think. I'm leaving tomorrow and I won't be back until late December, which means I'll be missing out on the fall season. So I guess ... this is goodbye?

What I mean to say by "reduced direct-action" is that I might be doing less first-person writing, and more Fireside Chat type things. I can't promise anything though. I'll probably be mad busy in China, hanging out with my brethren and eating delicious foods and squatting around and haggling and just doing what Chinese people do. I will, however, resume my blogging to its full, 20-minute long length upon my return, so don't abandon me just yet, readers. And to all my whack white friends (Believe me, I say this with all the love in my heart), please keep reading, because your vocabulary really improved and it's progressed too far for you to stop now.

If you're so inclined, it'd be really cool to have a penpal or something, or any way to keep up on what's happening in the world of American ultimate while I'm gone. joannwong25@gmail.com's the name, so holler at it if you feel like it.

I'm excited, and a little overwhelmed to "go home" to learn about my Chinese identity. But I learned a lot about myself this past year here too, and I think what I learned will help me keep my feet on the ground when I'm abroad.

(This is me, about to get personal. Ohhhhh boy.)

Earlier this year, my best friend, the boy who knew me better than any other, the boy I loved more than any other, broke my heart and he didn't even give a shit. He put his ruddy hands in my chest, pulled out my heart, ripped it to shreds, and threw it all away, the same way I had thrown away five years of my life for him. At the end of it all, he acted like it didn't even matter to him, like I never mattered to him. Five years, good God. Five years. I can't believe I thought he was worth it. I gave up so much to be with him. I don't mean to sound like a total loser, but what he did to me really ripped me apart. It, in conjunction with a lot of other factors, plunged me into a very dark place that I wasn't sure I could get out of alone, so I turned to the friends I had made on the field to take my hand. As nervous as I was in doing so, it turned out that off the field, they're the people I trust the most too. And they are the people who helped me laugh for realsies again. They're the reason I play ultimate.

In a lot of ways, I'm not really over what he did to me. I still have a really hard time with it. But in these months of hating him, of not seeing him, of not even talking to him, I grew into a different, more learned person. Believe it or not, I became a much happier person. I used to let him dictate my happiness, but now the booming, absolutely obnoxious laughs that come from the very pit of my stomach are all real. Instead of giving myself to him, I gave myself to ultimate (which is not as pathetic as it sounds, I promise).

For the four months after I had my heart broken beyond recognition, I gave everything I had left to Illinois Ultimate. For four months, the only thing that mattered to me was ultimate frisbee and Nationals. For four months, the only people that mattered to me were my teammates. It was like there was no one else in the world, and that's kind of how it really was in my head. For four months, I ran and I worked out with an almost animalistic intensity burning within me, I went to practice and set high standards for myself, and was livid when I didn't meet them. I thought I was doing this all to spite him. I thought that when, at the end of May I was in Boulder and he was in Chicago with his new, awful, [a plethora of other deleted adjectives -- I'll let you fill in the blanks] girlfriend, I could say, "Look where this got me. I worked hard and I believed in myself, and my dreams came true, and you're still stuck right where I left you." While most of my motivation came from my desire for Nationals, I would be lying if I didn't say that a little bit of the fuel in my fire was how much I hated him, how much I wanted him to know that I was going to be the best thing he ever lost. I wanted nothing more than to be able to, at the end of May, do the proverbial "show him the disc and then spike it at his feet", the old lick it and stick it. I pushed myself so that I could prove him wrong. But I learned in the end that I was doing it all for me. 

Because Natties or no, I love ultimate. At the end of Sunday, win or lose, I love ultimate. At the end of practice, whether I played well or I turfed throws into the ground all scrimmage long (mostly the latter), I love ultimate. I don't need hype on RSD or green on score reporter or an article in UPA News, I. Love. Ultimate. There is absolutely nothing like the feeling of a disc in my hands, or the swelling in my heart as I hear "We are Menace!" ring out 18 strong, or the turning in my stomach as the disc is first pulled and I'm sprinting down on defense, or the anticipation that characterizes every single one of my tournament Fridays. There is nothing like that first layout D, or that demoralizing break, or that fake that leaves your defender in the dust as you tool them deep, or catching the plastic at the peak of its flight in the middle of a crowd. There is nothing like laughing off a particularly brutal track practice on the Deuce Deuce at midnight, or being obnoxiously dirty and smelly in the dining halls after practice, or singing some ridiculous song at the top of your lungs on the way to some far off destination, or laughing and joking with your friends as you sit at three or four connected tables at the restaurant that has the misfortune of hosting you that tourney Saturday evening.

I had my "coming out year" this season. I know I wasn't All-Region or RSD hype or even Most Improved Player status, but this is the same kid who played maybe three points all of Regionals Sunday freshmen year. I didn't see any action in the Northwestern game, and to be honest, I didn't even really want to get called in that game. But I played in the finals of Regionals this year, both against Michigan and in the backdoor final against Michigan State. I had a stake in the outcome of the game. I blew up off the field, too. Freshmen year, I'm pretty sure a lot of people thought I was mute. I almost always stayed to myself, I didn't speak, ever really, and I'm positive there had to be at least three or four people who still struggled with my name at the end of the season. But when I learned that it was okay for me to be ridiculous around everyone, I unleashed that beast, and well, Pandora doesn't go back in the box, she only comes out (PLEASE TELL ME SOMEONE GOT THAT REFERENCE). When I allowed myself to let go, I saw my teammates let go too, and meet me somewhere in the middle. I've made some really incredible friends from ultimate, and the lessons I've learned from ultimate can't be learned in the classroom. I can't even really find all the right words to describe what ultimate has given me. Through ultimate, I found what it is I want to do with the rest of my life -- I want to write, it doesn't matter what it's about or who it's for, I know I want to continue doing this. I found the strength to admit that I'm not Superman, that every person has their kryptonite and when you encounter it, it's okay to ask for help. I found that within me, there is an indomitable will that no person, no event, no words, no force of nature, and even no act of God can quell. I found the confidence to leave my beloved 312, Chicago, The Windy City, and I found a new home on the West Coast, a place I actually miss like hell right now.

I lead a very blessed life, and sometimes I lose sight of that. I really only go to school basically two or three hours out of the entire day. When I'm not doing school things, I'm playing ultimate, or talking ultimate, or watching ultimate. I get to spend time with my teammates, my friends, and do some of the most ridiculous shit ever. I mean honestly? So drunk I can't remember how I got from Urbana to Champaign and then looking like I'm going to die the moment I walk in the door? (Okay, so the "so drunk" part didn't actually happen with my teammates, but the part where I looked like the walking dead did happen with my teammates, and they subsequently took pictures of me, and I'm willing to bet that Ashley R. Chan, Duke Law '11, probably took advantage of me. God she's shameless.) Flying out to Vegas for three days of ultimate, sun, and debauchery in the middle of winter? Short-shorts, sweatbands, and racquetball at CRCE, screaming/grunting/laughing at the top of our lungs thinking that the glass is soundproof when in fact it is not and there is a large crowd gathering outside our court to laugh? That doesn't even scratch the surface of all the dumb ridiculous stuff we got into. Even though it's a close one, I don't think I've ever cried more than I have this year. Funny thing is that I've also never laughed as much as I have this year. I feel like such a whole person. That's the best way I can describe it.

Funny, how that works.

I had to get my heart broken to know how full it could be.

Quae nocent, docent, right?

There's a lot that I'll miss. I'll miss my home, Chicago (312, stand up), and my adopted home, Champaign(Shampoo)-Urbana(Banana). I'm really going to miss my family, and my friends, and everything ultimate-related. I miss the whole fall season! I miss out on the club series, meeting the rookies, practicing outside, getting swiped into the dining halls ... there's a lot I'm going to miss, actually. But oh, I'll be back. I haven't even left yet and I'm already looking forward to December 23 -- I'll be back then. I just can't wait to suit up again.

I'm sitting on my bed now, keys under my fingers, tears welling up.I'm listening to a two year old mix I made for my best friends before we left for college. The mix was called "See you later, not goodbye.", and this isn't goodbye, I know that. This is just a really extended "See ya later."

So before I leave for the airport tomorrow morning and before I take off on what I hope will be the journey of a lifetime, let me say this:

When you're at practice, work hard, and push yourself and your teammates to get better. Always play your hardest, because no matter the result, you know that you gave it everything you could. There will always be someone stronger, faster, and better than you, but nothing can disgrace your effort. When you step on that field with your teammates, be grateful for what you have -- the opportunity to play the game you love with the people you love. Play your heart out. Don't hold anything back. Make sure that when you walk off the field with either a W or a L, you do so with no regrets -- you gave until gone, and then some. Learn to love the process, not necessarily the results. Ultimate is probably one of the best things that will ever happen to you -- live it up.

And I guess, this is what I've learned so far, in twenty years on earth: Use things, not people. Love people, not things. Take life's lessons and hardships with your head up and your shoulders strong, and take life's gifts with a smile on your face. Do the things you love, surround yourself with people who you love and who love you back, and nothing else will matter. Learn to let go of the things and the people that hurt you, hard as that may be. Give everything you have and put every bit of yourself in everything you do, because it comes back to you, in the end. It might suck in the right now, but later, it'll pay off. There's a bright side to everything, and it could always be worse. I mean, every day that you get to open your eyes in the morning is a great day. And you know what? Man, just love. If you love someone, tell them. If you want to be with someone but you're not, why the hell aren't you? Go for the things you want, not just the things you can have. If you succeed, then be happy. But if you fall short, the people who love you will be there for you, because even though who those people are may not be apparent to you now, you'll figure it out -- they'll be there when shit gets real. Find the people who will brave a fuckin' tornado to talk with you, the people who will have Facebook chats about Poland with you while you're sitting right next to each other, the people who will answer your despairing, depressing phone calls and listen to you cry about the most inane things for hours at a time, the people who will steal golf carts with you at 2am and drive recklessly down residential drives without braking, the people who still hang out with you even though you wear pink Nike slides like they're real shoes, and you'll know who'll be there for you when it matters. Find the people who you'd drive four hours to see for twenty minutes, who you'd drop everything in order to be with, whose vomit you'd clean up, who you'd give piggyback rides to because they're so drunk/so hurt they can't walk, who you'd stay up for hours just to end the day with, no matter in person or on the phone or through some internet communication, and you'll know who matters to you the most. Love with everything you have within you, because I promise you, even though it might feel like your heart's about to explode or break, you'll be able to take it. Human strength and resiliency will surprise you, every time.

Welp, this is it. Time to get my ass to China. Know that I'll be keeping in shape in Shanghai, and doing my best to work on my game. I'll be keeping up with everything the team does, and I can't wait to come back and dominate with you. Don't hesitate to write, or facebook, or even call me. If you ever need me, know that I'd gladly jump on the next flight to be there for you. I love you guys, and I'm going to miss you like hell.

I'm so ridiculously amped to go, but at the same time, this is going to hurt more than I think you know.

I know I didn't cry before, but I'm crying now.

Goodnight, Chicago.

I'll be home soon, I promise.