Ever since I was a little kid, I have been used to winning. When I was six I won a drawing competition organised by a community centre near my house. Throughout my studying years, I won numerous awards for debating, for a science competition, football tournaments when younger, basketball competitions. When I continued in to my polytechnic years, I won a load of advertising awards, a few design competitions and even a few in photography. My father had always drilled in the mentality of not losing, so much so that I never could grasp the idea of losing, it was never in my dictionary, everytime I lost something, I threw a tantrum, I went on a path of anger, I went into self denial. I blamed my team mates, I threw stuff around. This time though, I had no team mates, and I lost big time.
When hard times come, I always turn to my mother, she might be half insane, but the woman has many theories that make sense. Ever since I lost my father, my mother has always been here for me, good times and bad. My mother asked me why I could not stand losing and she told me that it has to change. This not losing nonsense I had in my head had turned me into a drunk. I have to always win, so I always drank faster than anybody else, I always drank more than anybody else. If you can drink 10 tequila shots, I would drink 15 and then laugh into your face. The repercussions though were me getting carried home by my friends, me sleeping at some dingy stairway. My mother sat me down and she said ” son, real winning is when you’re not bat shit drunk, when you do not let anyone who love you worry about you, when you are able to come home safely and take care of the people you love.”
I broke down and cried.
This is probably the first time I truthfully cried in front of my mother and showed her my true emotions. This is the first time she didn’t see me as the confident kid with the loud mouth. I am sorry mother but when you told me all this, so many regrets flew into my head. I want to take care of everybody I love, and I have failed to do so. Reality hit me in the head like a sharp stone, and I was bleeding like no tomorrow. This self imagined blood leaked into my eyes, everything I saw was red, its like crimson was the colour of regret. I regret getting drunk in that party, not being able to take care of her, I regret that for the past two years, I returned drunk so many times and made my loved ones so worried. I cried for the longest time. My grandfather once told me ,”real man never cry” but I thought to myself, what kind of real man was I if I have made so many that loved me worry. I am not dependable at all, not mature enough, and far from secure.
My mother told me I made people feel insecure, no one could see a future with me if I carry on like that. From that very moment, I decided, it is time to change.
I don’t know if this change will get me what I want, but I know that this change will definitely help me become a better person. I have to learn, I will learn, I got to learn to be a better man. I will be a better person. For now I can only wait, one week? One month? One year? A decade? I can only prove that I am better for this but this pit of misery is really eating into me. It has cracked me and I have to repair myself, it might take awhile but one thing I had going for me is patience.
I have to feel better, by hook or by crook. I just hope it is like how I see it in my head. This is all I know for now and the rest, only god knows, whichever religion or colour or shape of the god, I hope the big man reads all this and help me out abit.
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