Table tennis brings me bittersweet memories.
I took up the sport when I was in primary two, when the Chinese teacher, who also happened to be one of the teachers in charge of the sport, recruited a few of the girls from his class into the team. We started from the basics, from holding the bat and finding the grip we were most comfortable with (I took up the old-fashioned pen-hold grip and never looked back since), to hitting the balls to-and-fro clumsily and learning the rules of the game. To be frank, the reason we joined the sport was not only because we had too much time on our hands, but also because we were entitled to a table tennis room, which could only admit members of the team. Well, you know kids, exclusivity was a big thing to us.
Things got serious only when the school employed a young Chinese national to coach us when we were primary three. She was so fierce and strict that it would have been a traumatizing childhood for us, until we saw our results. Gone were the days we would only focus on getting the ball onto the other side of the table. Gone were the days of fooling around during trainings. Gone were our days of innocence. Eager to please, as all kids are, we became more focused, disciplined and even competitive, because our coach, whether subtly or not, made sure we knew where we stood, in terms of our skills. Not only that, we also had to fight for our places in the school team.
In two years, as an unknown team of a certain unknown Westlake Primary School (especially in the table tennis arena), we were placed fourth in the National Inter-Primary School Table Tennis Championships. Of course, we didn't know what that meant. In fact, we probably weren't even sure how we got that far. To us, winning that crucial match meant that we would get a treat to Swensen's, as promised by our teacher-in-charge.
Our last primary school year didn't go that well though, but we had a smashing (pun-intended) good time, as I kept a lasting memory of playing the best doubles match against the strongest team, with my perfect doubles partner (Christina!), whom I still think I had the best rapport with, as we felt like we had nothing to lose, played our hearts out, totally enjoying the game, and won. We lost overall, but in my heart, it never felt better.
I continued to play table tennis in secondary school. I didn't expect to, until I realised there was a need to join an extra-curriculum activity (ECA) and table tennis was the only thing I was familiar with. It became my life.
In an unfamiliar environment, without any of my friends with me, I was struggling to adapt to life in CHIJ St Nicholas Girls' School. It probably wasn't wise of me to skip all the orientation programmes then (I don't know how I got the nerves to do so), since it would have been a great opportunity for me to make new friends. I also missed the ECA walkabout, where the sports trials would be held. By the time I found the basement table tennis area, only a few seniors were left playing among themselves. Having been told that it was only when you were being asked to write down your name that you could join the team, I was a tad too anxious to prove myself, smashing every ball that came to me. When I was asked to write down my name, I thought that was it.
Well, not quite.
Apparently writing our names down on the board was only an indication of your interest to join the team, as I had learned afterwards, from my years of organising the ECA walkabout(s) myself. Even without any table tennis background, you could still join the team. However, there was a barrier, literally, separating three out of nine tables for the beginners. When we attended our first training, we were rounded up in the beginners' zone. However, after showing a couple of strokes, as requested by the coach, another Chinese national, I was brought into the seniors' zone, which was a totally different world.
Despite training with the seniors, I didn't feel at ease. I still contemplated transferring to Cedar, where some of my friends were, until my mentor, Ms Chew (now Mrs Tan), whom I would be forever indebted to, called me up and persuaded me to stay. Initially, I didn't know who she was, so when she introduced herself as the teacher in charge of table tennis, I was shocked that she, of all people, knew of my inclination to transfer out. She went on for a long time, telling me how much the team needed me and that it was in fact the coach who asked her to make me stay, which I thought was a little hard to believe, since there were so many seniors with superb skills to begin with. I didn't think they would even notice the disappearance of a small fry like myself. In the end, I still couldn't promise her anything and told her that the most I could do was to stay for a little while longer (until the competition season was over), before deciding if I should leave.
A couple of intensive trainings later, the vice-captain asked me to write down my particulars on a piece of paper. I didn't think much of it (neither did she explain), since I thought it was simply some administrative work that required everyone's particulars. A few moments later, we were told the time and date to attend the zonal competitions. As a clueless secondary one player, I thought we were simply asked to be a spectator or part of the cheering contingent, so I didn't go, since I didn't think it was compulsory. During the training before the last zonal competition, however, the coach and a couple of seniors questioned the reason for my absence. I thought they were overreacting, but agreed to be there for the last zonal competition anyway.
I was late though. By the time I reached the venue (Naval Base Secondary School), it was already the last singles' match. Everyone stared at me when I arrived. The other secondary one members dragged me aside and asked me why I was so late. It was only then that I found out my coach's initial intention to let me play in the competitions. I was dumbfounded, because not only was I late, I didn't even bring my bat! Nevertheless, it made me feel needed, as I realised I did have a place in the team after all. Another strand of attachment grew in the process as well, as I forged some of the strongest bonds with my teammates, now my closest friends. I felt ashamed, for even thinking about leaving this wonderful school, which opened so many doors for me.
Given my lousy track record (read above), I was surprised yet grateful for the various opportunities Ms Chew had given me. From being a Lower Secondary (i.e. 'C' Division) Captain in secondary two, to being a Vice-Captain in secondary three and eventually the Captain in secondary four, I had learned so much. The position I really set my sight upon, however, was being a Sports Leader of the school, especially after seeing Bin Bin, one of my closest and most inspirational seniors, as one. You see, not anyone could be a Sports Leader. It was said that only five people, not necessarily a Captain, from different sports would be chosen, with the approval from Singapore Sports Council after attending their workshop, to lead the school in all of its sporting activities, such as Sports Day, Games Carnival, Swimming Carnival and all the sports camps. I can't deny it was, again, the exclusivity that drew me in. Being able to represent our own sport, out of so many other sports in our school, as a Sports Leader, was a huge honour.
So when Ms Chew approached me with the invitation to become one of the five Sports Leaders of my batch, I was thrilled. When she asked me if I could cope, since I was recently appointed as a monitor of the class as well, I would have told her I would give up everything else to be a Sports Leader, but I only managed a resonant "Yes!" due to excitement. Despite having to stay back in the PE department almost everyday after class and even till night-time when it was nearing an important sporting event, I probably never complained, since I was having too much fun with the other four Sports Leaders (from Badminton, Track&Field, Hockey and Gymnastics) to.
Competition, on the other hand, is probably the most important event to every sportsman. Whenever an announcement was made about the different sports teams leaving school early for the inter-school competitions, almost everyone in school who knew us would give us a hug and wish us luck. It felt so heartwarming each time and each time, it made us want to do our school proud.
It wasn't easy though. For a long time, we were chasing after our goal to enter the semis, the way Singapore was chasing after an Olympic medal. We achieved it eventually (when I was in secondary three), but not without getting paranoid over a conspiracy theory that might do us in. It was silly, really, but it did show how badly we wanted to get into Top 4, which again, meant that we would be treated to Pizza Hut by the Captain (Chan!) then.
As a Captain, I should probably be pretty good in table tennis, but I wasn't. I used to be rather confident of my own skills, ensuring my position among the top few spots in the team, until I realised others were catching up with me quickly, while I deteriorated.
A humiliating incident which left a very vivid impression on me was when I participated in the Lian He Zao Bao Table Tennis Competition and was swiped out in the first round by a Chinese national. No, that wasn't the most humiliating part, especially since my opponent was pretty strong, whom I later found out that she was training with the national team. The next day, I went to support a couple of my friends, who were still in the competition, when a middle-aged spectator came up to us with Lian He Zao Bao in his hands. He pointed to the newspaper and asked one of my friends, who was wearing our school's competition tee, whether she was Sin Yee. When she realised my name was in the papers, she pointed me out to him excitedly as we borrowed his newspaper to read what was written. There it was - a tiny paragraph stating my full Chinese name and school, as well as my immediate loss in the competition as I was regarded as the fifth seed that year. First of all, no one told me I was the fifth seeding for the competition (which was most likely due to my better performance in the same competition the previous year), or I might have fought harder, knowing my name would appear on the newspaper in this manner! Secondly, how proud could I have been to have my name printed on the national newspaper for the first time in my life, only to have it reporting on my poor performance?
My coach once told me that I didn't have a very strong foundation in my skills, which explained my fluctuating performance, but the reason why he continued to pick me, among the other better and steadier players of the same batch, to play in the competitions, was because of my competitiveness and fighting spirit. However, it was also such competitiveness that almost made me want to give up.
I was going through a rough patch and after losing consecutively to a couple of juniors during training, I was obviously in a lousy mood. Once again, I was being called aside by the coach, who reminded me of my status as a Captain and my responsibility to serve as an example to the rest of my team-mates, instead of affecting their mood because of my temper. I was on the verge of tears, not because of what he said, but because of what I did. I rushed to the nearby toilet to recollect myself and while looking at myself in the mirror, I felt so angry with myself and my inadequacy as a Captain, but I didn't want to give up. Not like this. I'm so glad I didn't, or I wouldn't have learned to look at the bigger picture, instilling a positive mentality among the players and building a strong rapport within the team, rather than being so self-absorbed as an obnoxious individualistic player. I might not have been a good player, but at least I tried to be a good leader!
During competition, other than watching your own match, you also get to observe the matches between players of other schools, especially those you will meet in the next round. Sometimes, the exciting match at the next table could get your adrenaline pumping too. In such an enclosed competitive arena, information on who are the better players, who are from the national youth team, who has improved tremendously, who are the steady defenders and who are the aggressive attackers will be passed along faster than you can imagine. In other words, most of the time, you'd know who's who in the table tennis arena, which is also why it is pretty easy to make friends with your opponents, whether via friendly matches or during competitions. Of all, my friendship with Su Hui, the MVP of our time (who used to be on the national team), was probably the one I treasured the most, though I was also the one who tore it apart.
I don't know how we got that close, but she was always there for me when I needed someone to talk to, sometimes even calling me to make sure I was feeling alright. I would say she knew more about my family than any of my friends ever did. Perhaps because we didn't see each other everyday, I seemed to be able to tell her everything. I always find it liberating to talk to someone outside my immediate social circle. Yes, I'm strange that way.
She was also the one who got me into Hwa Chong for my first three months in junior college, with her name at stake. Initially, I didn't think she would go that far to get me into the school, considering the fact that I wasn't that skilled a player. A couple of seniors expressed their interests in getting us into their schools as well, but I gave my priority to Hwa Chong, especially after a rather inspirational talk given by its representative. However, after getting a demoralising nineteen points for my 'O' Level preliminary exams, my hope of entering a prestigious junior college was promptly dashed, or so I thought. I didn't even dare to think about entering Hwa Chong, until Su Hui made me fill up the form, as I was about to leave the Hwa Chong Open House. She told me she was very well-connected in the PE department and had a way of getting me in. That was what she did, because with my rusty skills displayed during a couple of Hwa Chong trainings I attended, I would have never thought, not even in my wildest dreams, that they would pick me over the other Nanyang player.
But I let her down. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't adapt to Hwa Chong, especially not when my rusty skills didn't seem to improve the slightest bit. I was so afraid that they were going to waste a space on the team for me and so, I succumbed to my weakness, choosing to leave the school in a very awkward manner, despite an unspoken obligation for me, who got in through sports, to stay on and play for the school. Till this day, I still can't forgive myself for betraying her trust. It might not have been that big a deal (despite a certain unhappy incident where a certain angry member of the male team came to cause a scene), but it continued to weigh down on me. More than destroying her credibility, she said she was more upset that I didn't seem to be able to tell her everything anymore (see, because she came into my immediate social circle). Though we are still in contact, I know things will never be the same again.
I never regretted leaving Hwa Chong though, or I wouldn't have joined such a small, closely-knitted team in Victoria Junior College - the kind of team I was most comfortable in. Of course, the fact that Jae was with me, as she was in St Nicks, helped a lot too.
After being ranked third in the previous years, we were, again, chasing after a dream - this time, to enter the finals. We did, two years in a row, defeating Hwa Chong on both accounts, proving that our victory wasn't a fluke, which was as exhilarating an experience as it was awkward for me. However, our victory against Hwa Chong, not only meant that we had achieved our goal, it also meant that a very sumptuous buffet at Swissotel Merchant Court Hotel was waiting for us, courtesy of our very generous table tennis teacher-in-charge. As you can deduce by now, food is the best reward for sports people!
Another thing that table tennis made me realise, was how supportive my Dad was of me. Often, he would appear at my competition venue without prior notice, either waiting for our team to arrive at the lobby or loitering around the various matches being played. Sometimes, my teammates would alert me to his sudden appearance; other times, I would be completely oblivious, until later that night, when he was fetching me home and as I was explaining to him what happened during the competition, he would reveal that he was there all along.
It is also not wrong to say that your father is your toughest critic. Rather than comforting me after I lost a crucial match, he would criticise the way I played my game, especially in terms of my mentality, saying that I seemed to look like I was ready - to lose. Usually, I would get so upset that I would rebut him, saying that as a spectator, he obviously knew nothing and was in no position to judge, even though I knew he meant well, and as my father, he probably had every right to judge my performance.
After playing the sport for more than ten years (!), I thought it was finally time to hang up my bat and pursue my other interest in writing, when I stepped into university. My senior asked me to join the varsity team a couple of times, but I rejected her offer, because I wanted to concentrate on HOOKED.
However, when I watched their competition videos and saw all the familiar faces, I could feel my heart pulsating and there was a strong urge to pick up my bat again. I probably won't, but I believe such feelings will not go away easily. With ten years' worth of memories, it is most likely going to last me a lifetime.
I took up the sport when I was in primary two, when the Chinese teacher, who also happened to be one of the teachers in charge of the sport, recruited a few of the girls from his class into the team. We started from the basics, from holding the bat and finding the grip we were most comfortable with (I took up the old-fashioned pen-hold grip and never looked back since), to hitting the balls to-and-fro clumsily and learning the rules of the game. To be frank, the reason we joined the sport was not only because we had too much time on our hands, but also because we were entitled to a table tennis room, which could only admit members of the team. Well, you know kids, exclusivity was a big thing to us.
Things got serious only when the school employed a young Chinese national to coach us when we were primary three. She was so fierce and strict that it would have been a traumatizing childhood for us, until we saw our results. Gone were the days we would only focus on getting the ball onto the other side of the table. Gone were the days of fooling around during trainings. Gone were our days of innocence. Eager to please, as all kids are, we became more focused, disciplined and even competitive, because our coach, whether subtly or not, made sure we knew where we stood, in terms of our skills. Not only that, we also had to fight for our places in the school team.
In two years, as an unknown team of a certain unknown Westlake Primary School (especially in the table tennis arena), we were placed fourth in the National Inter-Primary School Table Tennis Championships. Of course, we didn't know what that meant. In fact, we probably weren't even sure how we got that far. To us, winning that crucial match meant that we would get a treat to Swensen's, as promised by our teacher-in-charge.
Our last primary school year didn't go that well though, but we had a smashing (pun-intended) good time, as I kept a lasting memory of playing the best doubles match against the strongest team, with my perfect doubles partner (Christina!), whom I still think I had the best rapport with, as we felt like we had nothing to lose, played our hearts out, totally enjoying the game, and won. We lost overall, but in my heart, it never felt better.
I continued to play table tennis in secondary school. I didn't expect to, until I realised there was a need to join an extra-curriculum activity (ECA) and table tennis was the only thing I was familiar with. It became my life.
In an unfamiliar environment, without any of my friends with me, I was struggling to adapt to life in CHIJ St Nicholas Girls' School. It probably wasn't wise of me to skip all the orientation programmes then (I don't know how I got the nerves to do so), since it would have been a great opportunity for me to make new friends. I also missed the ECA walkabout, where the sports trials would be held. By the time I found the basement table tennis area, only a few seniors were left playing among themselves. Having been told that it was only when you were being asked to write down your name that you could join the team, I was a tad too anxious to prove myself, smashing every ball that came to me. When I was asked to write down my name, I thought that was it.
Well, not quite.
Apparently writing our names down on the board was only an indication of your interest to join the team, as I had learned afterwards, from my years of organising the ECA walkabout(s) myself. Even without any table tennis background, you could still join the team. However, there was a barrier, literally, separating three out of nine tables for the beginners. When we attended our first training, we were rounded up in the beginners' zone. However, after showing a couple of strokes, as requested by the coach, another Chinese national, I was brought into the seniors' zone, which was a totally different world.
Despite training with the seniors, I didn't feel at ease. I still contemplated transferring to Cedar, where some of my friends were, until my mentor, Ms Chew (now Mrs Tan), whom I would be forever indebted to, called me up and persuaded me to stay. Initially, I didn't know who she was, so when she introduced herself as the teacher in charge of table tennis, I was shocked that she, of all people, knew of my inclination to transfer out. She went on for a long time, telling me how much the team needed me and that it was in fact the coach who asked her to make me stay, which I thought was a little hard to believe, since there were so many seniors with superb skills to begin with. I didn't think they would even notice the disappearance of a small fry like myself. In the end, I still couldn't promise her anything and told her that the most I could do was to stay for a little while longer (until the competition season was over), before deciding if I should leave.
A couple of intensive trainings later, the vice-captain asked me to write down my particulars on a piece of paper. I didn't think much of it (neither did she explain), since I thought it was simply some administrative work that required everyone's particulars. A few moments later, we were told the time and date to attend the zonal competitions. As a clueless secondary one player, I thought we were simply asked to be a spectator or part of the cheering contingent, so I didn't go, since I didn't think it was compulsory. During the training before the last zonal competition, however, the coach and a couple of seniors questioned the reason for my absence. I thought they were overreacting, but agreed to be there for the last zonal competition anyway.
I was late though. By the time I reached the venue (Naval Base Secondary School), it was already the last singles' match. Everyone stared at me when I arrived. The other secondary one members dragged me aside and asked me why I was so late. It was only then that I found out my coach's initial intention to let me play in the competitions. I was dumbfounded, because not only was I late, I didn't even bring my bat! Nevertheless, it made me feel needed, as I realised I did have a place in the team after all. Another strand of attachment grew in the process as well, as I forged some of the strongest bonds with my teammates, now my closest friends. I felt ashamed, for even thinking about leaving this wonderful school, which opened so many doors for me.
Given my lousy track record (read above), I was surprised yet grateful for the various opportunities Ms Chew had given me. From being a Lower Secondary (i.e. 'C' Division) Captain in secondary two, to being a Vice-Captain in secondary three and eventually the Captain in secondary four, I had learned so much. The position I really set my sight upon, however, was being a Sports Leader of the school, especially after seeing Bin Bin, one of my closest and most inspirational seniors, as one. You see, not anyone could be a Sports Leader. It was said that only five people, not necessarily a Captain, from different sports would be chosen, with the approval from Singapore Sports Council after attending their workshop, to lead the school in all of its sporting activities, such as Sports Day, Games Carnival, Swimming Carnival and all the sports camps. I can't deny it was, again, the exclusivity that drew me in. Being able to represent our own sport, out of so many other sports in our school, as a Sports Leader, was a huge honour.
So when Ms Chew approached me with the invitation to become one of the five Sports Leaders of my batch, I was thrilled. When she asked me if I could cope, since I was recently appointed as a monitor of the class as well, I would have told her I would give up everything else to be a Sports Leader, but I only managed a resonant "Yes!" due to excitement. Despite having to stay back in the PE department almost everyday after class and even till night-time when it was nearing an important sporting event, I probably never complained, since I was having too much fun with the other four Sports Leaders (from Badminton, Track&Field, Hockey and Gymnastics) to.
Competition, on the other hand, is probably the most important event to every sportsman. Whenever an announcement was made about the different sports teams leaving school early for the inter-school competitions, almost everyone in school who knew us would give us a hug and wish us luck. It felt so heartwarming each time and each time, it made us want to do our school proud.
It wasn't easy though. For a long time, we were chasing after our goal to enter the semis, the way Singapore was chasing after an Olympic medal. We achieved it eventually (when I was in secondary three), but not without getting paranoid over a conspiracy theory that might do us in. It was silly, really, but it did show how badly we wanted to get into Top 4, which again, meant that we would be treated to Pizza Hut by the Captain (Chan!) then.
As a Captain, I should probably be pretty good in table tennis, but I wasn't. I used to be rather confident of my own skills, ensuring my position among the top few spots in the team, until I realised others were catching up with me quickly, while I deteriorated.
A humiliating incident which left a very vivid impression on me was when I participated in the Lian He Zao Bao Table Tennis Competition and was swiped out in the first round by a Chinese national. No, that wasn't the most humiliating part, especially since my opponent was pretty strong, whom I later found out that she was training with the national team. The next day, I went to support a couple of my friends, who were still in the competition, when a middle-aged spectator came up to us with Lian He Zao Bao in his hands. He pointed to the newspaper and asked one of my friends, who was wearing our school's competition tee, whether she was Sin Yee. When she realised my name was in the papers, she pointed me out to him excitedly as we borrowed his newspaper to read what was written. There it was - a tiny paragraph stating my full Chinese name and school, as well as my immediate loss in the competition as I was regarded as the fifth seed that year. First of all, no one told me I was the fifth seeding for the competition (which was most likely due to my better performance in the same competition the previous year), or I might have fought harder, knowing my name would appear on the newspaper in this manner! Secondly, how proud could I have been to have my name printed on the national newspaper for the first time in my life, only to have it reporting on my poor performance?
My coach once told me that I didn't have a very strong foundation in my skills, which explained my fluctuating performance, but the reason why he continued to pick me, among the other better and steadier players of the same batch, to play in the competitions, was because of my competitiveness and fighting spirit. However, it was also such competitiveness that almost made me want to give up.
I was going through a rough patch and after losing consecutively to a couple of juniors during training, I was obviously in a lousy mood. Once again, I was being called aside by the coach, who reminded me of my status as a Captain and my responsibility to serve as an example to the rest of my team-mates, instead of affecting their mood because of my temper. I was on the verge of tears, not because of what he said, but because of what I did. I rushed to the nearby toilet to recollect myself and while looking at myself in the mirror, I felt so angry with myself and my inadequacy as a Captain, but I didn't want to give up. Not like this. I'm so glad I didn't, or I wouldn't have learned to look at the bigger picture, instilling a positive mentality among the players and building a strong rapport within the team, rather than being so self-absorbed as an obnoxious individualistic player. I might not have been a good player, but at least I tried to be a good leader!
During competition, other than watching your own match, you also get to observe the matches between players of other schools, especially those you will meet in the next round. Sometimes, the exciting match at the next table could get your adrenaline pumping too. In such an enclosed competitive arena, information on who are the better players, who are from the national youth team, who has improved tremendously, who are the steady defenders and who are the aggressive attackers will be passed along faster than you can imagine. In other words, most of the time, you'd know who's who in the table tennis arena, which is also why it is pretty easy to make friends with your opponents, whether via friendly matches or during competitions. Of all, my friendship with Su Hui, the MVP of our time (who used to be on the national team), was probably the one I treasured the most, though I was also the one who tore it apart.
I don't know how we got that close, but she was always there for me when I needed someone to talk to, sometimes even calling me to make sure I was feeling alright. I would say she knew more about my family than any of my friends ever did. Perhaps because we didn't see each other everyday, I seemed to be able to tell her everything. I always find it liberating to talk to someone outside my immediate social circle. Yes, I'm strange that way.
She was also the one who got me into Hwa Chong for my first three months in junior college, with her name at stake. Initially, I didn't think she would go that far to get me into the school, considering the fact that I wasn't that skilled a player. A couple of seniors expressed their interests in getting us into their schools as well, but I gave my priority to Hwa Chong, especially after a rather inspirational talk given by its representative. However, after getting a demoralising nineteen points for my 'O' Level preliminary exams, my hope of entering a prestigious junior college was promptly dashed, or so I thought. I didn't even dare to think about entering Hwa Chong, until Su Hui made me fill up the form, as I was about to leave the Hwa Chong Open House. She told me she was very well-connected in the PE department and had a way of getting me in. That was what she did, because with my rusty skills displayed during a couple of Hwa Chong trainings I attended, I would have never thought, not even in my wildest dreams, that they would pick me over the other Nanyang player.
But I let her down. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't adapt to Hwa Chong, especially not when my rusty skills didn't seem to improve the slightest bit. I was so afraid that they were going to waste a space on the team for me and so, I succumbed to my weakness, choosing to leave the school in a very awkward manner, despite an unspoken obligation for me, who got in through sports, to stay on and play for the school. Till this day, I still can't forgive myself for betraying her trust. It might not have been that big a deal (despite a certain unhappy incident where a certain angry member of the male team came to cause a scene), but it continued to weigh down on me. More than destroying her credibility, she said she was more upset that I didn't seem to be able to tell her everything anymore (see, because she came into my immediate social circle). Though we are still in contact, I know things will never be the same again.
I never regretted leaving Hwa Chong though, or I wouldn't have joined such a small, closely-knitted team in Victoria Junior College - the kind of team I was most comfortable in. Of course, the fact that Jae was with me, as she was in St Nicks, helped a lot too.
After being ranked third in the previous years, we were, again, chasing after a dream - this time, to enter the finals. We did, two years in a row, defeating Hwa Chong on both accounts, proving that our victory wasn't a fluke, which was as exhilarating an experience as it was awkward for me. However, our victory against Hwa Chong, not only meant that we had achieved our goal, it also meant that a very sumptuous buffet at Swissotel Merchant Court Hotel was waiting for us, courtesy of our very generous table tennis teacher-in-charge. As you can deduce by now, food is the best reward for sports people!
Another thing that table tennis made me realise, was how supportive my Dad was of me. Often, he would appear at my competition venue without prior notice, either waiting for our team to arrive at the lobby or loitering around the various matches being played. Sometimes, my teammates would alert me to his sudden appearance; other times, I would be completely oblivious, until later that night, when he was fetching me home and as I was explaining to him what happened during the competition, he would reveal that he was there all along.
It is also not wrong to say that your father is your toughest critic. Rather than comforting me after I lost a crucial match, he would criticise the way I played my game, especially in terms of my mentality, saying that I seemed to look like I was ready - to lose. Usually, I would get so upset that I would rebut him, saying that as a spectator, he obviously knew nothing and was in no position to judge, even though I knew he meant well, and as my father, he probably had every right to judge my performance.
After playing the sport for more than ten years (!), I thought it was finally time to hang up my bat and pursue my other interest in writing, when I stepped into university. My senior asked me to join the varsity team a couple of times, but I rejected her offer, because I wanted to concentrate on HOOKED.
However, when I watched their competition videos and saw all the familiar faces, I could feel my heart pulsating and there was a strong urge to pick up my bat again. I probably won't, but I believe such feelings will not go away easily. With ten years' worth of memories, it is most likely going to last me a lifetime.
| If it isn't obvious enough, this entry is entirely inspired by our awesome women table tennis team, who are through to the finals after narrowly beating South Korea 3-2 in the semis, guaranteeing Singapore a long-awaited Olympic medal. Finally, we can stop harping on Tan Howe Liang's 48-year-old Olympic silver medal. However, you know what they say, in Olympics, only the golds matter. I'm hoping to hear our national anthem being played loud and clear at the Olympic Games, but of course, no pressure there! ;) On a side-note, I get extremely annoyed when I see Singaporeans dissing these Chinese ladies as foreign 'imports' and that they are not qualified to represent Singapore at all. Haven't they heard? 不管白猫黑猫，逮住老鼠就是好猫!  Photo credit: Zaobao I admit, when I saw the photo of the three Chinese ladies and their Chinese coach standing together, I did feel a little uneasy, as though it was a Chinese team I was looking at. In one of the many articles spurned out almost immediately after the historic match, the Chinese coach was noted saying that he adopted the Chinese method of training, which was all about discipline, something that Singapore's initial unsystematic way of training lacked. Doesn't this mean that we have used Chinese players, coached by another Chinese and trained the Chinese style of playing, in order to win? So exactly which part of them is Singaporean? Then I saw the logo on their shirt. You know, the one in red and white, with a crescent moon and five stars? I think I know which part of them belongs to Singapore now: their heart.  Photo credit: Xinhua Feng Tianwei, who won both her first and last singles matches, contributing to two out of three wins that led to Singapore's triumph over the South Koreans, is one face to watch out for, China! |
Feeling: 
hopeful
hopefulListening: Mariah Carey & Whitney Houston's When You Believe
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thankful
busy
nervous
optimistic
nostalgic
chipper
quixotic