Have you ever felt the excruciating pain of working so hard for something that you're ready to vomit your innards out, spend many sleepless nights just preparing for it and then end up losing it? I definitely have.
Being an editorial writer is no joke, especially when you join the Divisions School Press Conference. You have to train and miss many classes. I was ready to sell my soul just to get into the Nationals, just for once before I graduate highschool. I even prayed to God relentlessly to give me just one chance of winning it because I can never join it ever again. Today, I found out that God probably has not cleaned his ears yet because I most certainly did not win in it...not even the lowest place. Nada.Zilch.@#$%.
When I knew that my name wasn't going to be called, I let go of all hope so that when it came to that instant, I wouldn't be disappointed so much...but still, there was this tiny hope left clinging onto my heart, trying to make me believe that I was gonna win. So, I ended up piercing my heart with a sharp blade of utter disappointment and agony when no more names were to be called for the category I was in. I did my best, but I guess it wasn't good enough that I spent every waking moment of my time trying to make myself a better writer before the actual competition. I failed miserably and this failure will forever be etched into my heart. I didn't cry. I blinked back the hot tears which were threatening to stream down my sweaty cheeks. No. I didn't want to be seen crying, especially when four of my fellow writers won high rankings and were to enter the regionals.
I know I sound bitter, but what else can I feel? Resentment? Joy? Hope? An immense surge of longing to be better than myself? No. At that very moment, I was incapable of feeling such emotions for they were just unreal; pretentious. I feel that I should quit being an editorial-writer, start anew with something else and forget that I have ever failed. Later this day, our moderator gave me a pat on the shoulder and told me maybe I'll make it next time; he knew how much I wanted to win. I replied telling him that there won't be a next time anymore...I knew this was going to be my last competition. If I'm incapable of winning in highschool, what more in college? I wasn't satisfied with that pat on the shoulder. I wasn't satisfied with my mom's sympathy because I didn't want nobody's pity. What I want is to amount to something equal or better yet higher than that competition because I would always look back and end up regretting it for the rest of my God-forsaken, talentless life.