Foosball

 

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I want to remember this moment. This absolutely un-glamorous moment that happened two weeks ago during a workshop up in the mountains.

I had been given the opportunity to teach a two-day class on self-discovery and creative writing. It happened inside a nature reserve somewhere in the heart of upper Antipolo. There were 10 participants all in all — most were women slightly older than I but the mix also included a couple of teenagers and two children. It was the strangest assortment of characters yet, somehow, they all fit together wonderfully. So much so that if you told me that they had been brought there by fate herself, I wouldn’t have doubted.

In the picture above I am dressed down in non-matching house clothes, caught up in a mean game of foosball. Beside me are Daphne (my teammate) and Gigi, amused by how the match is going. We’re competing against 18-year-old Bree and Mama Jane and we are losing tragically.

It wasn’t the best thing that happened that weekend but I need to remember right now that there is magic in the mundane. And that picture, that frozen point in time, is proof enough for me.

We stood in the Game Room, barefoot, laughter bouncing off the walls. I flipped the steel rod and watched my player kick the ball across the board. There was a power struggle, a ridiculous back-and-forth. In the end, they won the game anyway but I felt so happy, tingling with an unnameable giddiness, because I couldn’t believe that I was in a room with strangers, connecting deeply, in such a simple way.

Here’s what I have found, what I continue to forget then remember:

Some miracles are not as poignant as the parting of the Red Sea yet they remain miracles nonetheless.

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