The Immigrant Who Played Basketball

Chapter Nine-"Games are not just physical. They're mental too."

"You're joking, right?" I ask, trying to reassure myself.

"Do I look like I am?"

I look at my mum. She looks as serious as ever.

"Um...but we don't have a ball?"

"You think I came unprepared. Of course I brought a ball with me too."

I feel faint. Mamma opens the barbed wire gate and steps onto the court.

"Mom, I don't feel that well."

"You think I'm stupid? Now, come here."

The firmness in her voice makes me walk over to her. My mum unzips her gym bag and pulls out a basketball. Not just any basketball. My lucky basketball.

"Now, we'll play a one on one match. You remember all the rules?"

I nod, gulping and not able to speak.

"Good. You will shoot that way," she says whilst pointing at one basket, "And I will shoot that way," she says whilst pointing at the basket in the other direction," Anything else."

"Can I go home?"

"Three. Two. One. Let's play basketball!"

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An hour later, sweat is pouring and I'm gulping water from my bottle.

"Good game," Mamma says.

I repeat the same. I won the game just at the last few seconds. Mom takes our belongings, we exit the court and collapse on the grass.

"What a game, eh?"

"Hmm."

"And you won."

"Hmm." 

 "Are you glad you played now?"

"No."

"But you still played and you know why?"

"Hmm. Let me see... maybe it's because my stubborn mum forced me too."

Mamma chuckles.

"Maybe that. But it was because you told your body you had to do it and you can do it. You believed in yourself."

I stay silent, not knowing what to say. Is she right?

"Games are not just physical. They're mental too, Luna. Why do you think all these months you haven't been playing or watching basketball?"

"Because it was too much for me too bear after...." The words that come out of my mouth are choked.

"No. It was because you lost faith in yourself. You told your body you couldn't it."

Suddenly, I start crying.

"I felt hopeless after Ella's death, that I couldn't stop it. I feel hopeless now that I can't play basketball after she told me to play for her."

Mom brings me close for a hug and I relive those sweet childhood memories of crying on her shoulder, smelling her faint, fragrant perfume.

"You're not a superhero and you can't stop everything but you can learn from those things and this can shape you into a stronger person."

I sniffle, unattractively. Usually, my mum, if I did this to her on her clothes, at this point would joke:

"Hey, I don't want your bogeys on my clothes."

However, she pulled me closer and mumbled:

"Grief can make you remember those horrible thoughts that you want to forget but makes you forget those happy moments you want to keep in your heart forever. Basketball can help you with your grief and keep Ella's memory alive."

For the first time in these six months, I agree with Mamma on the topic of basketball.