I am now the type of person to give up easily. Ageing does weaken people, but that's not really a valid excuse.
One Christmas when my cousins and I still wore dresses, we played a game. The game didn't have a name but the rules were simple:
- One of us will be in charge of hiding the empty Pringles container
- When the person in charge gives us the signal, we have to run and search for the hidden container
- First one to find it wins.
Easy. It was like a treasure hunt. And I loved it.
The first three rounds went great. The entire clan went ballistic and we ran around the place, trashing the two joint houses of our grandparents and cousins, searching for the Pringles container like it was free money. We laughed and raced and pushed and shoved; it was all fun and games.
Until someone got hurt.
On one of the rounds, all of us except one gave up after 30 minutes of searching. We went through every inch of the place; under the tables, under the chairs, inside our mothers' purses. We've dug them all but to no avail, it was no where to be found. They hid it good. Real good. Too good.
All of us, but one, were resting in our grandparents' living chairs when our cousin - the one who didn't give up - came from the corner, a smirk on her face and an empty Pringles container in her hand. At that moment, I watched and thought she was the coolest person on the entire planet. And my younger self wanted to be that. I wanted to be in that position.
I wanted for the others to stare at me in awe too.
The next round, one of our parents hid the container. I was bouncing up and down, waiting in the living room with my half tired cousins, ready to copy what my cousin just did. I planned to run as fast as I could, grab the container and show my cousins how 'cool' I was for getting to it first.
I was determined and nothing could stop me.
We were given the signal and I was out, ready to tackle and fight like a barbarian for what was rightfully mine. One of my cousins pointed to me where the container was hidden. You see, that was very silly. She knew it was a game and that I was competitive, yet she still told me where it was.
We both raced to it side by side. I didn't like this. So, I shoved her. Hard. She flew in the air and hit the black, metal dining room stool head first. There was a loud clang at the impact but I didn't care. I ran and ran until I reached the container. I was ecstatic; elated. I did it. I got to it first.
And I thought my cousins would look at me like I was the coolest person in the world too, but when I walked back into my grandparents' living room, they were all gathered together trying to comfort my cousin who hit her head. She was sobbing and her face was red and blotchy. Her eyes were puffy and her small hand was covering the spot where a small bump was beginning to protrude.
When they heard me arrive, they all turned to look back and gave me the nastiest glare.
It hurt.
Let me rephrase: I Give Up.
