Letter # 10: To my first fistfight opponent
Grade 5. It wasn’t a fistfight for only one punch was thrown – my right fist to your face. Pressured by our peers under that mango tree in the dusty school track oval, we agreed to a 10-second fist fight only minutes after you and my then best friend pushed and kicked each other to the ground. You called out my name – and I, for whatever purpose it served me back then, just went on and punched you.
I felt horrible.
Yeah it felt good to be cheered on by our fellow classmates, but it felt horrible inside. Not only because you cried, but also because you were my friend.
I’d have a couple more fistfights thereafter, one with a guy almost 6-feet tall (crazy). In hindsight, I think to myself “What was I thinking?” Did we all just want to be cool? Did we all just want to be accepted? Feared, maybe? Probably one of those reasons, or maybe even all. All I know is that I never came out of a fistfight feeling good about myself (even though I won). As far as I know, it never really proved anything, only a singular moment, or perhaps a few seconds where you could tell yourself that you are stronger than the one you just pummeled to the ground
I’m sure if we fought now things would be different and that this time you’d put up a fight and I might even lose. I just want to tell you, that for all it’s worth – I’m sorry. (I never really got the chance to tell you that ever since our fight)
It just wasn’t worth it, I guess.
I regretted it,