It’s always the small ones…

I took MMA for a semester a few years ago and frankly I loved it. Throwing choke holds, wrestling, kicking, punching -nothing but fun.

One time, I partnered with two other guys to practice. One of the guys was short and slender, so I thought him to be normal. It turns out, he had been taking classes for quite a while. Had I know, I would have changed my strategy of approach.

What I didn’t know, was that the bastard fought like a cornered bear for even the friendliest bouts. After getting stuck in a headlock, I experienced the most visceral terror of my short life. An emotion so sudden, surreal and acute, I couldn’t name it, and I couldn’t explain how or why I sprinted out of the gym to the women’s room.

Was it fear or terror? No. I’ve felt terror, and this wasn’t it. It was instinctual. Like looking into the mirror and seeing a past life returning with devistation and death on its heals. It felt like escaping a Dhaka only to have it burst through the walls.

I’ve spent the past few days on vacation with friends, the first for me. A lot of firsts. First sleepover, first PC gaming, first cancellation of debt.

And, once again, feel as though I am drifting away.

Even as I am with these friends, laughing and joking, a part of me stands, aloof, pondering the gulf between us. Am I too old for this, are they too young? Why have I outgrown this also?

Should I rip out this vibrant flesh and start anew?


You've lent me your ears... now borrow mine:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s