We were loud and chattering, but there was an indescribable sheen of excitement and tension blanketing us. The competition was coming soon, and most of us did not know what we were facing. It’s the type of excitement one feels when he or she faces the unknown—like when Lewis and Clark trekked through the uncharted American territory, when Columbus sailed across the world to unknown land—it’s the very one.
The bus ride was uneventful, though it was enjoyable. I read, laughed, studied, quizzed, and was happy. Lunch was at In-N-Out, and not for the first time, I realized that these people were, in a way, my family.
Family is inseparable, and perhaps we are too. The very thought of it warms the blood in my veins, but sometimes I can still feel tears burning behind my eyelids. After all, there’s an end to every gathering. But that does not mean we will not meet again.
Once we arrived at Sacramento, the excitement became something bordering giddiness, despite the weariness slowly creeping through our bones. We went for a walk through Capital Park and then Old Sacramento—it had been a really long time since I had enjoyed beautiful sites and relished the pain biting at the soles of my feet. Sacramento is a beautiful city. Old Sacramento is almost something out of a movie—a tad surreal. Bu I suppose what’s really surreal comes later on.
That night, I suppose we all learned that one does not need fancy food to feel happy. A simple food court had us enjoying our dinner, even though we did spend a long time deciding where to go. Company is definitely a nice thing, and I realized why people say human are social characters.
Sometimes, I think I would like to disappear into the background for a while—maybe dissipate into a fog or apparition—and just watch over my friends. I don’t have to be at the center of attention—I am content with being on the sidelines, just listening, listening, and listening.
Of course, we were not at Sacramento for pure fun. We took quizzes, studied, practiced, until it was late at night and we couldn’t keep our eyes open. We didn’t sleep early though—something about being out of town takes that very notion away. We ran around each other’s rooms, shrieking with laughter and blatant disregard for propriety.
It was fun. Truly. Maybe in the future, I will think back and smile, even if I do not remember the exact events. Already, my memory is failing me. But, I believe that the spirit of it is still there. I will still feel the phantom longing and happiness stirring in my chest when I think back.
The next day, our breakfast was cereal. AHS’s coach, Ms. M, was the one who provided us the food. It was a while since I ate cereal, and I had almost forgotten how sweet the milk tasted after it drenched the Frosty Flakes.
After breakfast, it was no surprise that our day consisted of practice testing, testing, and more testing.
Lunch was at a local ramen place. It took us a long time to decide, a long time to walk there, a short time to eat, and a short time to get back. I felt myself thinking again, though I try not to do because thoughts are almost like chains. But my mind whirls much too quickly.
I forget what my exact thoughts were, but I could feel the same sense of dismal nostalgia settling upon me. I looked at the people around me and wondered if this was really where I belonged. I suppose my heart knew it was, but my mind questioned it.
If we had not met through this, if we had not had this common goal, would we still be together? Would we still laugh together, eat together, cry together?
But that isn’t the point, is it? I say I do not believe in Fate, but there is no doubt that Fate is what brought us together. Somewhere along our tapestries, our threads are tangled. We cannot unknot it, and thus, we cannot forget about each other.
Fifty years later, I am confident that I can remember. Perhaps not names, maybe not even faces, but I will definitely remember. Remember this feeling of camaraderie that I had dreamed of, yearned for, and now finally have.
We took tests again, and rejoiced when we had a ninety minute dinner break. We headed down to the Old Spaghetti Factory—we had a discount as well—and split into three separate tables. The table dynamics were a bit confusing to determine, but I think we were all happy.
It took forever for dinner to serve, and after my table had finished, the other two had not even begun. Luckily, our coach was not angry, and we tried to get back as quickly as possible.
More tests and struggles to keep our eyes open, and then finally, we were let back into our rooms.
It was foolish to think that we could sleep, though.
Competition was the next day, and we knew our rivals could crush us with a blink of the eye. So, we studied. Cram kits spread across the bed, guides strewn around the room.
I spent half the night in one of the boys’ room. Not necessarily studying, but calming my nerves. It was me, Ch, J, Is, and C. We played truth and dare for a while, crumbling into hysterics when Is went through with his dare of humping and licking the window.
The mood was light, but the tension was still there. We frantically studied, fooled around, studied some more, and tried not to fall asleep. Once two o’clock rolled around, though, I left the boys alone and returned to my room.
That was probably when we truly bonded. A sort of friendship with laughter that diffused through the air with each other’s presence.
Competition day came. I couldn’t swallow my food. I ate half a waffle, left the other half untouched, and repeatedly told myself that I could do this.
Out of a stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune, I sat in between a GHCHS student and a FHS student.
Test after test after test after test. It wasn’t necessarily disastrous, but it definitely wasn’t worth rejoicing over. For the first time, I think we realized how underprepared we are compared to the rest of the state. Somewhere inside us, I think, a little spark was lighted. The need to study. The need to win. The carnal hunger to do better, and better, and better.
Perhaps we will forget this motivation in the future, when stress eats away the better parts of us. But for now, it is the thing that’s prompting me to write this. The thing that’s prompting me to look into the future and set goals. These goals may not be achieved—I may even forget about them—but right now—right this very second—we are united by this common goal. We are no longer just individuals, but we are both ourselves and a collective whole.
We represent both our school and ourselves. And that is probably what will push us to our limits, push us to do our best.
We knew we didn’t do as well as we could’ve, but we tried our best. And that’s what matters, right?
After competition, it was speech practice with the AHS coach. I learned to put my defense mechanisms behind me—as much as I can, anyway—and become a different person. I had doubts about whether I could do that during the competition, with nobody prompting me, but it was something to work for.
Dinner was a meal at a Chinese restaurant with beautiful ambiance and terrible Chinese food. I realized that I missed home and my grandmother’s cooking and my family’s voices, but in a way, I had found the other pieces to my puzzle. I am no longer a box of puzzle pieces with half of them missing. I am now an unfinished puzzle, but I have the potential to become complete. To become whole. And that warms every part of me.
That night, I finished the book I had been reading, Divergent, and wondered about the five factions and which one I’d be in.
I had previously mentioned that I would probably be an Abnegation, and C, to my surprise, agreed. Selfless isn’t a trait that comes to me naturally, but something I take immense pride in. Sometimes it makes me angry and hurt, but most of the time, I feel more calm. More at peace with myself.
The next day held the subjective competitions and the Super Quiz. We had a team breakfast at Denny’s with AHS, and I called my friends to say hi. We talked, and I realized I really missed them. I couldn’t wait to see them again, despite the fact that I didn’t want to leave Sacramento.
Speech preparation was near hysterics, with all of us muttering our speeches at rapid speed under our breaths. The girls on both teams trekked to Mr. T's room where Mrs. T tried to doll us up as much as she could. I didn’t necessarily feel confident, nor did I feel womanly. But I did feel a tad unlike myself, in a nice way.
I had the later speech and interview time, and as a result, I had more time to berate myself and freak out. To my dismay, both my testing rooms were on the second floor of IHS, which looked like the epitome of an American high school. Nervous butterflies coupled with the fear of walking across the bridge had my knees buckling as I clenched the sides of my skirt as tightly as I could.
When it was my speech time, the butterflies were flying faster than ever, knocking into the sides of my stomach, and out of desperation, I asked C to walk up with me. I didn’t think he would—he did stay silent after all—so I started my journey up and high and into fear.
I counted each step and told myself that I was fine, but by the time I reached the bridge, my knees were weak once more and I could not see myself walking across. A fellow teammate, L, said good luck to me from below, forcing me to look down. A wave of dizziness overcame me, and I ended up giving a semi-hysterical laugh instead. To my surprise however, C was right behind me. He walked in front of me, and told me to look down. He was quite insistent, but the only thing I could focus on was getting across the damned bridge without thoughts of it collapsing.
I made it through, and sat nervously in the chair outside my testing room. I swung my legs and wrung my hands as I waited for my name to be called. C stayed with me the entire time, pacing around the hallways like he had nothing better to do.
It was quite heartwarming, really.
I will not go into the process of my speech and interview, for I, myself, do not remember it quite so well. I did not do as I had wanted to, but I did not do so terribly either. I suppose I could’ve done better, as expressed by my coach, but it’s over now. There is no use in dwelling on the past.
After speech, the event we were all dreading arrived. Super Quiz was a broadcasted event—one where others can see exactly how well you do. Honors category, mine, goes last. We trekked as a whole to the Super Quiz arena, a beautiful auditorium, and we were silent with tension and fear. The words we did exchange were hurriedly hissed, almost as if any loudly spoken words would disturb our minds and cause us to fail.
During the wait in the corridors to march into the arena, I couldn’t stop myself from freaking out. I was asked repeatedly if I was alright—it might have been my pale countenance, or my unnaturally serious expression—and I was quite grateful for the concern. I wasn’t alright—I hardly ever am—but that makes it a natural thing, and I said I was fine.
Nervousness usually manifests into pain in my stomach, and I crouched against the floor as I tried to relieve the tremors in my arms and the twisting feeling in my gut. Almost wordlessly, C handed me his stuffed dolphin—named Flotsom, just for the record—and I spent the rest of the time squeezing it nervously as I bounced up and down, paced around, and took deep breaths.
Right before the competition started, I started talking to my father again. I did not say the words out loud but I moved my lips and thought about them in my head. I asked him to watch me, to notice me, because I realized that this single thing alone was probably going to be the greatest achievement in my life.
And I had long stopped working for the honor and for the college admissions. I had begun to work for the very notion of winning. For the exhilaration and excitement that came with teamwork and competitions and sharing a common mindset. It was quite beautiful, really.
As the Varsity section and the Scholastic section took their turn on the floor, I spent my time burying my face in J’s shoulder and clutching his arm tightly as I tried not to think about my potential, impending doom.
From where I was sitting I could see the posters hanging from the second floor with our names and schools. I hadn’t expected that we’d have posters—not like the other schools—but once I set my eyes upon them, something calmed inside of me and I was inexplicably happy. The sensation passed quickly though, and it seemed like only seconds before had Scholastic walked into the arena.
It was amazing how clear-minded I felt. My legs were shaking, but the questions were information that I knew, with the exception of two. I didn’t let those two mistakes deter me however, and as a result, I only missed those two. Ten out of twelve. Double digits. Highest Honors score in our team.
With Honors being the last category to go, there was tremendous applause when our testing ended. It was the last super quiz of the year, and after this, there would be no more World War I. No more Modernism. No more, no more, no more.
We had a group hug, the three Honors dragging our feet across the arena floor, not with dread but with relief. It was over. My legs were still numb, but it was over.
We underperformed. That was a fact. But we tried our best.
We took pictures outside, of course, to commemorate this day. The entire time as I waited outside the auditorium, I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that it was over.
This subject I had drowned myself in had become something that I need not to worry for anymore. It was a tad nostalgic, but very, very surreal. I couldn’t believe it. I felt empty, felt blank. I couldn’t feel happiness, nor relief, nor anything else.
Instead, I just felt calm. Very, very calm.
And I knew, somewhere deep inside of me, that this had become something very important to me. And because it has become so important, I will treasure it forever. I will lose nights of sleep over it, I will lose time because of it, but I will not lose experience. Nor will I lose happiness nor excitement nor contentment.
On the back, I was thinking again. I felt that there was this invisible chain binding us to each other. Not necessarily one of confinement, but maybe one of proximity. One of fate. We walked back as a team, quiet and contemplating. It was warm, despite the biting cold. It was warm.
I knew I was happy. It was so simple.
This is why I am here. In Academic Decathlon. It is not another competition. It is a community. We are under the same sky, and we see the same clouds. Perhaps not the same pictures, but definitely the same clouds.
There is still a lot I have to learn, a lot we all have to learn, but I think one thing we’ve all learned is that: we are a team.
We are a team no matter what, and this is why we put up with each other. We care, we need, and in a way, we love.
The awards ceremony was as expected. Two members got medals, the top two scorers, and we ended up in 17th place. Not bad out of sixty five schools, but definitely not ideal. Our two rival schools, BHHS and SPHS beat us, making it into top ten.
That will be our goal next year. Maybe even top two. We were disappointed, but so motivated.
We had a team briefing, and I felt a bit dismal. Not too sure why. Perhaps it was due to the disappointment about our placing and my score. I didn’t eat lunch with the rest, and instead, enjoyed a nice conversation with L.
She is a very wise person. Very well-rounded and confident. Sometimes I wish I could be like her.
We talked about many things—about life, relationships, goals, dreams, Acadec, teamwork, C, P, and so many others.
I was almost disappointed when everyone came back, because it had been a long time since I had a long talk with someone. A long talk where others reciprocated and not just rambled. It was very, very nice.
The afternoon was spent in frivolity, with us trying to figure out team dynamics for the next year. Dinner was at Sizzler’s and quite enjoyable.
Sometime during eating though, Jo and I touched upon the subject of miracles and praying and Christianity.
I was angry because I didn’t believe in miracles. But they happened to him. So they were real, but they never happened to me, and I was angry because HE didn’t deserve to die.
HE was a good person, so fucking good, yet HE died. I do not understand. Religion hasn’t helped me in any way. I believe in the omnipresent being, but I also believe in myself. I cried in the restroom, staring at myself in the mirror as I willed the tears to go away. As I willed the gasping breaths I took to plateau so I could re-present myself in front of the others.
It went well, I think. My tears gone unnoticed. Though I couldn’t say the same for later.
We had another team meeting, where Mr. T reminded us that we should feel good, but not satisfied. I think all of us knew this already. We presented him and his wife with a small gift, and I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes already. It was the sort of tears that comes with caring and concern and everything beautiful in life.
We also thanked Ms.M, and tears began to drip down my chin. They tackled her in a hug and I laughed in the corner, blinking away the moisture. When I returned to my room, L, being a senior, began to talk about how she wouldn’t see us again. About how she was thinking about meeting us. And she had said the same thing to me when we were in Mr.T’s room. I decided I couldn’t take it anymore, that these tears were definitely going to overwhelm me, so I slunk into C’s room and settled onto the floor, and cried and wrote and cried and wrote.
The guys were especially understanding, which I am thankful for. When the girls came in though, I became scared. I knew if they started asking me what was wrong, I would try to explain, and then I would break down. And sure enough, M started crying, and I cried harder, until they all left.
L came in to have a meaningful talk with C, and perhaps to distract me from my tears, and I spent a lot of my time just listening to C talk.
I thought, once again, that he has a very soothing voice. Very nice to listen to.
L and I had been talking about C during lunch. We were talking about how amazing of a person he was, and that perhaps he should be Abnegation as well. It was quite nice, really.
I still don’t know if he sees me as a friend, or even something more, but for now…for now, I suppose I am content.
The talk went on a long time. P was angry that C didn’t want him in his room, and ran off without telling us where he was. His phone was charging in his room.
I ran down the stairs and around the hotel, both inside and out, trying to find him. Finally, after about ten minutes or so of frantic searching, news came that he was actually in Ms. M’s room.
I was angry. Very much so.
This sort of behavior does not deserve sympathy nor pity. It deserves scorn, because it is an act of cowardice. I yelled at him in frustration of course, especially since I had to run up and down five flights of stairs.
After I left his room, C went to him, and once more, they had a meaningful conversation.
I showered, and then went back to their room, and listened to them talk about friendship, about why C was elected president, and I found out that I have an incapability of complimenting him through spoken words. Perhaps I am a hypocrite as well, for writing out what I have to say is also an act of cowardice.
I don’t suppose he believed me, but I really hope he does.
The conversation went on for a very long time, and I went to sleep at around two. Ch had fallen asleep on C’s bed, and I tucked her in and gathered up her homework and pencils. C knew about that already, and stayed until four in E’s room.
I do not know what he did after four, though he did leave E’s room unlocked and returned to his own. I do not think I want to know.
Had he sat in the chair until morning, or was he lying in bed with Ch?
Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter to me. I do not think it should.
We left Sacramento with regrets, but we also left with a new goal in mind. I dread returning to MP, but I can already see the new road in front of me.
Next year will be my last year in Academic Decathlon, in high school, and I refuse to leave it without some sort of achievement. Next year will be a good year.
I will make sure of that.
Academic Decathlon has brought us so much. It was not merely a class, nor is it a group of college-bound students only seeking achievements to list on their applications. It is a common world for all of us. This entire class.
Especially this team. The nine members on the A team, and the amazing support team members that came with us and supported us wholeheartedly. The people who ran blocks and blocks for Subway sandwiches and boba. The people who ate with us every time so we wouldn’t feel lonely. The people who talked to us when we were nervous, who prepared with us when we were frantically trying to cram. The people who saw Acadec just as important as we do.
These people are special; we mustn’t forget that.
I don’t suppose we will. Maybe I cannot speak for the others, but I know I definitely will not.
These people are my family—everyone. These five days were amazing. I couldn’t have felt more at home. I loved it. I love them.
New horizons are not necessarily frightening. They are quite beautiful as well, just like the prospect of a sunrise. They symbolize a new tomorrow, a blank page. Something unnaturally human. So inherently us.
On this trip, I think we all found another piece of ourselves, and of each other. We’ve become close in ways that we couldn’t have without this team.
I love this team. I don’t know what else to say.
To think that there will be others leaving us next year pains me so damned deeply.
But we will not never see each other again.
We will see each other again.
We will speak to each other again.
Even if we are separated by the Atlantic Ocean, this is a bond that cannot be broken.
And even if one day, we do lose touch with each other, perhaps forty, fifty years later, we will not forget each other.
This is a permanent mark on my life. Like a tattoo on the skin of my history. If anyone was to ask “what is the most amazing thing you’ve done”, it would probably be this.
Now, I’ve only lived a tentative sixteen years of my life. There are so many other opportunities in the future for me. But for now, this is me.
This is my life. This is the girl who has feared so much and loved so much and hated so much, and now I am me.
On the last day I am with these people, I must say a few words.
