By: Jasper Jose
“Sorry, can’t make it that day ( >⌓<｡),” he sent in the group chat.
It was yet another excuse, though what was at stake mattered more. It wasn’t that Sam had been avoiding his friends, though he knew they charged him guilty. He didn’t like that they thought of him less, but alas, what could he do? They would never understand.
Besides, they were likely busy anyway, for they had the company of their other friends and girlfriends to fill the time, a carousel of people whose presence they preferred over his. He viewed himself as a discarded secondary to their priorities. To him, the human desire for connection is nothing but a leftover trait in passing evolution. In ancient times, surviving meant building social bonds. Nowadays, we have more than we need. We live in a world where more people suffer from an overabundance of food than they do from starvation. It is nothing but a vestigial feature that can be safely discarded, like one’s appendix or their wisdom teeth. However, maybe that was just another excuse. He didn’t know for sure.
It was foolish—he thought—to think whatever is considered “good” in life can be a relative thing, that whether the bad was truly bad depended on perspective. It was ridiculous. As if the ascetic ideal was something to live for! No, to him, those were merely people lying to themselves. What was considered ‘good’ could be clearly defined. It was something measurable and tangible, with a direct connection to the material world, possessing value in relation to the Earth. For him, those came in the form of medals, fluctuating from event to event, but the best prizes were usually found at Provincials. Hardware was the cornerstone of what he believed to be good. These were his experiences, effort, and achievements made tangible. He could hold them in his hands. Nothing else mattered.
For the past few months, as his junior year was beginning to unfold, he felt a sense of urgency to complete more than needed. That year, as his shelf became too full of accolades, ranging from sports competitions to slam poetry, he realized that he had been building a fortress rather than a home. Each medal, each trophy, was another stone stacked high to protect him from the vulnerability of wanting what he had spent so long convincing himself he didn’t need.
But as Valentine’s Day loomed closer, he caught himself staring at his phone longer than usual, going over their messages again. They still longed for his presence. Even with his excuses and absences, they continued to invite him. Perhaps he wasn’t as insignificant as he believed. The realization came quietly, like sunlight creeping through curtains he hadn’t bothered to draw. Maybe love wasn’t a thing of the past, but a silent, enduring force that persisted even without words.
So, he sighed and typed. “yk what, I can make it… ”
The response was immediate. An endless stream of texts, full of dumb LeBron reaction memes. He set his phone down and glanced at his shelves, at the medals gleaming in neat rows. They still held significance, but so did this. Perhaps love and connection weren’t just illusions.
For the first time in months, he felt lighter. Perhaps the greatest victories were those shared with others after all.