I often think about who I do not want to be and therefore who I want to be. Most of all I discovered, I do not want to be a man, whose word is less worth than his action. I thought about my possibilities in this regard long and hard and I have only this choice left, to not break one word or the other.
The following is a story I witnessed as a young boy.
A young version of me sits alone in front of the TV. I am bored as usual and watch the Olympic Games in Sidney. They swim. They swim straight forward and back again. I couldn’t care less. So highly disinterested I observe two white guys and a black one with their skinny little pants and swim cap preparing to jump into the water.
They jump and someone shoots a gun. The two white idiots jumped. The black guy stands motionless, amazed by their overzealous and premature rushing towards disqualification.
As a result the remaining athlete finds himself gifted, by virtue of patience and to his great fortune at this day, a race without competition.
The starting signal rings out again and he jumps swiftly into the silent water. Gliding with maladroit yet vigorous movement towards the, as I thought, finishing line. It is not the finishing line. He turns under water, again inept and unprofessional. Swimming and turning and swimming. One single objective, yet he is desperately clinging to his pure will and longing for success . By the second half of the obvious struggle his fight gets angst-inducing. He seemingly gasps for air, his face racked with pain, his movement more and more uncoordinated. A little boy in front of the virtual window wants to jump into the pool and rescue him from oncoming doom and humiliation.
But he continues his alternation. Swim or drown, swim or drown. The water surges against his well-built, but unprepared body. He punches the water, again and again until he finally reaches salvaging shores.
He slowly climbs out of the water, dead on his feet and roaring applause in jubilation fills the natatorium and a living room a dimensional gate to the arena. An audience amazed and inspired by endurance despite obvious inability, a boy delirious in happiness due to the swimmers survival and victory.
He is escorted out of the pool, this peril of the sea, regaining a small amount of his strength and to give interviews, lead by surprised reporters and baffled experts. He is finally placed upon the winners podium with a golden medal around his proud neck, ebulliently smiling, facing the relentless frenzy of flashing cameras. He bites his shiny medal, while smirking in final victory. His name Éric Moussambani from Equatorial-Guinea and this is not what happened.
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