the average person cant do it

But I'm me.

It's not hard to understand. You've seen the trials and tribulations, the losses, the sacrifice. I can't convince myself that the people around me are living lives as intense as mine, but of course, they are.

Winning is a habit. The school I attended until Grade 10 had a department for debating called “Encounter”. I don't really remember what got me interested in it, but I do remember that my father used to write speeches for me, and I would recite them to some success. There was something about success. I started modifying these speeches, creating structure, adding rhythm. I started practicing in front of the mirror, watching my body language closely. My father's Blackberry at the time was capable of voice recordings, so I would record and listen to myself talk. I would rewatch the (very low-quality) videos he took of my events. Before I knew it, I was winning competitions.

Winning is a habit. Be it an English Declamation event where I buzzed my hair to look like Obama, a Hindi recitation event where I imitated a sage - shirtless in front of the school, or a reenactment of Captain Jack Sparrow, complete with a bottle of orange juice labeled “rum”. My comfort with the stage led me to win almost every public speaking event the school held. I vividly remember my Obama speech. I was only awarded second place, but my friends were so enthralled by my performance that they huddled together and lifted me, throwing me into the sky, cheering my name. I could almost grasp at the heavens.

Winning is a habit. My school was going to participate in Verbattle, a state-wide debate competition. I was teamed up with a junior - a “winner” too. It could be problematic, sometimes winners are incapable of conceding enough ground to allow team play to flourish. However, this team was good. I knew we could win. We spent time together at school, debating various topics in the Verbattle style. We practiced with each other, and against other teams. We visited each other's houses, debating against each other's parents, as a team. Finally, we arrived at the venue, eager to go into the first debate. Three topics would come out in the morning, and we would spend all afternoon gathering points. My father on the Ipad, me on the laptop, my mother on the phone. Parents discussing ideas, teachers giving pointers, and the two of us hyping each other up. Our topic would be announced right before we went on stage, and we would try our best to outshine the two other teams standing alongside us.

The first few rounds were easy. The other teams made refutable points, and we were gaining confidence with every round. Then we started coming up against people from our school. These were the hardest debates. They knew our tricks, they knew our style. It would truly come down to how we maneuvered through the ~6 minutes we were allowed to speak for. We successfully came out on top of the quarter-finals. Our confidence was now probably the highest in the auditorium, and in debating, momentum is unstoppable. We won the entire thing. Lifting the trophy, and seeing my parents jump out of their seats in cheer, was surreal. The congratulatory speeches, the TV interviews, ecstasy. If life had a pinnacle, this was it.

Winning is a habit, my father told me.

That's where it stopped. A few more events without medals, and I quit altogether.

"Complacency", she said.

I want to be better than other people.

There has only been one thing that has been a part of my teenage and adult life consistently, for up to a hundred hours in a week. This thing is beautiful. It is pure. It is fair. But I don't think those are the reasons I played the game. Every time I pressed play, it was to win. It was to go up against 5 people around the world, in a contest of wit and might. It was to push harder, think deeper, and react faster. It was to be better. Yet when I do win, I lose the desire to play. It is when I inevitably lose, that an inferno rages in my soul. Spotify playlists are made, volume is increased to max, username changed, and the next dozen hours blur together in a passion-fuelled frenzy. 4537 hours.

I must be better than other people, right?

I effortlessly dismiss people’s worth. Seeing people out at midnight? They must know nothing of hard work, partying all night. They drink coffee regularly? Their willpower must be so weak as to depend on a drug. They drink alcohol? Their life must be so bad as to vehemently escape from it. They’ve been in such a low-paying industry for a decade? How cowardly to surrender their ambitions to comfort. Anywhere I look, I justify to myself why I am better than the people I see.

I would spend up to 10 hours a day in my room, clicking at my laptop. But unlike the others, I was sacrificing everything to be the best!

Once I am the best in the world and win millions, everyone will be sorry for what they thought of me.

“How much he gains who does not look to see what his neighbour says or does or thinks, but only at what he does himself, to make it just and holy.”

I am better than other people.

Why would I go to in-person classes or meetings? I am the Emperor of time himself - consuming Youtube at 2x speed, and university lectures at 4x - all while on a Zoom meeting.

Why would I adhere to the timeline an average person created? When I can do things faster than the average person, I might as well leave all the work to the last minute.

Why would I aim for the goals that my peers do? What good is having a stable job, a loving family, and a reliable group of friends? I should aim much higher. I should aim to be the best in the world at a video game.

I am better,

Why would I listen to what you say?

.

++credit: older sister R I