I regret keeping it down low about what went on and what really made me quit playing soccer. I regret not making a big deal out of it at the time when things went on. I could speak up about it now but it wouldn’t do me any good. It has passed already and I won’t get anything out of it anymore by doing so. Instead, I’ll just scream my anger out here for how unfair things have been.
It’s just frustrating that shit, literary shit, keeps getting poured over my head from the same instance and same people that killed the love of playing the game of soccer in me. I want to move on, want to get away from all of that. I don’t want to face those people, neither hear of them. Neither want them to talk about me or bring my name up in any circumstance. Instead, life just puts me to test. Exact opposite happens.
All of that just makes me learn the lesson. You can do the things the right way, respect people and honor what you once loved and gave your heart to. It doesn’t necessary mean that you will get the same response back. That’s that.
It is sad, very sad that something so precious as love for playing soccer, my passion, can literary be destroyed by others. I used to burn for that game time, for every training. It was my air. I never though this could happen, never in my life I thought that passion could be taken away. Especially by others. But here I am, empty and burned out for playing soccer. Nothing in me drives me to get back on that pitch to kick that ball around again. At least not at the moment. It has even made me struggle with playing rugby. Almost feels like the athlete in me is dead. Gone.