Fresh start

Chapter 1

'Sometimes, when I wish to identify the warmth in my heart,

It is in my tears that I feel this heat…

A heat that lingers on my cheek before drying out.

This tear reminds me of my purity and the kindness within me,

Of my hard work and endless effort.

It is through this tear that I have realized how life is not the same without you,

And it is these tears that have taught me how to live without you.'

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I've learned that being naive only leads to betrayal and pain. Many tend to take advantage of someone who's still learning, who lacks the basic knowledge of what they deem as something everyone should know. I've learned that liars live a better life and that life is filled with everything but fairness.

This world has torn me down into ripples and changed my heart. It was this world that taught me to hate.

I'm Elizah, an indecisive tennis player and a taekwondo star in my free time.

To think that I've lost almost everything by choice. It all began with a simple arm injury.

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"You should have been more careful. How do you expect her to start her new career with her arm like that now?" Zamin asked, pushing Owais towards the hospital wall.

"Don't you guys have better things to do than fight with each other? It's not as impressive as you try to make it look," I said, entering my cab. Ignoring them, I turned to my phone.

I was already tired from all the previous juggling. By juggling, I meant trying to live through two careers at once: a tennis player and a taekwondo sensei. This incident is a blessing in disguise. Now I have a reason to leave tennis. I had already forfeited my black belt a month ago after injuring my opponent during the rising-senior nationals. I wasn't ready to face that side of me again. Both sports carried a special place in my heart, especially taekwondo. I gained many scholarships because of it, and it was a means of communication with my father. He was a man who spoke only when he felt it was necessary. I got dragged into tennis by my mother and sister. It's not much of a story; I just used it as a way of entering a tertiary institution. Otherwise, I never really cared for the sport.

I had never had the chance to live out my full potential on the court or mat since both had my split attention. Now I want nothing to do with either sport, regardless of the years I've wasted trying to perfect them.

I switched my phone off after declining a few calls from Zamin. He had always been the overly sensitive one, wanting to know what I was doing or how I felt. But not today. Today I wanted peace and silence. No whining or "how are you"s, and most certainly none of Owais's criticism.

I arrived home, rushed up to my room, and phoned my tennis instructor to inform him about my condition. I'll be handing in my racket soon.

Mother placed my mail on my bed after yelling out a few articles on how to eat, sleep, and shower with a cast on. She then placed a few job articles onto my bed. After an hour of the torturous lecture, I picked through the mail and finally, it came!

My acceptance letter into South Africa's number one kickboxing academy. For once, something I wanted to do.

I smelled the letter over and over again. It smelled like success, like direction!

I could hardly believe it was happening to me. I can finally go out there with no burden—not that I didn't enjoy those sports at some point in my life, but I guess I got bored. I do plan on doing my absolute best. There was a slight problem, though. My training starts tomorrow. Although it was okay to do only leg training, since I applied for a double program, my progress might get hampered.

Zamin's sister was the head sensei, and Owais was her assistant. It was my turn to rely upon and annoy him for once. The clingy martial art friend I made a few years back, along with his crush, or whatever he calls her. Even if, for the past few months, I had received criticism from the martial arts world as well as the loss of the respect I earned over the years, he still supported and respected me. A fresh start is what I've been craving for years, even if it was without my parents' approval.

The one thing that always cheered me up, though, was a good meal with the people I love.

Fried, dipped, dunked, and even the greens people hated, we loved as long as it was any type of halal food!

All of those tasted even better with a smiling person in front of you. Food is also the reason many let their guard down.

"I heard you got the letter," he said, taking his shoes off before rushing inside with bags of groceries.

"My mother made you run her errands again?"

"We basically live here, so it's the least I could do. Are you sure you're down for training with your arm like that?"

"I should be asking you that," I said, annoyed. "Just do whatever my mother called you over for. I have to meet Zamin later."

"Poor Zamin has to deal with you today of all days… the abuse…"

I stuck my tongue out at him before I left. He was correct; they basically lived with me—eating with me all the time, shopping with me, and practicing with me. I should get new friends. After my check-up at the doctor with Zamin, we went over to the tennis board to hand in my racket formally. The relief that hit me was followed by all sorts of mixed emotions about having to give up what I had known for half of my life. I do admit that the pay was good, but for once, I wanted to take risks and just do my own thing. After doing this difficult task, I rushed home to have a warm meal with my parents. The warmth from the soup and the tenderness of the meat made all my worries slip away. A happy tummy leads to a happy mind.