It Only Hurts Me Even More

Note: Nisa's Blog, Happy One Month Anniversary! (This should be my last post before my flight to Mecca this Saturday, June 5th. Would be back after 2 weeks, maybe June 20th)


"Are you free today, Lin?" I asked my sister.

"Not really. I have to stay at the store, mom going back home today."

I pouted with disappointment.

"Why ask?"

"I thought of asking you to come with me to the PCB. I want to ride horse there."

PCB is the abbreviation locals use to refer to a nearby beach. Pantai Cahaya Bulan. A friend told me, there are horses to ride for the visitors.

Mom was listening in on our conversation. Curious. I rarely behaved in such way as I'm always fatigue these years, losing interest in most activities. It seemed she was trying to provide me outdoor hours as much as she could.

* * *

The girl held prestigious championship that year. It was amazing to know how a newcomer like her could grasp a big title in such a short time.

Thus, I could fully understand what the trainer was trying to do now. He was eying me, evaluating my performance with the horse, making an attempt to dig out any concealed talent I could be hiding.


He was in search for the next equestrian. Equestrienne, to be exact.

Another champion who would make him proud, once more. Triumphs are indeed addictive.

I smiled throughout my ride as that was all I could give him. I wished I could say 'yes', but I can't. I just can't.

"I like those horses. They are amazing." He nodded, taking that good remark of mine as a sign of sparking interest, I bet.

If I was healthy enough, things were all smooth and excellent, I would have jumped at his offer. But the fact that I didn't fulfilled the most important requirement left me feeling devastated even more. He knew not. My health had fail me. I was starting to walk in a circle, moving nowhere, giving me more headache. Any kind of fight back barely returned a positive outcome.

Instead of restricting the time I spent with the horse, he prolonged the riding session telling me to do this and that. He was looking nice and generous at the surface level. One layer beneath, he ran some tests on me, trying to figure out if I met his expectation, fulfilling the prerequisite to be the potential girl rider he was in search.


"Trot," he called out.

I gestured the horse and it immediately changed its gait. Trot is a gait faster than a walk; diagonally opposite legs strike the ground together. The horse runs at moderately swift pace when the rider makes a 'trot' signal. Trotting is among the easiest mode of horse riding, should be relaxing for both, the rider and the horse. But I didn't really relax myself as I was struggling to recall all those riding lessons from my previous semester.

I had to observe lots of things while riding, keeping all things in its place; my feet, my hands, my head, my body rhythm, as well as the horse itself. I had to be sure I exerted the right amount of pressure on the reins, my feet clenched both stirrups all the time, my legs were kept close with the horse body. Everything must be in perfect coordination.

Even though I was busy with the control and steering, I couldn't stop admiring the beautiful coat colour of the horse I was riding. It was chestnut. A former racing champion no longer performing on the track. Supreme breed.

My early experience with the horse was almost similar with the bow and arrow. Riding it seemed really easy but the truth is far beyond the general anticipation. Archery had warned me not to take things as easy as it may appear. Thus, I knew what to expect in equestrian. For archery, arms and upper body part should always be kept in shape. For equestrian, legs and lower body parts must be strong enough.


I strove hard to keep in charge or else, it would try to go against me. Worse, the rebellious one would try to shake me off its back. We had been warned many times during riding lessons, "Make sure you are the one in control, not the horse. It can sense if its rider lacks confident." That warning was a clear note for me, equestrian needs one extra component compared to archery; 'social' relationship between the rider and the horse.

* * *

He made a quick, small nod each time I did as he ordered. I believed it was outside his awareness, not realizing I was observing his reactions.

Several staffs and tutors who were at the stable could sensed the difference. The senior trainer was giving me special attention. They exchanged some kind of look on their face, signaling something regarding my presence.

Afterward, I was immediately welcomed in a special way; flirting smile, flirting welcome words as if trying to add up the trainer's effort to pull me in.

I just smiled back, giving a respectful chat instead of repaying the playful mode they were presenting. They would had thought every girls like it. As a matter of fact, not every girls. Not in sport nor in class.

Especially, not a sick one who was feeling upset.

I'd already verbalize my intention to stop training for a while to my archery coach. He was dreaming of taking me to the national level, at least. I wanted that too, really. But things were out of control. I was being a puppet, losing control and order everywhere.

I could sensed his disappointment when I expressed my wish not to continue the training anymore. We were just beginning but his eagerness to see me participate in a tournament was already flaming.


The horseman's interest in training me would only repeat the scenario again and again.

Disappointment, sir? Mine is more...


With every chances I keep on refusing, I only ended up feeling more useless.

I'd already turn down my colleague's invitation to be one of his team member for the Formula SAE, an international student design competition held annually by the Society of Automotive Engineers (SAE). I wasn't sure why he offered me a place in his team. The offer was too good compared to whom I was back then. I was nobody in the class. It was me who kept on asking for his help for the assignments and lab reports. But his kind offer was enough to make me smiled and felt extremely thankful.

Thanks, Steve. You are such a good friend.

I let go everything, one by one, breaking my own heart each time.

As though scooping up sand with my bare hands. Eventually they slipped through my fingers. All I could do was to watch, helplessly. Every single grains escaped through every tiny leaks.
.
I've done my best, O Lord.....that was all I could do. Forgive me if it wasn't good enough.


I dismounted the horse. As my feet touched the ground, I was hoping there are still chances for me to mount it back, in future.

How to Trot A Horse

p/s: I wish I could ride again.