I was so bad at baseball. No matter how hard I tried to hit the ball at the practice, it seemed to have a mind of its own and chose to avoid my bat. Every single boy had hit at least one ball, so the mocking had started to play as my own personal leitmotif. One time, during the final exam--after many practices and prayers (specifically asked God to let me hit one ball that day)-- I successfully hit the ball. I was ecstatic for a minute before I realized that the ball went through the field to the back of the main building. My PE teacher told me to find the ball and bring it back to him if I want to pass the test.
I did not find the ball.
I did not pass the test.
I had to buy a new ball to replace the lost one.
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I never hated anything the way I hated gymnastics week. I was stiff as a board and I had an innate fear of breaking any kind of bones in my body. I did not see it useful either. Rolling around breaking my neck and every joint in my body on a mattress was simply not a future I saw myself in.
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I started to learn how to lie my way out of PE: I faked illnesses, purposely left my PE uniform and kit at home, or just left the gym and hung out somewhere no one would find me. One day I skipped PE without any reason and stayed in the classroom with a couple of my classmates. After nearly half an hour, the door to the room suddenly opened and our PE teacher stood there and angrily shouted at us. We were told to squat walk around the field while all of our friends watched. The sun was directly above us. We were sweating all through our uniforms. I realized it was my mistake for staying in the class and not preparing any lies or excuses. So, I promised myself to always prepare one and then leave the class immediately beginning next week.
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I spent a great amount of time praying to God again after the boys told my PE teacher that I sucked and needed to be placed in the girls’ team. He had just laughed. They all did. I did not get it. It wasn’t fair of them. Some of the girls were obviously better than me, so where was I supposed to go then? But still, later that night I prayed. I was not sure what exactly to pray for at that time. I just hoped I could do well enough the next week, or that someone would do worse than me so the boys and our PE teacher would spare me their jokes.
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Since our school was not equipped with its own swimming pool, we went to the nearest university's pool to swim every month. That was part of the curriculum. Consequently, at the end of every semester, there was an evaluation test for every routine. They expected you to master everything in one go without doing any real teaching. I missed some of the tests throughout the year even though I knew it would be shown in my report card. I did not care, honestly. So, when the PE teacher told me how many tests I missed—four in total—I just nodded. But then he told me that the problem could be “sorted out”. He set 25.000 Indonesian rupiah for one missed test therefore 100.000 rupiah for me to pay. It sounded quite a lot but not so much for a (B-) on your card. I remember the sadness and pity I had for him for taking this insignificant amount of money from all of his good-for-nothing students. I knew he was also taking money from the extra fee we all had to pay to enter the pool but I did not know he needed more. For that reason, I decided to give him the money.
I got a (B-) for PE when I received my report card the next month.
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We were doing laps once, running around the whole area of the school because our field was too small to accommodate all of us. I was running in front of this girl (a sweet and kind girl who was everyone's crush at the time) and this boy (one of the popular boys who had a crush on her). Everyone seemed to like them, although, not in the way that I did. Apparently there was only one way each for boys and girls to like someone and choosing both or neither wasn’t an option. While I was running, I suddenly heard a little scream and a short gasp from behind. I turned and saw that the girl had slipped then knocked her forehead onto the rough cemented floor we ran on. She was bleeding, shocked, and glued to the ground. The boy immediately jumped onto her side, gently held her head to inspect her wound, while a couple other kids behind them ran to our PE teacher. With shock still lumped in me, I slowly came near them and got down on my knees across the boy with the girl between us. The other kids started to surround us. Just a minute later the teacher came and took her away. We were all dismissed for the day. When I came to grab my things, I saw the boy was talking about the accident to the other boys. I remember vividly the jealousy, mixed with the undefined frustration that I had for both the boy and the girl: him, for being there on her other side, and her, for being held on his side. Having no one on either side of me to hold onto, I realized that kind of security and assurance was something unattainable to me—someone who was still trying to find the word to name himself within this articulate realm.
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Recently I saw a tweet that said “One of the great things about being an adult is that you don’t have to do PE anymore.”
And I agree.
No more getting picked last during a soccer match, getting laughed at when you fail to catch a ball, or getting teased when you let out an “ouch” or a gasp. No more getting uncomfortable when you have to change in front of everyone else, being expected to do everything they ask you to, pretending to understand, and caring about what the other boys care about. Finally, no more getting forced to consider yourself as either one of the queer kids, the weird bunch, the introverts, the bodily-conscious ones, or everything and nothing at the same time.
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