4 apartment blocks, 1
swimming pool, 1 surau, 2 basketball courts. One of the courts is always
occupied by some Indian Under-12 professional footballers, where there is no
clear goal line and boots are not needed. The other court is one rim short. The
halfcourt with a rim is what I’d like to call– home court.
I was there almost every
evening for a few years after I stopped training at school. It’s a really ugly
court though. The free throw line can barely be seen now, the wooden backboard
shakes like it’s earthquake every time you hit a bank shot, and of course, no
net.
We had a group of people who
would come here most of the evenings, and we’d play till sundown. I was the
youngest amongst them. Naturally I was always the one being bullied, and took
every jumpshot I could get. Talk about playing with fucking giants. It was
there that I really learned how to shoot better because I had no chance of
getting to the basket. They’d tease me
by calling me “Shooter” or “神射手” all the time. I thought they meant it. Thinking back, a lot of them shoot
better than me, I was called the names only because I was always afraid of
going for layups.
After
every session, we would sit on the court and chill for a bit. They would smoke
a bit and talk about their online games, somehow they can’t get enough of the
games. I’d sit and listen for a while, and after I had enough of the
mosquitoes, I walked back home. I’d call it a great day if I played great and
won some games. Simple as that.
Even
on days that the guys didn’t come, I would go down to the court and shoot some
hoops myself. When you have a bad day, it’s good to know that at least you
could still hit a few jumpshots, and at the end of the day that keeps you
sane…anchored. On days when it’s just me, some boys from the neighbourhood
would come and shoot with me. Sometimes I’d even play pickup games with them,
and they’d score all over me. I guess they call it a great day when they make
shots over me.
One
of those days I stopped going to my “home court” and started playing at school
again. I forgot why. After I went to Singapore, it’s been a year or two since I
played at my home court.
Today
I just picked up the ball and went down to my home court. The Indian kids were
still playing soccer on one of the courts. The rim had gotten weaker, and still
no net of course. I was all by myself until a guy came onto the court.
“Remember
me?” he said.
Took
me a few seconds to figure out who he is. He was one of the kids from the
neighbourhood who used to mess around here. I didn’t like it when adults told you
how much taller you’ve grown since the last time they saw you. But boy was he
been getting tall or wut.
“Do
YZ and the guys still come here?” I asked.
YZ
was one of the guys who was responsible for my shot-first instinct.
“Nah…haven’t
seen them in a while.” he answered. Then he left.
There
I was, expecting to play some hardcore pickup games with the guys to relive
this once merry battleground, and ended up making layups that I’ve been
practicing for a while, on my own.
