Denied (again) or postponed for 2014: World Cup victory celebration in the Netherlands

It would have been historic! It would have been amazingly great! And I would have been part of it. Had the Dutch team won the World Cup 2010 in South Africa.

After booking a ticket in the finals by beating Paraguay in the semifinals, the Netherlands came to a great anticipation mood. Days leading to the final game against Spain were a drag. It was one of those longest five (5) days in history of the Netherlands. People busied themselves with just anything. But primary to their minds was the final match, the dreaded and exciting Sunday match of reckoning.

Then, the day dawned. Each second of time synchronized with the beating of millions of Dutch hearts. Stories had been told and shared. Twice in history, the Netherlands came so close to winning the most prestigious football cup in the world. This time, people were telling different stories. They seemed to be ready for another history in the making. It was a beautiful and special day.

The country breathed in orange. TVs were set. Beers were chilling in the fridge. Centrums were packed with orange-clad people congregating in front of wide-screen monitors. Bars, cafes, and restaurants were tuned in to unmistakably world cup bee-like sound of vulvuzuelas.

Shouts and claps for each Dutch player. But some players were more equal than others. People sang mightily and heartily the national anthem.

The game started.

It was clear that this match was going to be close. People were waiting for that one strong hurrah where they could release all the built-up emotions. First half was tense.

Second half was more straining to nerves as both teams had chances of scoring goals. The hurrah and jump were always subdued by the missed opportunities. It ended with sighs.

Extra time. It was a prolonged emotional strain. Then, a goal, by the other side. It pushed down the screams inside. But some more time left, hope was diminishing, vanishing as the time expired.

For the first time in the tournament. No goal. No hurrahs. No release of excited emotions. It was an involution of disbelief, sigh of a nation denied again.

As it is said, the loser in the championship match has the worst feeling of losing.

There is yet another chance in 2014. It may be another long wait, but a worthy wait for a victory celebration.

Mother's gift: love and life

I know that I have received enough and too much from my mother. I could never thank her adequately. Let this space and entry be for her, my way of truly appreciating a person that makes me human and continues to shape me.


In an unexpected time, my mother comes to touch me in a special way. When there are confusions and difficulties that beset me, my mother seems to have a radar to know my situation. She seems to have a magic wand that eases any heaviness in my heart and mind. Her presence and words shove away the insecurities and fears that cloud my heart and mind. When she holds my hand, I feel like she is holding my wounded heart in her hand. When she hugs me, I feel like she is taking away the heaviness in my chest and owning it as hers too. She sees me as hers but not as a possession, a blessing to appreciate, take care and nourish.

Two years ago, she gave me two polos. It would have been any other gifts I had received from her, but these had been polos with instructions from her. She put one on me and said, “You should learn how to fix yourself. Look at you; no girls will like you.” I retorted, “It’s OK. I don’t like girls who will like me only because of how I look, I would like a girl who will like me as I am.” Then she said with some wishing tone, “Yeah, I know that. But I would like you to have a girl.” I simply hugged her without saying a word anymore. I thought and believed that I already have the best girl I could ever find. When I finally spoke, “thank you ma” were the words I could muster to say.