I made a promise to myself that I won’t base any actions on fear. I wasn’t sure what that necessarily would look like, but whenever something scared me, I told myself I would dive in — head first. And that decision drove actions I would not have done before. For instance, in one of my graduate school classes, I volunteered to treat a “patient” (played by one of my professors) in a simulated lab for nearly 2 hours while my classmates and professors watched me through a two-way mirror, and I listened to their constructive feedback afterwards. It felt damn good to do it. I used to be the 10 year old kid that didn’t want to speak out loud in class so I could hide a subtle Filipino accent. I’d say I came a long way.

2. Your parents will surprise you. Again and again.

Six years ago, when I first came out to my mom, her first words to me was “Don’t ever tell your dad.” Followed by a question of whether or not I would cut my hair short *insert eye-roll here*. This past year, I told my mom about my then-girlfriend. And when that same girlfriend broke up with me, I drove six hours back home to Sacramento, only to spend the day walking around the park with my dad. He stated that his biggest concern was that because I’m dating women, he’s worried I’ll continue to get my heartbroken. To which, I laughed at because he wasn’t all that far off. Needless to say, it was a conversation I didn’t think I’d ever have with my dad and he made me laugh when I needed it.

3. If you love somebody today, tell them.

I lost somebody who was an integral part of my childhood earlier this year. Someone I credit a lot of my success to because he helped shape me into the person I am now. He was a third parent to me. I lost communication with him for almost 6 months in the last year of his life. Mostly due to my ego. Because I reached out before moving out of town, and he didn’t call back. When in fact, he was going through a fight of his own.

I saw him again before he died and I had told him that I loved him then, but I think often of time that was lost. Coach said “I love you” to me after every phone call and he never let me forget it. Those are words that need to be said more.

4. In the same breath, love can be different for two people.

This year was also the time I said those three words to someone and not hear them back. And I was okay with that — that wasn’t even the painful part. It was that after we broke up, when I recalled the story to close friends, I spoke as if my feelings needed to be validated. In a way, trying to convince them that I was not wrong to say “I love you.”

In that space and in that moment, I said my truth. It wasn’t reciprocated and that’s alright, but it would be a disservice to myself if I start building walls to not let others in. I’ve opened myself up to relationships that didn’t work and am learning my lessons along the way and that’s all I can ask of myself to do. Stay open. And own your story.

5. Listen to your own voice and get to know her.

This has been an internal struggle for me, and I’m just now starting to listen. I find comfort in being around people, constantly. I like conversations, the background noise, and I’ve had trouble just being in my own head space. It got so bad that I would be so restless at night, thinking about that week’s midterms or with other thoughts I couldn’t silence. In the last couple of months, I’ve consciously tackled this self-induced anxiety and just let myself be. I’ve made conscious efforts to write in a journal, practice mindfulness if not for 5 minutes of my day or during “mindless” activities (like driving or washing dishes), aim to be present when I’m in the company of someone else, and go back to what feels true to me: being on a basketball court, at least once a week. This is something I’m still working on daily, but they’re small steps in the right direction. And I know because these small things keep me grounded, and I’m not easily carried away by day-to-day changes.

I’ve stumbled on the work of Brene Brown, a researcher who studies human connection and watched her Ted Talks on vulnerability and shame in recent days. She mentions this quote from Theodore Roosevelt that changed her outlook on life:

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.

Brown speaks of two things that you can count on when you step into the arena:

1. It is not about winning or losing, it is about showing up and being seen.
2. The only guarantee if you do show up, is that you will get your ass kicked.

Yet, that’s the type of person I strive to be in every aspect of my life. I want to show up in my relationships and in my career, despite what others think or when it seems daunting to do so. My most vulnerable moments — coming out to my parents, getting rejected from almost every PT school I applied to, being the first to say “I love you,” ending broken relationships — at one point or another, did feel like I was just getting my ass handed to me.

But in that arena, Brown also mentions:

“If you’re not in the arena, also getting your ass kicked, I’m not interested in your feedback.”

And this is what I struggle with on a daily basis. I realize that in the past, I’ve gathered the courage to be vulnerable, but I do care about what others think of me. However, unless you’re in there with me, fighting the good fight, the only opinion that should really hold much value is what I think of myself. Because let’s face it, we’re our worst critics. I replay scenarios in my head. I ruminate over my actions, contemplating whether or not I could have produced a better outcome. Yet with that in mind, acknowledge it, and continue the fight. Vulnerability is the root of creativity, love, authenticity, and compassion. Live your truth. Because at the end of the day, these three words should hold more truth than anything else:

“You are enough.”

And even if you get your ass kicked, that’s okay. Surround yourself with honest people that will help you lick your wounds, champion you, and encourage you to keep fighting.

2015 was my “adolescent” year.

No, I wasn’t an adolescent then. I only mean…it was such an awkward year of my life. Sure, I had direction. I was a newly minted UCSD grad. Graduate school was just in my head, but I was laying out the foundation. Took a job to coach kids that paid $13/hour so I can contribute to my over $600+ monthly San Diego rent that I couldn’t even pay without my parents’ help. Attended junior college classes at night. Interned at the hospital once a week and at an outpatient clinic three times a week. Decided to move back home mid-year so I could really make my grad school dream a reality.

then I had my “growth spurt” year in 2017.

I say growth spurt because it seems like in a relatively (but, not really) short amount of time, I got ‘here.’ The goal, that end-point I had been seeking for years. I’m a PT school student. With 60+ equally hard-working people, day in and day out, proving ourselves everyday. It’s been six months in and still, I have moments where — I step back and think to myself, I’m really here. Dissecting a human body, manipulating a joint, learning about everything wrong I did as an athlete throughout my rehab process, and each day, thinking more like a clinician. Learning the black and white, but dabbling with the grey. It’s so much information, but it’s all so important, and that will all be validated when I fully emerge into the grey — working with real patients.

And that’s when it becomes clear that PT school isn’t the end-goal. Not even close. And when I dig deeper, the more I realize I’m not asking the right question. The question is more — where am I in my professional journey? And as I continue on this program, the more I have to humble myself and accept the uncomfortable. Because if you’re not uncomfortable, you’re not growing. Yes, getting into a program was a breakthrough, but I’m just now flexing my muscles (pun intended). And throughout it all, I’ve been enjoying everything that comes with the madness and I really feel like for the first time, I’m growing into my own.

“A closed mouth doesn’t get fed.”

In 5th grade, I made the all-star team for my town’s NJB league. It just so happened that I was the only girl. I remember one practice, on the blacktop of Harriet Eddy Middle School, our coach asked for a demonstration on how to set a proper screen. And I remember thinking, “I know how to do this” but I stayed quiet. I already stood out enough and just wanted to blend in with my teammates, who were 10–11 year old boys. And so I let someone else do it. And all season long, I stayed that timid.

As I got older, my favorite coach (see below) always repeated, “A closed mouth doesn’t get fed” and that stuck. So I learned to ask questions/give feedback. I once asked my freshman year coach, with tears in my eyes, to give me a chance to be on the varsity team when I thought I was deserving. I’ve asked professors and employers for letters of recommendations. I’ll ask clinicians for feedback during my clinical rotations in physical therapy school. One day, I hope to negotiate a worthy salary. So work your ass off, know your worth, and if you know something, say it. Don’t hold yourself back.

“The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.”

Okay, the title of this blog is a little loaded, some will argue there are other sports better than basketball. But sports as a whole has the same message: “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” And in any great team, that’s true. Every player, coach, trainer, etc. has a key role — they accept that role — and the team’s goals come before anything else.

As a 5'2 senior in high school, (who am I kidding, I haven’t grown an inch since) coming off two knee surgeries, I wasn’t thinking that. I was trying to get recruited. I compared my individual stats obsessively to other players in the area. Of course I played to win, but I needed to separate myself somehow right? And I don’t fault myself, I’m sure that’s pressure plenty of high school kids face. Not every high school can compete for state titles. And if you guys knew me then, you knew how badly I wanted to keep playing. So at times, I got selfish.

But I included this photo of my team at UC San Diego because that’s when this message really clicked. And it was the first time I was with a group that really embodied it. Mind you, I was the last person on the bench and I won’t sugarcoat it. I almost quit at least three times. Ask my roommates then. But having played every role on a team up to the point, from being the best player to a sixth man, and all the way to a role on the bench due to injury or coaching decision. To stick it out, form the relationships that I did, and see it through, it is still one of my most proud moments for myself. And those teammates are still some of my best friends.

Give credit where credit is due.

I’m going to state it plain and simple: coaching in high school is underrated. You’re not only asked to run a program, compete, and complete your job duties, but you’re also a mentor to your players, try to appease administrators, deal with being critically judged by parents — oh and all this is on top of your actual day job. And that’s not even hours mentioned in the off-season. All for a measly stipend that hasn’t increased in over 20 years. I’m not saying I went through all this, but I saw it firsthand. In the two years I served as an assistant coach and having played for him, Coach cares. And plenty of other high school coaches do, the great ones, they lead with their passion. And I think every parent/student-athlete, especially in the high school level, needs to realize that. Sure, coaches might seem expendable, but the right person for the job will make lasting impacts on players for years to come. I’m an example of that — the proof is in the pudding.

HAVE FUN!

My last message isn’t reinventing the wheel but it is definitely a message that gets lost. Between pressures of getting recruited, off-season workouts, coaches on your behind etc. it’s so important to realize that at the end of the day, basketball should be fun. And it should always be, along with all the emotions that come with it. Nothing beats amateur athletics. Yes, March Madness is a huge business, but look outside the endorsements, analysis and bracketology, and watch the raw emotions of a senior ending his career after a loss. Or teammates consoling each other. Or, at the end of this year’s season for me, as an assistant coach trying to find the right words to tell a player that a playoff loss won’t define them.

If you’ve read this far along, wow thank you. I hope some things I said relate to your experiences. A lot, if not all, of the things I learned about life and myself was through basketball. I start graduate school in about a month, so I feel like I have to be a real adult now, but I’ll never forget this chapter of my life.

In 2015, I moved back to my hometown and in these past two years, I have been challenged more than I can say I have ever been. My thoughts have been circling for some time, and I don’t pretend to have closure and tie everything up with a pretty bow, but I’ve learned a few things from an eventful 24+ months.

I didn’t know it then but when mental illness hit my family, our lives were forever changed. We were all in uncharted waters, trying our best to ride out each unpredictable wave. For the sake of privacy, I won’t disclose who/what the diagnosis is. But as a loved one, I struggled with feelings of guilt, sadness, and shame. I felt guilty for trying to live a life, for ejecting myself out of stressful situations, for wondering, “Why not me instead?” This is an internal struggle I still face every single day. But to best take care of people we love, we must first take care of ourselves. Every time you’re on a plane, the flight attendant instructs you to put your oxygen masks first in case of an emergency. If you don’t, being unconscious won’t help anyone. I love this person more than life itself. It clashes with my instinct, but I‘m learning to put on my oxygen mask first.

Break-ups suck. They really do. You’re going to have moments you wish you could take back, text messages you wish were never sent, but somewhere down the road it will all be okay. It’s not the umpteenth article you’ve read, or a certain advice from a friend that will get you over the hump, it’s time. And don’t beat yourself up over it. There’s no protocol — everyone goes at their own pace. But on a random day, you’re going to wake up, appreciate that person and experiences you shared for what it was and move on.

I don’t know when I became this person, but I believe in fate. Maybe I’ve watched one too many How I Met Your Mother episodes that has served as my beacon through my early 20’s, but I’m guilty of putting emphasis on scenarios that really weren’t worthy of the energy spent. But in high school, when I tore my ACL twice, I internalized that experience like no other, and let it propel me towards my future career. Every internship I held thereafter just solidified this path for me. In two years, I’ve gotten at least 15 rejection letters, 3 graduate school interviews, and 1 acceptance letter. I won’t let self-doubt creep in, I belong and this is what I’m meant to do. I’m so excited to become a physical therapist.

What a blessing to have friends in my life to remind me that it’s okay to feel. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel hurt. Because society today tells us that vulnerability is a sign of weakness. You’re interested in someone based on your “likes”. Don’t text twice in a row, that shows too much effort. Wait twice as long as they made you wait to reply back. What is a date?; “Hanging out” is more open to interpretation. Don’t be too available.

For a blissful period of time, I didn’t worry about any of that BS because I was with the person I loved — the first person I truly fell in love with. Now, although the reason for our break-up was valid, it doesn’t take away the pain or help me sleep at night. So I let myself feel because…well that’s consistent to who I am. Our relationship wasn’t perfect but I loved with no limitations.

Back to what my friend said to me: “You are strong and open with your love — the best combination.” Am I? Wasn’t I naive for opening up completely? Couldn’t have I prevented this feeling, like someone pulled the rug under me, by holding back? I hate this unspoken game after break-ups of who seems happier or who moved on first. Social media intensifies it — every move is calculated. If the game goes by those standards, I’ll throw in the towel and say I “lost.”

But it doesn’t mean I’m weak. Quite the contrary actually. It means that I’m capable of giving and receiving love. And in today’s world, that’s a rare feat. Today, I feel pain because it was real, I gave a piece of myself to someone else. But I didn’t lose myself in the process. Some day, I will look back on this and have the ability to open myself up to a stronger love out there. Not necessarily for another person, maybe a stronger love for myself. And my friend is right, that takes strength.