Victim VS Fighter
When my knee gave way in a dance rehearsal and I learnt that time wouldn’t heal it, I felt like I deserved all the pity in the world.
I was the chairperson for my school’s dance concert; I had a few leading roles, even a solo number.
That concert was supposed to be my swan song before I graduated into society, but fate had other plans.
Everything spiraled downward with that mid-air twist — a finale pose of a contemporary piece that called for a curtain call to my only love in life.
I resigned to the role of a stage manager cum emcee for the concert. My fellow emcee penned her observations of me here.
Eventually, I scheduled myself for knee surgery. When I woke up prematurely to excruciating pain, I recalled myself screaming:
“I WANT TO DANCE! I WANT TO DANCE! I WANT TO DANCE!”
before losing consciousness to the consoling voices of nurses administering sedatives.
Post-surgery, I worked tirelessly to return to the dance floor. Nine months later, I was dancing again.
And then my other knee caved when I landed from a jump during a hip-hop class.
I was convinced that the world hated me.
Why me? Do I not deserve happiness? Why am I the only one suffering? What kind of prank is this? Why doesn’t this happen to those who care less? Why me?
Such main character syndrome.
And yes, that was me. I still own that past. But wow, I sure hope I’ve outgrown that pathetic self.
That, my commrades, was a great example of self-victimisation.
We’ve all been there and done that.
It’s easier to adopt the role of a victim. This identity offers an escape from responsibilities, allowing us to blame everything except ourselves.
Being a fighter is challenging. It requires willpower and hard work, putting in the effort with full awareness that even with perseverance, success is not assured.
It’s easier to be a victim than a fighter.
So which role will you choose to play?
I wrote this piece some time ago as part of my weekly reflections to my team. Rediscovering it feels timely, especially now as my knee gave way again.
For the past 12 years, I’ve been focusing on fortifying muscles around my knee. I was able to almost forget about my condition until the day I rushed to open a door.
The pain returned, sharp and sudden. It’s a random pain, with no rhyme or rhythm.
At first, I thought it was just a strain and carried on with my routine, until one morning…
I descended into self-pity again.
“Why me? Why again? Haven’t I endured enough loss? All I’m asking for is the ability to move, to sweat, every day. That’s all. No more spotlight, no more applause. I just want a mobile body. And I can’t have that?”
Yes, I’m pathetic. I still self-victimise. I’ve so many weaknesses.
I’m human.
At least, what I’ve observed is that I find myself capable of bouncing back faster — mentally. I seem to be able to calm myself down better when my heart aches; I’m more vocal about my injury, asking for others’ understanding when I move slower than usual; I’m also more resilient to strangers’ stares as I limp.
I’ve come to accept my condition. Indeed, I can’t operate at my usual capacity. This is the season that reminds me of my fragility and fallibility.
But accepting it doesn’t mean that I’m rejecting sadness.
I will wake up and stare at my leg, as if the stare-down will magically heal it. Then, I cautiously place both feet on the floor, wondering if my injured leg will cave under my weight as I stand.
It’s now a recurring nightmare every morning.
As I find myself in the ashes once more, awaiting my rise, I need to discover a new rhythm that suits me best in this season of life. Perhaps, I’ll be in this season for a while. I don’t know.
But I’ll do my best.
