Locked In
Locked in
Adjective (informal)
Exhibiting total concentration on the task in hand
(May or may not be based on true events)
But I'm better now, thank you very much for asking, and though ambition still runs higher in my blood than cocaine in the average Brooklyn teen, I don't let my work achievements nor my failures define me. There is more to humanity than trying to get that highest grade in the class for English dictation just so you can get some dumb-ass "Well done you are a star!" sticker slapped sloppily on the cover of your handbook. Anyway, this isn't about how I changed my perspective; that's a story for another time. But keep this context in mind, cause I think it sets the theme for what's unfolding next.
Back then at high school, I was nominated for some local scholarship, where they were looking for "exceptional well-rounded students", whatever that means in the dictionary. I was sixteen, and I wanted to win so badly. It started with an initial interview round and I crushed it. Well, I think I crushed it; at least I definitely tried my best. I rocked into the chamber of judges, just purely radiating glamour with my suit and tie and dripping with immeasurable confidence as WWE entrance music blasted loud in my imagination, striding across the room with my back straighter than a telephone pole, flashing my appealing smile that would melt any damsel's ice-cold heart in a ten meter radius. And damn was I so poised when the board members hammered me down with question after question. Nothing's stopping this bad boy from getting that scholarship and I walked out of the room with just as much self-assurance as when I walked in, just like how Beethoven walked down the stage as the sounds of applause thundered the air of the opera house like American explosives in Iraq, knowing he just conducted one epic of a ninth symphony mankind will still talk about for centuries to come.
I definitely scored eleven out of ten in the charisma category but unfortunately charisma was not enough of a punch to seal the deal. In addition to an interview, all nominated candidates have to go through some sort of one-day training camp where they participate in physical activities, where they have to display leadership characteristics and other desirable qualities. I honestly don't see the point of this but a man's gotta do what he's gotta do. If the judges want to see leadership characteristics and other desirable qualities, I can sure as hell channel the Leonardo DiCaprio or Ryan Gosling world-class acting skills in me, and put on some Oscar-winning performance where I would (pretend to) be one natural Alpha-male hyper-masculine dominating ENTJ "The Commander" top-of-the-social-hierarchy leader of the pack. In hindsight, no doubt this criteria is really superficial and that it promotes harmful values to students, but that was hardly my concern or problem. My job was simple: to put on the mask and be the "ideal" candidate they wanted to see and what the public wanted to see, and an agent never deviates from the mission. As the dating advice goes, don't be yourself, but be the "yourself" they want to see. (Actually maybe don't trust me on dating advice unless you are looking for a bad bad time.)
Fast forward a bit, the day of the camp, and my performance was flawless. You could hear choirs at the back singing "I need a hero" at the top of their lungs as I led my team to victory in every team-based game. I was directing people left right and centre in every activity with so much authority and ferociousness that if Napoleon were present, he would have fished out his notebook from his military jacket to jot down my techniques to experiment and implement in his future battles. Throughout the day, our coaches were taking small notes of the events that occurred, and no doubt their little books of praise were crammed with my name written all over it.
It was nearly sunset when it was the last activity of the day. One final act. The coaches led us to the pier, overseeing the vast ocean, where waves of seawater were thrashing into the pillars meters below our feet. This was a considerably high pier, easily four, five stories high. Poking your head out into the humid winds and looking down could make your legs soften like jelly. Lifejackets were distributed to every one of us and one of the coaches extended his arm, his hand angled slightly down to hint at the waters.
"Now each of you take turns jumping into the water. Any volunteer who wants to do it first?"
My hand shot high up into the sky fast enough to break the sound barrier. One final act, and it's all over. As one of my rowers at Cambridge would say, "last one, fast one." I walked briskly to the edge, until my foot touched the cliff, where comfort of wood stopped and was just air. And like one of Immortan Joe's war boys in "Mad Max", I held my breath, arms crossed, and stepped into the void, bravely and surely, knowing that the crowd behind would be witnessing me impressed with jaws open, as the royal blue gates of Valhalla below opened up to welcome its courageous warrior, and swallowed me whole. For a while my senses were overwhelmed by crushing forces of the waters, and I turned and turned and could only see the same lifeless shade of blue in all directions, and somewhere a suction pressure was turned on, lifting me up and up, and my head screamed as I crashed above the surface re-entering into a familiar world. My heart leaped a million cartwheels: I did it!
But the show hasn't ended. I looked up, and the others, miles above, were still crowded together, shuffling their feet and hesitant to jump. Such pussies, I thought. It was unfortunate that I would have to wait down below, dog-paddling to stay afloat and waiting for the other participants to muster their non-existent courage and commit the same pseudo-suicide before I could drop my act and relax. No, I can't let my guard down now and lose focus, because right now the coaches might still be taking mental notes on everyone. So I put on my war face, a "V" etched by my eyebrows, wholly concentrated on (pretending to) patiently wait for the rest to join me.
SPLASH...
Someone has jumped in as well, but I did not turn my head one centimeter to acknowledge them. No, they were enemies and we do not negotiate with enemies. If I wasted any energy, effort, or time talking to them, this would have distracted me from my main goal, which was to be the most focused and determined version of myself right now. My brain has conveniently blocked all possible diversions. At that moment, all I cared about was that the rest of the others jump down ASAP so I could get back to shore ASAP so I could throw myself into bed after a warm bubbly shower ASAP. Plus, I felt nothing but deep poisonous hate towards the others; they were nothing but competitors all seeking to take away my glory that I so deserved to own, and that they were not worthy to possess.
"I'm cold."
Huh?
That abrupt statement hauled me out of the secret grotto of my thoughts and I was thrown off guard as if gravity suddenly started acting sideways. I swiveled to face the origin of the voice, and she looked back at me with big round eyes. Big round puppy eyes. Her lifejacket was two sizes too big for her graceful physique and she floated awkwardly with the lifejacket pushing hard on her lower jaw. Her arms wrapped around her body tightly, while trembling ever so slightly, and we were not that close together, but close enough that I could faintly smell the beads of saltwater running off her lustrous dark hair, like translucent dewdrops of springtime hanging on garden leaves. Just us two, and for an instant the atmosphere thickened as honey and a cloud of mist from nowhere encapsulated us two, shielding us from the rest of the crowd lightyears apart who disappeared into the surroundings, and we were alone...
The fuck she wants? Gears and pulleys were spinning in over-drive mode in my head as I pondered the hidden meaning behind the ciphertext she said. I had no idea what her disguised intentions were, but they reeked of malice. Like the apple trickling with death handed to Snow White by the Queen. Bad news for you girl, cause if she thought she could disarm my concentration with small talk, she would be more wrong than holocaust deniers. Boy, I was LOCKED IN at my mission, so I switched a switch in my brain transitioning into "serious" mode, because we were knee-deep in enemy territory dealing with some hell of a venomous hellish creature here, and I clapped back with a response that was as objectively factual and accurate as I could construct without leaking any sentimental or personal details that could indicate the slightest hint of vulnerability.
I gave her a lecture on why humans feel cold in water.
Attaboy! Needless to say, I was looking real smart on the spot. Having a few years of learning high-school physics under my belt meant I could thrust my arm deep into my mental vault and really tap into that well-stocked arsenal of mathematical formulae and utilize my unrivaled comprehension of heat capacity and heat transfer. This was physics as applied as it could possibly get; for I was literally applying the knowledge I know and compiling it into words of wisdom coming out of my mouth. And before you start accusing me, this wasn't really textbook mansplaining, not when SHE was the one who brought up the topic of coldness.
And throughout these three minutes of my monologue, as I spitted out facts harder than rifle bullets at her innocent face, she just stared back at me in utter silence, like a pupil at the back of the class. I was not sure whether she was really paying attention; her eyes never blinking and they glistened like brown quartz, moist thick lips slightly apart. Small drops of crystalline liquid scattered over her long hair radiated rays of gold as the sun gently dipped itself beneath the horizon, disappearing into the darkness that was night. Gradually, rhythm of waves pulled us even closer together like planets gravitating towards one another until her chest brushed across my arm and her face inches apart from mine, and her cold soft hand reached out onto mine, as if it was as natural a movement as breathing in and out, and our fingers intertwined like grape vines. The duo of planets eventually collided at the finale of the dance and connected, fused together, and our breathing synced up, in and out, right when music that was harmonious and pleasant swelled and rose to climatic heights, and I heard her say it again, interrupting me (just as I was halfway through detailing the technicalities of specific heat capacity), locking eyes, more softly this time.
"I'm cold."
OK. Now that's just straight-up disrespectful. I was literally in the process of educating this dumb girl on some basic science and she just had the sheer AUDACITY to interrupt me? What's her deal? And what's up with the hand holding? Is this some sort of Tik-Tok manipulation trick to exert dominance over me? I read something about how Donald Trump pulls people in like tug-of-war whenever he shakes hands with other political figures and I suspected that was something homogeneous to that nature. I rolled my eyes, fuming lightly. She was still holding my hand, tightly, when I initiated an aggressive counter-attack, squeezing her fingers back so hard that blood completely ceased flowing to my fingers. Then I told her again, emphasizing every syllable as if I was talking to a newborn baby who just mastered a few sentences, that if she listened and actually cared a little to pay attention, she would have learnt something new today from this camp and known why she was feeling so damn cold in the water. Without hesitation, I gave her the same three minute lecture, more smoothly this time now that I had done it once before a few minutes ago, because I'm something of an expert when it comes to learning from experiences. Oh yeah!
When I was done with my impromptu lecture and I gave her the smuggest smile of superiority, she did not express any gratitude for my explanation. To the contrary, she appeared fazed. But I did not have the opportunity to elaborate more on the subtleties of the sensory system, for someone else jumped right next to us, causing one big SPLASH, one that took her by surprise because she gasped, and loosened her hand instantly as if being stung by a jellyfish and she hovered at the ocean's surface, clumsily floating in her oversized lifejacket and letting the water currents take control and push her away from me. I registered that as a sign that I have attained victory in the intellectual duel and being the humble winner, I left her alone.
I would love to say there was a happy ending to this whole ordeal of a camp, but alas, life is one cruel entity that loves to play mean jokes to us all, yours truly included. For when the devil cannot reach his man, he will send a girl; one whose hair cascading raven-black, one whose body slender and supple, one who would throw you into confusion by waiting for the right moment to strike and cut off your stream of focus, just to inform you that she's feeling cold in the water. Because after learning that I did not get the scholarship in the end even after these tiresome hoops I had to dolphin-jump through, that still wasn't the final nail in the coffin. It was only at the prize ceremony three weeks later, when I, as well as all the other failed contenders of the scholarship, were forced to attend, putting on attire formal and proper while wearing faces of humiliation and defeat, did I learn that the universe always finds its way to pull threads and cast magic to generate the biggest dramatic irony of it all: that I did not get the scholarship...
...But she did.