<aside>

</aside>

This season has been a rollercoaster, full of highs, lows, and everything in between. Ending last season competing at AOFC had me thinking I was finally back on track with my personal goals at the international level. But then came the low of being unexpectedly dropped middle of this year. There was the thrill of returning to Nemesis, winning the league, and making it to the playoff final, only to feel the sting of not being registered. Then came the SUniG final after four long years, but the personal disappointment of having one of my worst seasons and losing in the worse way possible.

Looking back, these moments hurt—a lot. But I’ve come to understand that’s part of the game. Coaches have preferences, only certain players make match day, and in the end, there’s only one winner.

I’ve always given 100% to everything I love especially for floorball, whether it’s training, matches, analysing replays, or journaling. The reason I broke down after the final wasn’t just because we lost—it was the realisatino that I might not have many more finals left. Heck, maybe not many competitive games at all. This was my last SUniG, and that’s a tough pill to swallow. Knowing I gave my all both comforts and intensifies the pain. Can I really say I left the court with no regrets?

I’ve always told myself: I’ll keep doing what I love until I either stop enjoying it or feel like I’m no longer contributing. Over the last 18 years, I’ve faced these moments—making tough decisions, like in 2016 during the B Div final, 2018 in the A Div semis, and in 2020 when I first withdrew from the national team.

It’s not that I’m afraid of making these choices. What stings is knowing that with every passing season, I’m getting older, and life’s demands will eventually pull me away from the sport I’ve loved for so long. To many, this may not seem important—after all, we’re not paid athletes; it’s purely passion. But that doesn’t make it easier when something that’s been your outlet, your community, your life for so long, starts to fade away.

I’m incredibly grateful for every opportunity to step on the court—whether for recreation, hall, school, club, or nationals. As Mr. Shahizan always said: it’s a privilege, never an entitlement. Those words have stuck with me since primary school, and over time, I’ve come to see the truth in them. It’s not just about talent—it’s about humility, patience, and gratitude, because you never know when all these will be taken away.

This is also why I’m rarely fazed by what others say—compliments or criticisms. Trust me, I’ve already had those conversations in my head a thousand times. I try to be my biggest supporter, but i'm definitely my own harshest critic. I’m sorry if I’m not the most vocal, but I think a lot for others, myself and how my actions affect those around me.

I still have dreams to achieve on the international stage, but the reality is tough—out of the national team, graduating soon, with the off-season for both club and school. It’s hard to see how I’ll maintain that competitive level. But maybe not all goals are meant to be reached. Some just serve to give us direction, like how I felt a sense of loss after winning A Div in 2017. The goal was achieved, then what? At the end of the day it's the journey that fulfils, not just merit alone.

I wrote this post to remind myself of where I’m at and to see how I can grow from here but maybe it’ll resonate with someone else in some shape or form. Moving forward, all I can do is work smarter and harder and hopefully be ready if the opportunity comes, but I also know there will come a time to move on fully.

I’ve watched many peers move ahead while I kept floorball at the forefront. Graduating soon, with zero internship or job experience, a sub par GPA, it’s hard not to feel behind. But if that day comes when I step away, I hope I’ll be ready and can look back fondly on all the incredible people I’ve met and the unforgettable experiences I’ve had by sticking to what I love for so long.