Descriptive Essay

Rajiv Lama
English 103 J
Descriptive Essay
02/09/2016
My First Soccer Ball

I had just finished packing my stuff, getting ready to leave for as they say, "The land of opportunities" and immerse myself in a totally new culture. A sense of excitement and nervousness ran through my mind as to whether I would be able to adapt to a new environment. I took a look around my room for one last time. My room was a typical teenager's messed up room. The wall had hand-drawn paintings of soccer players and some pictures of girls from the playboy magazine. The room was not very spacious, but it was the place I felt warm and comfortable in. In the corner of the room was an old wardrobe I had cracked from playing soccer that is now held together with pieces of adhesive tape. As I looked around the room, before leaving for the airport, the corner of my eye was treated with a glimpse of a deflated, spent object under my old rusty wardrobe. It was my first soccer ball.
My first soccer ball was not the most attractive ball ever seen. Taking its physical features into account, there was nothing noteworthy about this ball. It weighed as light as the water bottle I carry to the gym. There was no vibrant color combination to make it appealing to the eye. It was just plain classic black and white like a Dalmatian dog but with brown stitches separating the hexagonal patches along the seams. There were patches of leather falling out, making the bladder of the ball visible. I could feel the graininess of the ball's surface

as I ran my hand on it as if I was petting a dog. There was no air inside of the bladder, and it looked as though its very soul had been removed. It looked old and spent like an elderly man in his final hours sitting on his porch silently rocking, just waiting for death to come and take him away.
I pick up the ball and turn it around, and I see innumerable cuts made by concrete walls and muddy fields. This ball had been kicked a countless number of times, on uneven fields, at the rooftop of my house, and even inside my room caused the cracked wardrobe. To mere observers, it gives the impression of a deformed ball that they would never like to play with: nothing more nothing less. But looking at it from my point of view, it is a lot more than what it looks like. It is the reminiscence of my childhood and that makes it priceless. This is the ball that attached me to the beautiful game of soccer for thirteen years and beyond.
I bring the ball closer to my ears and I can still remember that hollow high pitched sound I made when the ball was kicked improperly. I can still remember the excruciating pain when I was smacked in the face by my father who accidentally kicked the ball hard while playing soccer in the backyard. I recall the proud look on the faces of my parents and the sound of the roaring crowds when I scored the winning goal for my high school team. I now realize that it was because of the constant practice sessions with this ball that helped me mature as a player.
The ball was not always in this substandard condition. Bought fresh from the store, the ball was once simple and glossy. The black and white spheres that now are all torn were perfectly stitched together to form a mosaic of hexagons, flawlessly wrapped around a sphere. The bladder was perfectly inflated with air, neither too much nor too less. As I trailed my hand

around the ball, I could feel the smooth crevices and the gentle sleekness of the covering even with my eyes closed.
As I took the ball in my grasp, it took me to a trip down memory lane. I could still smell the grass with the faint smell of rain, mud, and earthy fumes emitted by the ball. We were not a very financially strong family in the past and had just about enough to get by. My friends used to get expensive toys for their birthday, but this was my eighth birthday present and believe me when I say I was proud as a high school student going to the prom with his crush to own merely a simple soccer ball. I remember I went all around the neighborhood showing off my new prize to people who I did not even know.
Sometimes tough things in life can also hit you like a soccer ball out of nowhere, completely unexpected. We just have to learn not to complain during life's unpleasant moments, stand back up and keep moving. I know that it sounds cliché but we, as students, are just like that worn out soccer ball. We get used and kicked by our peers, and leeched out of energy by our teachers. But, we should not just stay there still as a pond but embrace the next life-changing experience. While I sat there in my room just dwelling on my deflated ball, my mom walked into the room and said, "You should throw that trash away." Little does she know that the ball will always hold an emotional place in my heart. I ignored her words, packed it into the big cherry red suitcase and left for the airport to embark on a new endeavor.