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Kor Kor (Older Brother)

Her eyes continued to widen with each passing second. She tried to keep up with her brother's movement as his darting feet twinkled over the court. 

Everything Kor Kor did was magical. 

He put the ball through his legs, behind his back, switched it from left to right - all in a couple of seconds. She wanted all of it. She wanted to do all of it. 

With each made basket, she rose to her feet and yelled in jubilee. Nothing else in her entire world mattered. Her hands were red from relentless applause, her voice hoarse from shouting that can only be described as "too-much" and "too-loud". 

Yet it was the end of the game that brought her the most joy - the moment when Kor Kor would ruffle her hair and give her a cheeky grin. 

OH to be like him! 

But she dipped her head to look at her skinny arms and bony frame. Basketball was a sport for tall people they said. They, of course, were absolutely right. But she would try anyway. 

Try? Try why? 

Why, to be like her brother of course. If she could... if she could even copy a part of him... surely her family would be proud, right? Surely papa and mama would love her more, right? Maybe one day, she'll even get her own little trophy shelf filled with her own little trophies. Oh the spotlight would be solely on her, and her innumerable fanboys and fangirls - her fanchildren - would throw endless streams of rose bouquets. Oh and she would say thank you, and bow, and wave, and say 

"Oh I love you all. I love you ALL!" 

She was mesmerized, and by her own unrestrained imagination no less. 

These were her dreams. And her dreams compelled her to action. 

In her mind, Eye of the Tiger would play as she trained day and night. No one would truly notice her however, but that was fine for her. She believed that one day, all this effort would pay off. Her training montage would finally end and lead to a glorious crescendo of happy thoughts and trumpet poots. 

~doot doot doot doot~ 

So we see our girl train in the wee hours. And she changed. 

She got better. 

Her crossovers - smooth like butter. 
Her step-backs - more unexpected than a whiff of a silent fart. 
Her lay-ups - made without hesitation. 
Her dribbles- made with hesitation. 

She studied film. She studied form. She studied proper court etiquette. 

She bought greaaattt kicks. 


And she was ready. She was. She really was! She knew it. She just had to let others know it too. 


Basketball tournament, her name, contact number, IC, age, blood type. 

She was getting hyped. She wore a headband.  Her teammates too. 

Then the whistle sounded, the ball tipped, and it all went to shit. 
They got beat, bad. 

Kor Kor's shadow got a little larger, and a whole lot darker. 
In fact, everything got darker. 

Life was now non-salvageable by montage. Non-salvageable by anything really. She bought her trophy shelf for nothing. She'll just stick to videos then. Spectate, let the professionals do it. Seat with all the other good-for-nothings and be a fan. 

Scream, because that's the only thing she can do. 



Maybe one day she'll learn that basketball or any sport isn't all about winning or losing. About trophies or points or assists or rebounds. One day, she'll play because she's bored. She'll play for the sake of it. And she'll feel the wind in her hair, the bounce in her step, the satisfaction in a made basket. 

Then she'll smile and realise that nothing else matters at that very moment, because she had found joy in the simplest of acts. Her heart will grow with each swish of the net, and she'll be whole once again. 


But on this day, she wallows alone waiting, wanting the world to swallow her whole. Until Kor Kor, with an understanding nod, offers a hand, 

"Wanna play with me today?" 






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