I run a hand through my stubborn chestnut hair, sigh, and turn to look into a mirror. All I see is pain in these unadorned hazel depths; all I hear are agonized screams piercing the stale air.
My heart shatters as I remember countless times I was left, alone and cold in the darkness or standing, in the rain, waiting for someone who would never show up. I'd smile, only to be torn down and humiliated. I would try to help, only to be told I wasn't needed.
And
now, as I look into this mirror, tears stream down my freckled face. I
know that forever shall I be alone, and in my loneliness, I shall perish.
Now I stand on the perfectly trimmed grass here in Italy, 2,000 miles from our homeland, with seventeen of my comrades. Our national anthem plays and I look up at the 70,000 fans in the stadium ready to erupt as the World Cup Championship Game is about to start.
The last time our small island country won the World Cup was twenty years ago, the year I first remembered trying to kick a ball past my father into the bushes which represented the goal net.
Our anthem rings throughout every speaker in the stadium. I look across at our opponents knowing that they've been in this game many times before compared to our country. The emotions fill my soul and as our anthem reaches its climax, a tear runs down my cheek. I look to my left at my teammates and they shed a tear, too.
Today
we play for our country and for the dreams we dreamt long ago.