29 May 2011
I felt cold and hot at the same time. It was a struggle to open my eyes and get accustomed to the sunlight streaming into the room. The digital clock on my bedside read 10.20 AM. My head fell back on the pillow as I stared at the ceiling. This was already the second dream in which I lived through a footballer's career. I still don't know why I have these dreams, but their significance does not escape me.
Over the past two years, I have completely assimilated with Johan Cruyff's legacy. My game has completely transformed, and I understand it at a much deeper level now. Cruyff equipped me with the tools to not only improve my comprehension but also to improve my traits to be able to translate my ideas into actions. I had always enjoyed football, but it is thrilling now that I can play however I wish to play.
It will take me a moment to interpret the dream I have just woken up from. I need to fully return to my identity, for I have been away for 25 years. All I can currently take away is that it will be difficult to separate myself from Maldini completely. If, before, I resonated with Cruyff's vision and approach to football, this time, I resonate entirely with the footballer and person that Paulo Maldini was.
…
I snuck out of the bakery while Mama was busy with some American tourists. The ball rolled along while I walked around the block. Yes, much had changed in me, yet I felt like I was closer to myself than ever before. As if in the Paulo Maldini I dreamed of, I found many traits that were awaiting discovery within me.
On the field, it was as if I had learnt a new language, that of a protector. While reading the play and interpreting space has always been my strength, I had never before approached it as a pure defender. The tools remain the same, but the intention transforms. When you read the game to anticipate and defend, you see a different view than when you read the game to progress towards the opposition's goal. Now, I had the awareness of both outlooks, and I felt like I could write my own script and narrate my own game on the pitch.
It goes without saying that my defensive techniques: tackling, pressing, and even aerial defending, all have drastically improved. All the work Paulo had put into his foundation over 25 years has benefited me in this regard. I cannot wait to go back to training and test myself.
I was near the edge of our neighbourhood, so I turned towards the bookstore. I picked the ball up and bounced it on the road as I strolled back. Certainly, my dynamic with this ball has changed, and I am engulfed by that change.
I had never paused to understand the importance of football in my life. I had always loved football with a deep passion. I loved it so because I understood it and felt understood by it. This affection was further affirmed when I dreamt of Johan Cruyff. This morning, however, I came to realise a deep respect for the game I adore so much. The aim is no longer to just have fun, but to give my all to football. Only then would I do right by the ball in my hands.
…
Señor Garcia heard the ball bouncing outside and knew who was about to come in.
As expected, a moment later, little Jordi leaned in through the entrance, still standing outside.
"Señor?"
Señor Garcia paused upon hearing the hesitation in Jordi's voice. He looked up to Jordi's intelligent azure eyes.
"What is it, Jordi?"
Jordi's eyes searched the room.
"I finished Robinson Crusoe in English."
Señor Garcia raised his eyebrows. "Good," he replied in English.
"Did you know Paulo Maldini's father was AC Milan's captain?"
"I am quite old, you brat. Of course I know that."
"Oh"
Jordi's eyes started wandering again. At this point, Señor Garcia could only see Jordi's head inside the store.
"Did you know my father, Señor?"
Señor Garcia froze before gazing down at his boots.
"No."
Both man and boy understood it to be a lie.
Several moments passed. Señor Garcia only looked up when he heard the ball bouncing further up the street.
...
"Señor, how are you? Here, I just finished a batch of scones."
Layla Lloret walked into the bookstore and set down a Tupperware box. Layla was no longer Jordi's mother. Whenever she visited, she would become the little girl who came to Señor Garcia's with her father. Without any formality, she sat down on the makeshift chair made out of books.
"I don't know how your child came out so well-mannered."
"Old man, don't think I don't know about the sugary stuff he sneaks out to you. You don't want me to tell Ona about that, do you?"
"Ahem, shut up and listen to me, little girl!"
"Then speak."
Layla was familiar with Señor Garcia's long silences, but she was alarmed to see the reluctance on his face. Still, she waited for him to continue.
"Layla, the boy... Jordi asked about his father."
A weight fell on Layla's shoulders. Her stomach rose to greet something feared yet inevitable. This was still too early. She was not ready to break her son's heart.
"Oh... he has never brought it up with me. I guess I'll tell him some of the story if he asks."
Layla rose absentmindedly and strolled out.
"Layla"
"Yes, Señor?"
"I will never forgive you if you don't do it right. He should not be hurt in the slightest. Understood?"
"Yes, Señor."
Señor Garcia's expression softened, and he walked out to pat Layla's head.
"Don't act so brave all the time, Layla. We are all here for you. Little Jordi is very dear to me. I tell you, that boy will do great things. He is a special boy. A special boy."
...
Across the bookstore, Jordi stood in the alley next to Madam Sofia's restaurant. He hugged his football tight as he witnessed everything. Jordi, wiser than his age, understood this meeting to be about the question. He decided never to ask Mama about his father.