The Synergy Project Magazine - August 2020

ple from all over the country. All I wanted
was to hear “That is the correct spelling”.
Right then, I realized that the journey
that I had traveled was far greater than
the end result. Right then, I forgot about
the blinding lights, the sea of people, and
the silly word. Right then, I realized how
grateful I was for the journey.
It all began in the Bayaan Academy
Spelling Bee. In all honesty, I expected to
win as none of the other students seemed
to care enough to try in the competition.
Still, I toiled and studied all the lists. In
the end, I cruised to victory after only six
rounds. The next step in my journey was
the Regional Bee. This was where it really
began. My sisters had made it to this stage
already, but none of them had achieved
what I had set out to do. None of them
Brig a dier
had won first place at the regional spelling
bee. As I drove to Admiral Farragut, where
the bee was to take place, I couldn’t get
myself to focus. A million thoughts drifted
through my mind. I tried to concentrate
on my task ahead. The early morning rays
made their presence known, splashing
onto my face. My mind was filled with
“What if’s?”, constantly popping up like
spam ads on a computer. A couple of my
friends had accompanied me on the hour
drive to Admiral Farragut. We talked and
laughed for a while. They understood the
nerves I was feeling and tried to distract
me from the task at hand. As soon as we
got there, I rushed inside. I entered the
building and tried to get comfortable.
There were rows of wooden benches on
either side of me. In the middle was the
pathway to the stage. I spoke to my family
and friends before walking up to the
stage, brimming with confidence and a
touch of nervousness. The lady in charge
of showing the students where to sit was
extremely kind. She gave me my number
and I walked over to my allotted seat. I
sank into the metal chair. My attempt to
concentrate, like those before it, was futile.
I thought to myself, This is it, this is what
you worked for. Now go and get it.
Before I knew it, the rounds were
underway. The first round, I waited for
my turn as I shifted uneasily in my seat.
Just watching the participants make their
way to the podium made me extremely
nervous. Eventually, they called me to the
podium. Comedically, I was too short to
reach the microphone on my own. The
organizers were forced to improvise and
provide me with a stool so I could read
the microphone. I stood on the stool and
waited for my word. “Finesse,” the pronouncer
enunciated. I immediately knew
the answer. Still I asked for a definition,
and promptly spelled, “F-I-N-E-S-S-E”.
I heard the pronouncer say, “That is
correct.” This allowed me to breathe a sigh
of relief. With every
round, I grew in confidence.
Eventually, after
around twenty rounds,
I was cruising through
the words from the
lists. There were eight
participants remaining.
The stakes were getting
higher and higher. This
was where the hardest
part began. This was
the dictionary round.
I was scared out
of my mind. My brain
couldn’t stop thinking
and worrying. My
first dictionary round
was an easier word, allowing me to calm
my nerves. I was given “brigadier” and
proceeded to spell it correctly, interestingly
enough due to my familiarity with
a character from the mobile game, Clash
Royale. Who knew such a futile game
would aid me in my time of need. Relief
flooded every inch of my body. Just then, I
felt the intense need to use the bathroom.
Should I ask right now? I asked myself,
I should probably just wait. I ended up
choosing the latter in this time of great
distress. A few rounds later, and there were
three participants remaining. By now, I
couldn’t sit still. My legs shook uncontrollably.
The first participant, an Indian
8th grader, stepped up to the podium.
He seemed to be overflowing with surety,
something I greatly lacked at that moment.
He proceeded to spell his word, and
I was surprised at the end to hear the bell.
This bell was the signal of loss, an audible
manifestation of failure to all spellers. His
mask of confidence was replaced by the
disappointment he wore as the judge informed
him that he could leave the stage.
As he walked past me, I wondered, Will I
be joining him next?
The tension in the room was
mounting. If I was nervous in the previous
rounds, I had now completely lost my
bearings. The next participant, an Indian
girl, proceeded to the podium, impressing
me with her self-confident stride. As
she spelled her word, I could sense her
breaking, the self-confidence displaced by
fear; a fear of messing up, a fear of disappointing,
more than herself, her parents,
but more than ever, a fear of failure. After
nearly running out of time, she awaited
her judgment; her brows scrunched and
her fists clenched. I sat up in anticipation,
hoping to hear the bell, a golden opportunity
for me and defeat for her. I wasn’t
sure which was worse, the waiting or the
reckoning. This was my chance to bring
home what I had worked so hard for. Just
then, the judges decided to huddle up to
confirm the rules of the championship
word. Simultaneously, I felt the pangs
of nature calling me
to use the bathroom
that I had felt just a
couple rounds ago.
My lack of action was
coming back to bite
me. Should I just ask
to go? I found myself
asking again. Nah,
we’re almost done, was
again the answer. I
waited for two minutes
for the judges to finish
up their huddle, still
debating whether or
not I should ask to go.
But, boy, did those two
minutes feel like hours.
The pain I went through was indescribable,
both emotionally and physically.
Still, I held on in the hope that it was to
ENTERTAINMENT 43