Page 217 by Krithik

blessed. I never had to work for much. I’m brown, forming connections with only those similar to me. I’m sporty, never getting enough of the athletic activities around me. I can’t change how I turned out. My environment simply shaped me. This was true until I had a ripe orange basketball in my hand, the other covering the sun’s blare from punishing my sensitive eyes. Peering into the distance, for the first time in my predominantly brown neighborhood, I saw tan skin. Instinctively, I walked over, my shiny basketball juxtaposing the bland wooden sticks in their hands. Before I knew it, I had set my ball on the muddy grass, following their lead to the flat cul-de-sac in front of my house. My eyes averted to both of their hands; one carried two wooden sticks, the other carried a pair of two liter Fanta bottles half filled with water. Then there was me. I had an overworked tennis ball in my pocket—bald. My other friend was walking in the distance. I called out, urging him to join me in this new realm of unfamiliarity. Finally, my new acquaintances came to a halt. They introduced me to this game’s name: bete-ombre, Brazilian street cricket. The fuzzy tennis ball would be rolled on the scorching blacktop, aiming to strike down the half filled soda bottles behind the players. The players would swing their sticks and score their runs by sprinting between the bases. This reminded me of a sport I was already familiar with, my nation’s staple—cricket. For the next two hours, I swung and rolled. Swung and rolled. And swung and rolled some more. This game, costing no more than $12.98, had never failed to keep me engaged. It was on this day that I shattered all my previous boundaries. My friend circle not only expanded, but diversified, letting me take in so many new wonders. Tangible items never sourced enjoyment, but the memories linked with those items did. Simply, it was never about the cost.