When I was still a kid (I can’t remember what my age was back then), I got hold of this thick, yellow-covered book. I must not be too young by then, since I could understand the book; it was in English. It opened my eyes on the history and the story of other nations, of other people. That’s what hooked me with history.

By the time I stepped on high school, I had read enough books that my first year social studies teacher noticed that I knew more than what the textbook contained. After trying out two other students (one of them my brother; yes, we were in the same year, but that’s another story), she tapped me. For the division level history quiz. I should have kept my mouth shut during recitations. I should have flunked my exams.

Back then, I just came from a not-so-freak accident, and the doctor had just removed the plaster cast from my right leg. I was nervous. I was made to report to school on a Saturday for review sessions. I tried skipping these sessions, but of course I couldn’t.

While I did not win (there’s always someone better than you), the world did not end then. That was not the last contest I was entered in, either. I was tapped to be the school representative in the second and fourth years.

—

The fourth year was the most troublesome. I only joined one contest each for first year and second year. Fourth year, I was made to join five (one of them as an alternate). Good thing teachers then had foresight; they made schedules so that no two contests were held the same day (though they failed once). Luckily for me, I did not have to have mutant powers to attend to these “distractions”.

Of course, I did not win. There were close ones, though.

There was this contest about the United Nations. The rules were simple: those who got scores more than or equal to the cutoff will advance to the next round. In our year level, only one met the cutoff. I was one point less towards the next round.

Then there was one contest where honesty did me in. That contest had three rounds. The first one was a written exam, and the top ten scorers advance. The second one was an oral exam, and the top five scorers advance. And so on.

So I got in the second round. And there was that question that only I got the correct answer. Except that I misspelled it. The proctor marked it as correct; it seemed she did not know the spelling, either. And the honest boy I was, when I heard the answer being announced by the exam master, I raised my hand and pointed out the mistake. Foolish kid.

—

Shy kid that I was (I will never be a politician), I was not able to get to know a lot of people. Joining contests is a dream come true for those who wants to expand their social circle. For me, contests were just a bunch of faces lumped together for a day.

And funny thing was, you get to see the same faces. One of them I considered the worthy adversary. And why not? The combination of brains and looks is very rare; he was the embodiment of it. He came from one of the best public schools in Manila. He finished high school with honors (valedictorian). And he was one constant face in that bunch of faces.

In all the contests that I had joined (except for two), he was there. And since he is a bright kid, he got all the medals, while I get to go home with certificates of participation.

I call him the worthy adversary because he was that kid who met the cutoff score.

—

Don’t get the idea that I am bright. I am not. I just read a lot. The truth is, I’m very poor at math; heck I can’t even recite the multiplication table! (So please don’t ask me to.)

That yellow-covered book was not mine. But a high school classmate, upon learning that I love history, gave me a history book. The same yellow-covered book. It’s in tatters now, but still readable.

As for the worthy adversary: I have no news. Maybe he’s overseas, swimming in dollars. Or worse, a drunkard in a dingy alley in Sampaloc, with five kids. The “or” is highly unlikely, though.