The Short Story

Hi, I’m Tom Foolery. Most people just call me Tom, though a few take pleasure in the “Fool” part. Do I mind? Sometimes.

But honestly,I have bigger worries–like finding a way to win at something, anything. Oh God! Why am I so hopeless? I can’t do anything well. I’m nobody.  At least, that’s how it feels. No matter what I try, I never seem to measure up. Track and field? I come in last, every time. Debate competitions? My arguments crumble halfway through. And do you know if it’s in class? I always get second rank-from bottom. It’s humiliating.  

"Well, I once thought that what happened to me was because of my name. My classmates called me a Fool. I was offended, but each time I tried to complain, they laughed at me and said that wasn't your name, Tom FOOLery?.  I felt sad and disappointed in my useless self.

I wanted to argue, to tell them how much it hurt. But what happened? The more I fought it, the harder they laughed. So, I stayed silent, letting the label sink into my skin. And the worst part? maybe they were right.

"Why do you even bother joining competitions if you never win? Well, if your non-academic skills are bad, at least your academic skills are good. If this keeps up, how will you ever make your parents proud?" said Josh, the top-ranking student. For a moment, I thought—my parents didn’t really care about what I did. But somehow, that was even more pressure. Without their expectations,I felt like I was falling even more, unable to prove that I could achieve something worth being proud of.

I stayed silent, but my mind was noisy. Look at that—people only know how to judge without understanding how I feel. What could I say? That I'm tired too? That I want to stop trying? But if I give up, then what will be left for me?

That day, after losing the basketball game for who knows how many times, I walked down the corridor that mingled with the afternoon sunshine to the library. No, not because I was a diligent kid trying my luck. It was just that this was the only safe and comfortable place to be alone, avoiding the judgment of my fellow humans. I chose to sit near the bookshelf on psychology and self-development. My eyes accidentally saw a title that caught my attention.  Wow! I felt that this book had a connection to my soul. The book was small, the cover shabby, the color faded with a handwritten title: Diary of a Champion. There was no name of the author. Curiosity made me open the first page.

First day

- I lost again. Today I failed to score a single point in this competition. My coach was disappointed. My friends mocked me. I sit alone in the corner of the court, asking myself….is it time for me to give up? But I also know one thing: winning is a long process and starts from the first defeat. With this strength, I convinced myself to rise again.

This text seemed to speak to me. Is this story similar to what I experienced? I continued reading the next page.  

Seventh day

- My first win was not scoring points. Today, I decided not to give up. Yes, this is my first victory.

I stayed where I was. This book is not about someone who always wins. Rather, it's the story of the struggles of a student who felt like a failure, just like me, but chose to keep going.

Fifteenth day

- Life must go on. I started to realize that every small step towards improvement is a victory. Standing up without hesitation, speaking louder, and running one second faster. All of these are victories.

I have a best friend now. Yep! This diary has become my bestie. Whenever I feel hopeless, I’ll read it. Slowly, I’ve also started doing what the writer of this diary does.

. The last day

- True victory is when you can prove that you rise more often than you fall. Your rival is yourself, so become a winner for yourself. A spirit that never fades is the true soul of a winner.

I closed my eyes. Every word beautifully written on this paper ignited a fire in myself to become better than the person I was before. “A victory isn’t just about the trophy,” I thought.

The next month, I joined another running competition and stopped thinking about the first winner. I just needed to do better than I did last time! I cheered myself. I ran, savoring every step. Reflect, improve – these have become my principle.

Some people, I mean my friends from another class, laughed mockingly when they saw me.

“Is this loser trying again?” someone sneered.

I glanced at them briefly. My goodness, who were they to judge me? I didn’t even know their names. But this time, I don’t care about it.

The whistle blew, I ran. I wasn’t focused on getting first place — I was chasing my progress. The wind brushed against my face, my steps steady, and my heart pounded fiercely.

For once, I wasn’t weighed down by doubt. I just ran.

When I crossed the finish line, I didn’t win a trophy — just as I had expected. But that wasn’t the point. I had placed 33rd out of 40 runners–higher than ever before. A small step, but for me, it was everything.

Today, I won against myself. And for the first time, I felt like a winner.