
“When I Stopped Playing to Win”
There was a time I played to win.
Every match. Every shot.
It was about the money, the pride, the name on the bracket.
I’d stare down opponents.
Hold my breath until the 9-ball dropped.
Smile when I won.
Leave quietly when I didn’t.
But then something changed.
One day, I was playing a boy barely tall enough to reach the table.
His form was wrong. His hands shaky.
But when he made a shot, he laughed — loud, like it was magic.
And I remembered:
That was me.
That was why I started.
Now, I don’t play to win.
I play to feel.
To remember the rhythm of chalk.
The dance of cue ball and silence.
The way the game speaks when no one else is talking.
These days, if I win — good.
If I don’t — better, maybe.
Because then I get to show them:
Grace isn't just in victory.
It's in how you lose.
How you smile.
How you still show up — even with slower hands.
I play to pass something on.
Not trophies.
But love.
— Efren “Bata” Reyes

When did you stop chasing wins — and start chasing meaning?