Share:

Showing Up Matters

Growing up, I used to think that winning any performance was the most important thing. But as I grew older, I realized that winning is not the biggest thing. The biggest thing is when you look into the audience and see a familiar face looking back at you. The happiness, the experience, and the confidence that comes from that feeling are completely different.

When I was younger, I used to be extremely happy when I received a prize, praise, or heard the sound of applause. But as I grew older, I won many competitions, yet there was no one with me to celebrate those victories. I am not saying that I win every time. I lose too, and I win too. But if even one person I knew came and sat in one of those empty seats in the audience just for me, I would feel appreciated in a completely different way.

For me, if no one comes to watch my performance, even if I win, it feels like a loss. But if someone comes for me and I lose, it still feels like a win.

I look at other people. Whether they win or lose, as soon as their performance is over, they go to their people and share what happened. When they win, they share their happiness. When they lose, they share their sadness. But when I lose, there is no one to share that sadness with, and when I win, there is no one to tell about my progress either. Sometimes, I think the hardest part was never losing. It was having a moment worth remembering and realizing there was no one beside me to remember it with. I learned to clap for myself, to wipe my own tears, and to quietly carry both my victories and disappointments home. But a child should not have to become their own audience.

The situation has reached a point where, these days, I don't even feel like telling anyone whether I won or lost. Even after I come home, no one asks, “How did it go? What happened?” I know that everyone is busy. I know our parents carry many responsibilities and have sacrificed many things for us. I understand all of that.

I remember those days when I would wait at the gate for so long, hoping that someone would come for me. Sometimes, I even asked my teachers to put my performance towards the end, just so there would be a little more time for someone to arrive and watch me perform. But the answer was always the same. No one came. No one really did. It felt like they didn't care. I cried my heart out. I cried until I had nothing left to cry. And it wasn't the first time. But somehow, every time, the pain felt deeper than before.

After a while, I stopped caring. Or at least, I learned to act like I didn't.

But just one performance. Just coming to watch one performance and sitting in an empty seat for a little while can make a child incredibly happy. A prize can be forgotten quickly. A certificate eventually becomes just another piece of paper. But the memory of looking into the audience and seeing someone you love sitting there that memory is different. Perhaps this is what children are asking for. They are not saying, “Come watch me because I won.” They are simply saying, “Come watch me.”

Winning is not the biggest thing. Just watch them perform. So, to all the parents, I hope you remember that your child may forget how many trophies they received, how many medals they won, how many marks they got, or what rank they achieved. They might even forget the competition itself.

But they will never forget whether you were there, sitting somewhere in that audience.

Because showing up matters.