By: Jerry Zhao
Am I going to lose here, I doubted myself, had I not prepared enough? I forced myself away from my thoughts and focused back on the game; as my position got worse, I started taking more time on each move. I could hear the footsteps of the visitors, the collision of boards and pieces, and the ticking of the clock. They were like whips forcing me to make a move. I could feel the sweat crawl down from the back of my head down to my spine, and I could feel the cold air of the AC cutting through my body and the desperate desire to win growing colder in my mind.
I am a chess player and have been playing ever since I was in second grade. Four years ago, I immigrated to the U.S., and since my first language was not English, I had trouble communicating with others. So I shifted my focus from chess to studying a new language. Even though I eventually was fluent in English and could communicate well with others, my chess skills needed to improve. Without practicing for a few months, I could tell I was not as precise with my moves compared to a few months ago. In addition, a chess competition was coming up, and I was not confident about my performance.
I immediately started preparing and picking back up my strategies. With only a few days left, I had to rush through my notes and remember as much as I could. I wished I had more time, but it was time for the competition. Finally, it was the last game of the competition. I won the previous games without trouble, but I knew this would be difficult. My opponent had a much higher rating and seemed way more prepared than I was. However, I knew, that was it, I had to give it all I had.
The round had started, “Click,” the sound of the chess clock being hammered down echoed itself across the room as countless other games started alongside mine. Soon, the voices died down, with the only occasional sounds of chess pieces landing on the board and the clicks of clocks. My opponent was a tall middle-aged man, with blonde hair and a thick beard; however, he was not the bold man he seemed to be when on the chessboard. He played extremely slowly, contemplating each move carefully, averaging 8 minutes per move. Even though at the beginning I was feeling confident, my confidence began to wane. My opponent was applying constant pressure and slowly building up power to attack my kingside, I felt defeated. Even though I knew I was at a great disadvantage, I still encouraged myself to play on with only a sliver of hope that I could win. I traded pieces to the point there was not enough material he could use to defeat me immediately. I was in great relief. However, I knew that wasn’t the end yet, I had neutralized the position and gained the upper hand, however, with the little advantage I had, I could not overcome my opponent. At this point, most people in the tournament had finished their game and left, leaving me and my opponent with a few other lingering games in the cold and vacant room.
Even though I drew the last game, I still had the most points and won the tournament. This gave me great confidence and encouraged me to keep studying chess to this day. In the lyrics of the song “One Moment in Time” by Albert Hammond and John Bettis, they described how vital and critical the moment is. These moments are rare and can change people's lives entirely if the opportunity is grasped. To make it easier to understand myself, I like to think of it as a critical position in chess when one good move can give the player an advantage; on the other hand, if misused, it can lead to failure and losing the game. I experienced a similar moment during the last game of a chess competition that completely changed my views on chess, and taught me that no matter what, there is a chance to recover.