Too Big a Bicycle, Endless Determination
Our family shared a single bicycle. It stood outside our kampong house, leaning against a wooden post.
When I was about twelve, I decided I would learn to ride it.
The bicycle was too big for me. When one pedal reached the bottom, my foot could barely touch it. I wobbled down the rocky path in front of the house, gripping the handlebars as tightly as I could.
The bicycle seemed to have a mind of its own.
It tilted left.
Then right.
Then crashed onto the ground, taking me with it.
The sharp stones scraped my feet and left my knees bleeding. I pushed the bicycle upright and tried again.
And again.
And again.
One afternoon, something changed.
The bicycle rolled forward.
The handlebars stayed straight.
For the first time, I was no longer fighting it.
I pedalled past our house and kept going down the path.