If my 12-year-old self—a semi-professional player of Hong Kong Youth Badminton Team—knew that she could no longer play badminton on a daily basis, and had to become an amateur player in the United States, she would have been in disbelief and broken into tears.
Well, I believe that some of you may also wonder why I did not continue pursuing my professional badminton career. But before that, let me tell you a bit more about myself.
I used to be a player specialized in singles (one versus one) when I was still training in the Hong Kong Sports Institute (HKSI) in 2019. Along with other HK team members, I had practice from 5 p.m. to 9 p.m. every weekday, with Sundays being our day-off. Saturdays were for comprehensive training: physical conditioning from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m., technical shot sessions from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m., then simulated games until 4:30 p.m. Before we could go home, we were obligated to stretch for at least half an hour to reduce muscle soreness.
However, my family decided to immigrate to the United States after witnessing the 2019-20 anti-extradition protests. The protests, fueled by our Five Demands for justice and democratic values, only resulted in increasing violence and oppression by the government. As a student, I felt the urge to leave Hong Kong—our efforts did not bring the autonomy or individual freedom we deserved. More than that, I feared the backlash—I knew the Chinese-controlled HKSAR government would crack down on us; I could not imagine living under tyranny.
So we decided to leave Hong Kong—a place that I will always call Home. Tears fell out of my eyes and blurred my vision as the plane swiftly ascended into the air.
Things were no longer the same since then.
In America, government-sponsored training does not exist. You have to afford every training, equipment, or even injury treatment all by yourself. Sometimes I really wished I could be born rich; because of financial strain, I stopped myself from receiving out-of-school badminton training starting from early 2022—six months after my arrival to America.
Obviously, without intensive practice, I lost the agility and precision needed to excel in singles, which demands methodical footwork and refined techniques. And it was difficult for me to swallow the fact that I am incapable of playing singles as agile as before.
But just as Alexander Graham Bell said, “When one door closes another door opens; but we so often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us.” This was a major life lesson I needed; for the first time, I truly embraced teamwork. I became more willing to communicate, contribute, and share my thoughts within a team—something my younger, lone-wolf self would have never expected.
Though I had played doubles (two versus two) before, I had never specifically trained for it. Maybe not until my second year (2023) of staying in our School badminton team. To be fair though, doubles had been more and more fun to play as I kept meeting other good players. The door for me to excel in playing singles might have been closed; that still does not dampen my love for playing badminton—I just transitioned to be a doubles’ player from my singles’ roots.
When I play doubles, I am capable of thinking about setting up for my partner, how to rotate with them, and at the same time moving both opponents around the court. I have so much fun laughing with my partner when we make goofy mistakes; we often celebrate with high-fives when we win a good rally.
Other than that, playing doubles improves your emotional regulation skills, as you learn to manage frustration and maintain focus in challenging situations. Every time we are in a tough match or lose a point, I always remind myself that my partner is fighting side by side with me, and together we can regain our momentum. Playing doubles allows me to be more than a badminton player; it empowers me to show trust, to collaborate with others, and to feel the shared emotions—whether it be losing or winning a match.
Also, I excel at launching a combination of deceptive and powerful attacks, thanks to my previous training in singles. These shots cannot be well-executed without the technical shot practices I used to have back in 2019. Well, some of you may ask, “what does this even mean?” It may involve a lot of technical terms, so let me get to it simple: first, having a deceptive hitting form allows you to break down the opponents’ defense. For example, I always fake a powerful smash and go for a sudden loopy drop shot. Other than that, my precise net skills allow me to set up for my partner to attack. A lot of the time my opponents would get caught off guard, placing them in a bad position. Because of this, it would be difficult for them to return our shots, making it easier for us to win a point.
Things might be, in fact, no longer the same from what I have known or experienced, but I have learned to adapt and find joy in what I can do. All I hope is to enjoy the moments on court and not to stress out on winning or losing games. That being said, as I step into February—both the beginning of my adulthood and last high school badminton season, I envision myself pushing through obstacles with an undying spirit.
If, and only if, I am able to go back to 2019, I would apologize to my 12-year-old self for not fulfilling her dream of becoming a professional badminton player. But I would also tell her this: she will find her “soul tribe,” a group of supportive and fun people who will lighten up her journey—and that is worth more than any medal.
My road to be a professional player may have ended, but not my badminton journey yet. No one says I can not enjoy playing badminton if I do not receive formal training. As for now, I am planning to coach our school’s badminton team after I graduate in May. Some legacies are fated to be passed down.
All in all, I can not let down the five-year-old girl who enjoyed watching my parents hitting the birdie back and forth. This young girl with fearlessness and passion was the one who started this ongoing chronicle of mine.
