The opportunity in lacking

Rennier Cuevas

It was the holidays. My cousins from Manila came to the province one night with a bulky, unfamiliar box, which they plugged the box into the television. Pulling out a DVD album similar to the ones that contained pirated discs, one of my cousins flipped the pages to find his desired game and inserted it into the slot of the strange cube: NBA Live 08, in bold flashed on the screen.

Losing consecutive times to my cousins didn’t matter as I was immediately hooked to the aspect that made it a game: the characters jumped so high, ran so fast, and hit impossible shots from insane distances. Going beyond the divide between digital and reality, I dreamed to be in their huge basketball shoes. I imagined myself jumping so high, running fast, and hitting shots from way downtown, to the demise of my opponents. It seemed like a simple night for my cousins, but for me, it was the birth of a passion.

I could have been doing these things in real life, but circumstances did not give me any chance to do so. I am diagnosed with Arthrogryposis Multiplex Congenita (AMC), which is a development of multiple joint contractures prior to birth that limits the function and range of joint motion and affects the body differently for every case. My hands, wrists, waist, legs, and ankles are either inverted, bent, or fixed, requiring me a wheelchair to travel, and a weekly therapy session is recommended to stimulate my nerves and avoid muscle stiffness.

Despite the inability to participate in sports, basketball became an escape for me, but no amount of hours spent in a video game or number of games watched—not even immense love for the game—will directly translate to real-life skills on the court.

Watching from the sidelines instilled a realization in me that we cannot excel in everything we want to be, and at times, we can only be a spectator to our dreams. Moving myself around in a computer chair or wheelchair to go back and forth a whole basketball court is so physically dragging that I would rather prefer to just view the game. It is not because I am lazy, but I know the physical limitations of having my condition.

To make up for what I cannot do, I set my sights on what I still can do. An awe-inspiring moment while playing a video game gave me an idea that I, too, can create my own immersive game, which resulted in my choice of a programming-related course to pursue in college. Furthermore, my tendency to commentate basketball games in my own mind while watching them gave me

“Here is another slap in the face: we keep fooling ourselves that tolerance is the same as acceptance, when in fact they are completely different. There is no one to blame but ourselves for this lie.”

an eye for journalism—which became an accidental passion for writing.

When we identify our own scarcities and focus on finding undiscovered passions, only then can we turn our disabilities into abilities.

Here is another slap in the face: we keep fooling ourselves that tolerance is the same as acceptance, when in fact they are completely different. There is no one to blame but ourselves for this lie.

It is my fault for tolerating people’s glares, thinking that having a disability is something bad instead of educating others for what it really is. It is possible to spread ‘awareness’ that we should avoid staring at PWDs, but it is just another form of tolerance which is several levels below acceptance.

We develop acceptance towards what we truly are when we openly acknowledge what we lack. When we talk about our deficiencies to others, we open the eyes and the minds of those who stare, and more importantly, a burden is lifted from trying to hide imperfections which are impossible to disguise in the first place.

The path towards embracing a realistic image of oneself is not an individual journey. When I doubted my future in basketball, it was my father who urged me to continue shooting and passed back all the shots I missed. My main support system—my family— reminded me that life does not end at a disability and that I possess talents I have yet to discover. School classrooms in higher floors pose a physical struggle for me, yet my friends understood my lacking and carried me through stairs no matter the height, literally and figuratively.

Society’s lens on what we lack magnifies them even more, but there are those who adjust their lenses in order to magnify a greater cause: acceptance. In the end, they know that they, too, have their own flaws, and acceptance starts with the self.

When we become open to sharing our flaws, we realize that others carry their own as well. We are all part of a bigger puzzle, and it becomes less difficult when we solve it together.

While a passion made me feel that I am scarce in something regarding myself, it became an unexpected turnaround. From it arose numerous passions, paved the way for acceptance, and gave meaning and importance.

We are all the same. We are lacking, wheelchair or not. Yet, we are also different. We all lack something in different ways—and that is perfectly fine.