sometime between being drunk and being sober, i played chess for the first time in many, many years.

you could say, what's the big deal, people do it all the time. they stop playing for a long time, then the right moment comes and they're suddenly playing again like it had always been like that.

but as i was laying in bed, thinking how i even managed to drive myself home, i suddenly remembered the first chess board that my dad got me years and years ago. i think i was in the second grade. maybe third. but that's not too important.

i remember how excited i was when i got it and how i stared at the white and green (yes, green!) squares for a long time because the pattern they made seemed very cool. and i remember my dad telling me what all pieces are called, and that some people will say "tower" instead of "rook," but it's really called a rook and ignore what everyone else calls it. then he starts showing me how each piece works, what's a legal move and what's not, when to move certain pieces and when not to, how some pieces are more important than the others because the number and direction of squares they cover are a direct gauge of their power. i remember the first game we played and that i lost in less than ten moves, but that i can't remember playing a second game. there probably was a second game.

i just think it's funny how i remember seemingly mundane things like my first ever chess board and learning how to play chess. and even after two quarters of fluid mechanics, i still can't tell you what Manning's Equation is, and this is after i made a spreadsheet that calculates it for work. i can't remember the first time i ever held a boy's hand, or at which part of The Lion King made me cry the most. but ask me about my first encounter with chess, and i can tell you exactly where i was and what color the walls were.

for the longest time, i've always shown dislike toward my dad. i guess it's because i know how he used to be this fearless, cunning person when he was younger, and that i could never even come close to it. call it hate, call it jealousy. i just don't like the fact that back when he was in college, he could take a final hungover and still ace it. and i can't even get out of bed hungover. or how he used to double-cross the people he gambled with when he was really little and got away with it all. and i always have the hardest time lying. i guess, in the back of my mind, i've always wanted to carry on the legacy, but i can't even compare. it's disappointing, even in the wrong way.

but i like remembering all things like the chess moment. call it lame, call it mundane, but it makes me happy. like, genuinely happy. not post-vodka happy. real happiness. i never really told anyone this and i wouldn't even admit it to you if you asked me, but i've always looked up to my dad. i want to pattern my youth according to how he lived his, and i want to reach my goals the same way he tackled life and all the hurdles that came with it. it's hard to explain, but maybe all i'm really trying to do is seek his approval so i won't feel like my being a girl is a failure to him. he doesn't have any sons.