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Badminton is a profound sport. It is an intense yet delicate exercise that requires a minimum of two players, commanding them to incorporate split-second decision and delicate control.
There is something graceful and spiritual about the sport. It commands the harmony between dualities; the Yin and Yang. Every stroke has to be powerful and yet restrained within a box. Every position requires anticipation.
During a game, time becomes relative.
Time flounders about like someone meddling the dial of a radio in an electronic store, turning the tempo up or down on a whim.
A feathery shuttlecock bounds back and forth as two bodies rally, separated by a net in a dimly-lit auditorium at the same time stifled by the lack of ventilation.
Every time the shuttlecock hits the racket, a firm whooshing sound releases itself like a soul being yanked out of a body. This back-and-forth volley reverberates within the arena, magnifying the sounds like a thousand spirits being lifted into purgatory.
Kind of like the angel of death is out on a collecting spree as we suffocate ourselves in the windowless auditorium.
