rip

I stayed up, nearly all night yesterday, thinking about nostalgia. I planned to spend today writing about it, but was interrupted by a text from my brother this morning that simply said: "Kobe Bryant?!"

A brief Google search sunk my heart. I refreshed news pages, over and over and over, as if this was a situation in which I could demand a different result. I never could have prepared for this news, because to me, Kobe never felt human. He was immovable in the fact of basketball, a permanent fixture in the sport I have known and loved my whole life. I cannot claim to have been the biggest Lakers fan despite having lived in Los Angeles for a significant part of my life, but Kobe's "Mamba Mentality" transcended his fandom. The first time I watched Kobe's animated short, "Dear Basketball", I teared up because of the way he encapsulated his love for the sport—a love I, and countless others, have shared. Basketball was, without a doubt, my first love. Since the first shot I made in our mini home over-the-door hoop, I cherished the feeling of ball through net, of knowing a shot was going in before it even left my hand. In elementary school, it anchored me during lunch time when positive social interaction with my peers wasn't guaranteed. When we moved houses after my father's passing, I found refuge in the repetition of shots at the neighborhood cul-de-sac hoop, aiming to make a hundred after school before coming back for dinner. My strongest memories of feeling loved and accepted have been amongst teammates, united over a bond that couldn’t, and didn’t need to be, explained.

Basketball's accessibility makes it easy to love. It can be played alone or in a group, inside or outside, at any time of day. It is a sport that demands style and technique, humility and confidence. I grew up watching Michael Jordan on DVDs, Kobe and LeBron on TV, and sought to replicate their focus and drive in my own game. The basketball court was where I learned the value of dedication, the physical agony of constantly giving a hundred percent, the irreplaceable warmth of team bonds, the importance of focus, and how passion for something could fuel a soul. It never mattered that I wasn't the best. It mattered that I could play, that I could get better, and that the game would always there for me—to take away my worries and prove that the sound of a ball through a hoop would be the most reliable form of therapy. I didn't realize until today, but a love for basketball is almost inseparable from admiration for Kobe Bryant. We all love the game, but his love was palpable, transcendent, and inspired entire generations of athletes to give every shot and opportunity nothing less than everything we had. For some of us, he inspired without us even noticing—an ultimate testament to his legacy.

RIP Kobe

RIP Gigi, who I was excited to see grow as a player with profound talent and love for the game

RIP John, Keri, and Alyssa Altobelli, and all remaining unidentified victims