Cyberbaguioboy

n. moment of truth

1. A critical or decisive time on which much depends; a crucial moment.
2. In Sports. The point in a bullfight at which the matador makes the kill.

(Source: The Free Dictionary)
Two days from now, I will be facing the “bull.” It’s my own moment of truth, I think. I should know when to “make the kill” and emerge victorious. Too dramatic for you, eh?

I guess you have had your moments of truth when snap decisions have to be made. There are times however when we hesitate. So we postpone decisions until it is too late. Sounds familiar?

I keep coming back to the movie The Pursuit of Happyness, which is based on a self-made man known as Christopher Gardner, to explain my recent brush with the bull. It was perhaps the biggest bull I’ve seen in the last for years. The last time I had seen one was back in 2002 or at least several years ago.

I tried to wrestle with the bull. But the bull proved strong and stubborn. So I began an offensive. I used longer and sharp weapons to weaken the animal. It proved useless. It continued its charge until I got hit badly in the side. That hurt, and I was out for a moment.

I eventually regained consciousness. The crowd was silent. They thought I died. But when I struggled to pull myself up, the crowd cheered. Phew. That was close. I fixed my eye on the bull that was pacing. It was as if it knew that I was out. It was scoping me, I guess because as I positioned myself for another offensive, it started galloping. Again, it charged, horns pointed straight to my heart.

But at the right moment, I pulled out my red cape and covered my bleeding side and chest. There was a confused moment in the bull’s eyes. But it was too late. It charged on. I took a few steps back, moving gracefully to the left. The bull missed my heart by several inches, just enough to silence the crowd. My side still hurt, but I was able to hide the pain. I smiled and bowed to the crowd.

The bull charged again. I take a few steps sidewards. The bull missed its target. This time, the bull was pissed. It charged again. For a moment, everything seemed in slow motion, as I grabbed the a silver sword and plunged it deep into the raging bull. It groaned a little. Cheers again.

The bull was relentless, as it charged again. I took another sword, and aimed between the withers and into the aorta region…my moment of truth.

The bull limps for a few seconds, then collapses to the ground.