Top 25 in the state. Top 150 in the nation. Nationals bound.

I don’t sit at the board to participate.
I sit at the board to prove something.

Every move is a question.
Every tactic is a weapon.
Every endgame is a test of will.
And every opponent who thinks I’m just another name in the pairings learns the same lesson:

I don’t fold. I don’t panic. I don’t disappear when the position gets ugly.

“Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another.” — Proverbs 27:17

That is why I chase stronger opponents.
That is why I enter harder tournaments.
That is why I do not fear ratings, titles, trophies, or reputations.
A stronger opponent does not intimidate me.
A stronger opponent sharpens me.

“Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.” — Galatians 6:9

Chess is not about one brilliant move.
It is about the thousands of quiet hours nobody sees.
The games studied when everyone else is relaxing.
The losses replayed until they become lessons.
The tactics drilled until calculation becomes instinct.
The pain of being close, but not close enough.

That is where players are made.

I made Nationals the hard way.
Not through luck.
Not through easy pairings.
Not through shortcuts.

I had to sit across from a higher-rated opponent and prove that I belonged.

The board did not care about my dreams.
The clock did not care about my nerves.
The rating gap did not care about my confidence.
There was no speech, no excuse, no safety net.
Just sixty-four squares, one opponent, and one chance to seize what I had been chasing.

And in that moment, I understood something:

Dreams are not given to the people who want them.
They are taken by the people who are willing to suffer for them.

So I fought.
I calculated.
I refused to drift.
I refused to collapse.
I refused to treat a higher-rated player like a wall I could not climb.

Because the truth is simple:

A rating is a number. Pressure is a choice. Legacy is earned.

“The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.” — Ecclesiastes 9:11

The favorite does not always win.
The higher seed does not always survive.
The stronger player on paper still has to prove it over the board.

That is what makes chess beautiful.
There are no excuses once the game begins.
Your preparation speaks.
Your nerves speak.
Your discipline speaks.
Your courage speaks.

And when the moment came, I seized it.

Nationals was not a gift.
It was a declaration.

I am top 25 in the state.
I am top 150 in the nation.
And I am still not satisfied.

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” — Philippians 4:13

I know what it means to lose.
I know what it means to be doubted.
I know what it means to sit in a worse position and still search for one resource, one trick, one saving move.
I know what it means to walk into a tournament with pressure on my name and expectations on my back.

But pressure does not break me.

Pressure reveals me.

“Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed.” — Joshua 1:9

That is the mindset.

No fear of the rating.
No fear of the title.
No fear of the stage.
No fear of the clock.
No fear of the moment.

Just preparation, calculation, and cold execution.

My quote:

“I don’t chase comfort. I chase the version of myself that would destroy me today.”

That is the mission.
To improve until old versions of me look weak.
To train until yesterday’s ceiling becomes today’s floor.
To become the kind of player people prepare for.
To become the kind of name people do not want to see in the next round.

“For a righteous man falls seven times, and rises again.” — Proverbs 24:16

I have fallen.
I have lost winning positions.
I have miscalculated.
I have missed tactics.
I have walked away from games knowing I should have done better.

But I rose.

Again.
And again.
And again.

That is the difference.

Some players lose and look for excuses.
I lose and build weapons.

Some players fear stronger competition.
I hunt it.

Some players want the title.
I want the work that makes the title inevitable.

Top 25 state.
Top 150 national.
Nationals bound.

This is not the finish line.
This is the warning shot.

The dream is not coming to me. I am coming for it.

___________________________________________________________

I love being underrated.

I love when people look at the pairing sheet and think they got the easy round.
I love when they see my rating and not my preparation.
I love when they judge the player before they understand the fire.

Because being underrated is freedom.

No spotlight.
No comfort.
No empty hype.

Just hunger.

When they underestimate me, they give me the one thing every dangerous player needs: a reason.

And I keep receipts.

Every doubt becomes fuel.
Every smirk becomes focus.
Every person who counted me out becomes another name in the story.

I do not need everyone to believe in me.
I do not need everyone to like me.
I do not need applause before the battle.

I need the board.
I need the clock.
I need the pressure.

That is where the truth comes out.

And yes, I know what it feels like to lose.

I know the sting of shaking hands after a game I should have won.
I know the silence after blundering a position I built for hours.
I know the walk away from the board when the tournament hall feels louder than ever, even though nobody is saying a word.

Losing hurts.

But that pain is honest.

It shows you exactly where you are weak.
It exposes the gaps you tried to ignore.
It strips away ego, excuses, and fake confidence.

That is why I do not run from losses.

I study them.

I sit with them.

I let them burn.

Because the sting of losing is not there to destroy me.
It is there to sharpen me.

“For a righteous man falls seven times, and rises again.” — Proverbs 24:16

Fall once. Learn.
Fall twice. Adjust.
Fall seven times. Rise eight.

That is the code.

The loss is not the end of the story.
It is the lesson before the next chapter.

Every defeat teaches calculation.
Every heartbreak builds discipline.
Every painful result adds another layer of steel.

People see the win.
They do not see the rebuild.

They do not see the late nights going through the game again.
They do not see the anger turning into preparation.
They do not see the quiet promise you make to yourself:

Never again.

Not like that.

Not without a fight.

So hate me if you want.
Doubt me if you want.
Root against me if you want.

I have learned to use all of it.

The hate becomes pressure.
The pressure becomes focus.
The focus becomes precision.
And the precision becomes checkmate.

“If God is for us, who can be against us?” — Romans 8:31

I was not built for easy respect.
I was built for earned respect.

I was not built to be everyone’s favorite.
I was built to be the problem they have to solve.

And if they still think I am underrated, good.

Let them.

By the time they realize the danger, the position will already be lost.

_______________________

“Put me on broadcast. Let them see what happens when hunger meets comfort, when preparation meets ego, when the underrated underdog snatches the dreams of the proud and lazy favorites. When the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob is on my side, who can come against me? Nobody can. Nobody will.”

People have told me time and time again that I wasn’t good enough. That it wasn’t possible for me to do it. Well, look at me now. Every day, I’m getting better and making. because that’s what champions do. And I am a champion. Sure, I’ve fallen. I’ve failed time and time again.

Over time, that familiar sting of loss became my fuel. My pain became my motivation. That’s how I’ve won.

They say 1 state championship podium finish is a miracle.

2 state titles are a coincidence.

3 is a pattern.

4 is a champion.

5 is an anomaly.

6 is a legend.

7 is a purpose.

8 is destiny.

9 is fate.

10 is well, let’s find out.

Let’s go 10/10.

People say that I ruined the game. I made it look too easy when I won arenas and OTB tournaments. When I beat people blindfolded, 4 of them at the same time. I’ve been called a party trick, a one-trick pony, and a Linsanity run. I’ve been oversimplified and overcomplicated. I’ve faced pressure, which turned coal in me to diamonds. Maybe I was never that good. Maybe I was just lucky.

Or maybe, y’all are just making excuses.

Checkmelater