Bi-cycle of Life

by Renz Chester R. Gumaru

Michael stared at the old bike, its blue paint chipped and rust creeping along the frame. His father had owned it—a secondhand he was not sure he wanted.

The park buzzed with life: kids zooming on bikes, couples pedaling in sync. Michael stood frozen. He realized he was too old to admit he didn’t know how to ride.

He gripped the handlebars tightly. His father’s words echoed in his mind: “Life is like riding a bike. You will fall, but you get up. Always.”

He pushed off, wobbling violently. The world tilted, and the ground slammed into him. Pain shot through his hands and knees. A boy nearby laughed until his mother silenced him with a sharp glance.

Michael sat there, dusting off dirt and shame. He wanted to quit, but he could hear his father’s voice, steady and unyielding, urging him to try again.

“Falling is part of it.”

The second attempt was even worse. He wobbled, veered off course, and scraped his elbow on the pavement. The pain stung, but something deeper hurt more: years of doubt, the weight of every failure that had piled on his shoulders.

He thought about school, about nights spent crying over math problems that seemed impossible. About his first job, fumbling through spreadsheets, convinced he wasn’t good enough. Every step in life had felt like this—awkward, painful, hopeless. But somehow, he always found his way.

With trembling hands, Michael stood again. He took a deep breath, then pushed off harder. The bike wobbled, but this time, his legs found a rhythm. His arms steadied. He pedaled faster, and the world around him softened.

The wind kissed his face, carrying something he hadn’t felt in years—freedom.

He laughed aloud, a raw, broken sound that carried every ounce of relief in his heart. For the first time in a long while, he felt unstoppable.

The sun dipped low, painting the park in gold as he slowed to a stop. Nearby, the boy who had laughed earlier was now gripping his bike, his mother crouched beside him.

The boy pushed off, wobbled, and fell. He looked ready to cry.

Michael knelt beside him, his voice soft but firm. “It’s okay. Falling is part of learning. Just keep pedaling.”

The boy sniffled, nodded, and tried again.

Michael watched him, his chest tightening. In the boy, he saw himself—scared, unsure, but still trying.

As he walked home, his bike at his side, Michael felt something shift inside. The road of life was full of falls, but every time you got back up, you grew stronger.

He glanced at the fading sunlight, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Thanks, Dad,” he whispered.

The journey was far from perfect, but he was determined to keep pedaling. Always.