Author’s Note:
This article was written after I achieved the title of National Master (see my other article, Journey to National Master: A Dream Comes True at the Dreaming King Open). Competing in the World School Championship in Peru was one of the most challenging and eye-opening experiences of my chess career. Even after almost a year, I can still feel the pain of my losses and the motivation they sparked in my chess journey. SCCF President Mr. Alaa-addin Moussa encouraged me to reflect on these lessons and share them with other young players. I hope my experiences inspire and guide others, especially those who may have doubts about their own chess journey.
The World School Championship in Peru was one of the toughest tournaments I had ever played—a grueling nine-round battle against some of the best young players in the world. As one of only six players representing the USA, I felt both immense pride and pressure. Wearing my country’s colors, I wanted to prove myself.
Beyond the chessboard, I had an unexpected moment—local media interviewed me and my mom, asking about my journey, my training, and what it meant to represent the USA. It was exciting, but I knew my real story would be written over the board. Coming in as one of the top-seeded players, I had high hopes. I believed in my skills, but what I didn’t realize was how much this tournament would teach me—not just about chess, but about resilience, decision-making, and mental strength.
A Strong Start, A Tough Reality Check
The tournament started smoothly. I won my first game with confidence, but Round 2 delivered a harsh lesson. I built up a winning position, applied pressure, and waited for my opponent to crack. Then, my chance came—a single move that would have ended the game immediately.
But I missed it.
(As presented in the left diagram, if I took the e6 pawn instead of taking the bishop, I would be winning. )
The opportunity slipped away, and what should have been a win turned into a frustrating draw. That moment stuck with me, but I had no time to dwell on it. I bounced back with two consecutive wins, setting up a critical Round 5. Victory here meant staying with the leaders; a loss would be a disaster. After an intense battle, I won, reaching 4.5/5 and keeping my title chances alive.
A Costly Mistake
Round 6 put me on Board 3 against another strong contender. The game was long and tense, with chances for both sides. Then, I got another golden opportunity—a move that would have turned the game in my favor. But I hesitated, overthought, and let it slip.
Hours of defending later, I made one careless move—and just like that, the game was over.
As I sat back in my chair, staring at the massive tournament hall, reality hit me. One move had undone everything. My mom, who had supported me every step of the way, was there, but at that moment, neither of us had words. We just felt the weight of that loss.
That night, I barely slept. I kept replaying the game in my mind—what if I had found that winning tactic? What if I had just played one different move?
Fighting Until the End
Determined to move forward, I won Round 7 with a clean and confident game. My hope for a strong finish was still alive.
Then came Round 8—a game that changed everything.
I outplayed my opponent early, but as I kept searching for the perfect move, my clock kept ticking. Time pressure crept in. In the final moments of a chaotic endgame, my opponent offered me a draw. My mind raced—I knew I had been winning, but my advantage was slipping. Should I take the draw or push forward?
I chose to fight.
And then, disaster struck. With seconds left, I played a move—and before I could even process it, my flag fell. I had lost on time.
My opponent stood up in shock. I sat there, devastated. I had been winning. I had a chance. But poor time management cost me everything.
That loss ended my hopes for a title. I won my final round, but it didn’t change the reality: this tournament was not a victory—it was a lesson.
I didn’t even want to stay for the closing ceremony. Neither did my mom. Instead, we left for the airport early, sitting there in silence, feeling the weight of the tournament. Months of preparation, close calls, and hard-fought battles had led to this moment. It hurt.
What I Learned
Looking back, this tournament was one of the most valuable experiences of my chess career. Every tough game, every painful loss, every missed opportunity shaped me into a stronger player. And ultimately, these lessons helped me become a National Master:
🔹 Perfection isn’t the goal. You don’t always need the best move—just a good move. Overthinking costs time, and time is everything.
🔹 Time management is key. Never spend too long on a single move. Trust your intuition and keep the game moving.
🔹 Adapt to the position. If you lose your advantage, don’t keep playing as if you’re winning. Adjust, refocus, and fight for the new reality.
🔹 Losing isn’t the end. It’s part of the journey. After a loss, reset. Take each game one at a time. The best players are the ones who recover the fastest.
This tournament wasn’t my greatest success, but it was one of my most important experiences. Every setback, every tough moment, every heartbreak was a stepping stone to improvement.
To anyone struggling to improve—keep pushing. Learn from your mistakes. Embrace the struggle. Because in chess, as in life, the real victory is growth.
Experiencing the Warmth of Peru
One of the things that made this tournament special was the people. The locals in Peru were incredibly friendly, and I even got asked for an autograph during a round break! Beyond the competition, I made a lot of new friends from different countries, sharing stories and learning from each other. That’s something I truly love about traveling for chess—the opportunity to meet players from around the world, experience different cultures, and grow both as a person and a competitor.
