Not Yet

Not again. There weren’t any words to describe how I felt as I walked into my greenhouse and saw my single purple rose on the dirt, wilted. Was I angry? Sad? Disappointed? Was there even a tinge of relief? Or a mix of all of it? I really had no clue. I didn’t have time to feel anything, because it happened too quickly. It made no sense. It was a beautiful, blooming flower yesterday and suddenly it’s gone. I sighed, knelt on the ground, and cursed the universe for doing this to me again. For making me go through all the effort just to be rewarded with the same results. My hands were torn apart from the rose’s thorns from tending to it every single day. I did not mind. Not one bit. All I wanted was for this one to stay alive.

The greenhouse was huge, but I make it a point to only ever keep one plant in it at a time. A flowering plant with a single bloom. The reason is that I never had green fingers. Everything I grew always died. If I can’t take care of one plant, why get more? But I never gave up. I always tried my best. With every new flower, I improved myself. I tended them with more care. I used better soil and better fertilizers. I’m not lying when I thought it would actually work this time.

Then I realised something. I hated myself. I hated myself because as I thought I was getting better at it, I got more attached to the bloom. I started giving it all my time, all my energy, and all my heart. Maybe this time, I just didn’t expect to be disappointed.

I let out a little chuckle. Josie was right after all. I should always be prepared to be disappointed. Oh, I could hear her taunting me already, with her “I told you so” and “Why don’t you ever listen?”

Slowly, I rose back to my feet. Josie’s going to tease me good, I can tell, but I sure as hell am going to shut her up once and for all. I’ll show her that one day, I can grow and tend to a flower so well, that I will never see it wilt till the day I die.

But here comes the hard part.

After every flower wilted, I returned to The Garden in search for a new one. I hated The Garden for two reasons. The first was that I could never search for the flower I wanted without hurting myself on thorns in the process, or crushing some along the way. The second was that it took too long for me to find a flower worthy for me to bring back to my greenhouse. My last search went on for more than a year.

I took a deep breath and walked out of my greenhouse. Before I knew it, I was at the edge of The Garden. I surveyed the place, and made myself a vow. A vow I made every single time. But this time, I will make it happen. I swear. The next time I step out of there will be my last. The next bloom I carry home doesn’t have to be perfect – they never are – but I’ll make sure I’ll care for it until my dying breath. I’ll make sure that each and every day of that bloom’s life would only ever be filled with sunshine. But if it gets dark and cold, I would sit there with it – shivering with it instead of keeping myself warm. I know I’m stupid. It’s just a flower. But what can I say. We do stupid things for those we care about.

Josie would laugh her head off if she knew what’s going on in my head.

-Izzat R.

Slumber

  I walked out into the dark, cold night as the last stragglers scurried back to their homes. I shivered as a breeze wafted by. The cold was not to my liking, but I knew I needed to do this. I marched up a hill all alone with nothing but my shadow by my side. Silhouettes lingered right outside my vision, threatening to end my sorry existence. But this was important. I knew I had to do it, because it was the only way. The only way to talk to you.

As I approached the peak, a familiar face greeted me. 'The Man In The Moon' they call it. The face of the moon that always greets me, no matter what phase it is in. And tonight, it was the full moon. The most important night of all. And there it was, in all its majestic glory. I looked up at the moon and the thoughts ran through my mind like they always did.

My love for you is unparalleled by any other, even as the miles separate our physical selves. A love so powerful, no shadow has dared approach me. Your very presence so radiant, it illuminates the world and pierces through the cold darkness. You guide the lost. You give them hope. You give ME hope. Your beauty and charm so undeniable, the tides bow to your gravity. You pull me into your own personal orbit.

I love you so, but I can do nothing now but hope. Hope that while I prepare to enter my slumber, you will rise with me in your mind. Hope that you will continue in your regular path while I'm gone. Hope that you will continue to give those around you your shining grace. And hope that you're on the other side of the oceans, looking up at the very same moon, hearing me talk to you.

Blank

             Dusk fell across the land. Yet, I sat there, staring at the blank pages of my book. I held my pen aloft, just above the top left corner of the very first page. Still, nothing came. I wasn’t surprised. I’ve sat here for as long as I can remember but nothing was ever written. No ideas flowed. Creative juices just refused to pump. There was just nothing interesting to write about. I had no inspiration.

            I retraced my memories. Flipping through the compartments of my mind to find that one thing that stood out amongst the rest. That one single event worth writing about.

            I went to see the ocean today. Surely there must the something I could write about. I closed my eyes, and I was at the bay once again. The scenery was amazing – the sun was high, the clouds formed majestical works of art in the sky, and the swans paddled across the waters without a care in the world – but there was something missing. The sunlight lacked that special glint. The clouds were missing their silver linings. The swans weren’t as graceful as books described them to be.

            With a grunt of frustration, I was back within the four walls of my room. I gave up and tried to think of something else.

            I went to a theme park a few months back. Maybe that would do. I shut my eyes once more and there I was, standing in the bustling crowd of the theme park. The atmosphere was absolutely vibrant. Everyone had smiles on their faces. The rides and food provided joy to people as well as myself. My pen slowly approached the blank page when something stopped me. There was a flicker in my memory. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a boy crying – his mother bent over him shouting at the top of her lungs. I saw disappointed faces where rides broke down, upsetting those who have been in line for hours. Without warning, rain poured from the sky, sending everyone scattering back to their vehicles and onwards to home.

            I welcomed reality once more with open arms. A memory I thought to be perfect turned out to be a rather unhappy one after all.

            After a long sigh, I remembered one memory that could not possibly go wrong. One plucked from across the years. My eyes were closed and before I knew it, there I sat in a hall, watching a philharmonic orchestra in all its magnificence, performing Beethoven’s 5^th Symphony. I felt goosebumps crawl up my spine as I listened to the sounds of violins, flutes, and oh so many other beautiful instruments. It was almost perfect. Almost. My heart sank as the conductor fumbled with his baton, slowing the orchestra down ever so slightly – hardly even noticeable. The change, albeit minute, forced some errors from the musicians. Notes were played out of tune and the search for perfection continues.

            I sighed and open my eyes. A new dawn came as sunlight woke the land. I acknowledged my imminent defeat and closed my book. I stood up and walked over to my front door. I decided that a whiff of fresh air might calm my head a little. I stepped outside and walked a few steps, just enough to see the horizon where the sun was rising. I frowned. There was still something missing. I turned around and started towards my home when something made me freeze.

            It was a single lavender, thornless rose growing out of my bushes. Bushes I could’ve sworn were not rose bushes. I stared at it. It was perfect. It gave off a certain radiance I could not put a finger on. A beauty and pureness I have never laid eyes upon before.

            “Excuse me.” The voice startled me, and I turned around to see a girl standing in front of my door. “My home got badly damaged recently, and I am exhausted. May I rest here until mine is mended?”

            I have never invited a complete stranger into my house before. But there was something about her that made me agree. She looked warm and sincere. I welcomed her into my home, and it was a decision I never regretted. The more I got to know her, the more I wanted her to stay. Since that day, the sun was a bit brighter, people seemed a bit warmer, and music seemed to ring through my very soul with every passing second. With her around, I started writing. With her around, I started filling my book with perfect stories. Perfect stories to be kept within my heart forever. She was my perfection.

            After only a month, my heart was surrounded by millions of beautiful lavender roses. And not a single thorn.

Mirrors

        What do you look for when you look into your reflection? Do you see what you want to see? Do you seek the insubstantial, or merely the substantial as you waft your hands through your hair? When you're finally convinced that you look presentable enough to leave the comforts of your home, does it really matter? 

  When you step through those doors, what you thought of yourself when you observed your reflection will never be the same as what others will think of you. So, is there even a point in standing in front of the mirror all morning, when it will just be for naught as others taunt the way you dress or look?

I see people looking at their outer appearance like it means the world to them, like people will judge them solely on their outfit of the day. True, it helps a teeny bit to look sharp, but let's not forget the subjectivity of true beauty.

I see people looking at their reflections and are happy with what their eyes can see. None will ever bother to look at what is deep down. Under the lies and the facade of our mortal bodies are our true selves. Eluded by our own minds as we seek physical appearance, and not the truth of who we really are.

Hence, I only show them what they want to see. They seek lies, and I show them lies. Such is human nature. For if I ever showed these beings who they really are inside, they will all surely scream.


-Izzat R.

The Battle

Hey all! Just so you know, this is not my usual story. This is a metaphor for my life doing IB! So I'm sorry if you can't appreciate it that much. I also had to cut it down since it's going to be put into the college magazine. Enjoy anyway!

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               "You! Over there! Get in line!” shouted the commander. It took me a couple of seconds to realise that he was talking to me. I shuffled forward uncertainly, donning a set of new armour with a sheathed sword by my side, just like all the other new recruits.

It was our first day at the army camp, and we were gathering in front of the veteran soldiers. We weren’t sure what we had gotten ourselves into. From the hesitant faces I glimpsed around me, I could tell that we were all here for many different reasons. Some came for the fame and glory, while some had nowhere else to go but here. I, on the other hand, was raised for this. My parents have this belief that only through being in the nation’s army would I bring honour to the family.

While the senior soldiers continued gathering the new recruits in line, I fidgeted uncomfortably on the spot. We were standing on the barren field in front of the barracks, and it was blazing hot. The armour did not help one bit. It felt as though I was being baked in my own portable oven.

“Good day, maggots!” the commander’s voice boomed. “Today is the beginning of a new life for every one of you! Today, you leave your past lives behind. Today, you become men! Men not only in flesh, but also in soul. Are you ready to begin the most physically enduring training you will ever perform in your life?”

“SIR, YES SIR!!” the whole lot of us shouted in unison.

The commander wasn’t lying. Over the following year, we have shed tears, and we have shed blood. We were tested beyond our limits. We were pushed to the very brink of our sanity. We were trained not only physically, but also mentally. Let’s just say lack of sleep was the very least of our concerns. Not all of us made it. Some cracked halfway through training, deemed ‘unfit’ to continue their services. The ones who remained persevered. We knew that we would come out as fine warriors. Warriors fit to be called ‘National Heroes’.

But that was all months ago.

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I stood there facing my fellow warriors, each wearing desolate and solemn expressions. We stood on a barren warzone, ravaged by years and years of warfare. However, we are alone now. We stood facing the huge gates of a castle we are soon to storm.

“My companions! My friends!”, I shouted at the top of my lungs, trying my best to hide the shakiness in my voice. “Today is the day we have all been preparing for! The day we put our skills to the test! Today, we walk through those gates and show our enemies that we are not a nation to be trifled with!”

A memory struck me, and I stifled a sob. I continued in a more melancholic tone. “It has been one year since I have led you, my friends. It has also been a year since our senior warriors, the very ones who taught us all we needed to know, stepped through those gates, never to return. Did they succeed? Did they fail? No news has ever seeped through those walls. But whatever did happen to those noble warriors, mark my words! We will come out of this battle victorious! We will do our nation proud!”

A war cry from the soldiers was the response to my petty speech. I took a second to compose myself, then I whispered, “Attack”.

The soldiers at the battering ram surged forward with unnatural speed. Before long, there was a loud BOOM that reverberated through the air as the battering ram came into contact with the gates. The battering ram struck another time. Then another. Until finally, a CRACK was heard as the gates gave way.

When the opening was large enough, we ran through, me leading the way, shouting our war cry at the very top of our lungs. Then suddenly, we saw it.

Everything was suddenly dead quiet. All the soldiers were silent except for a few muffled whimpering from the back of the group. We had finally laid eyes on the enemies we were to face. But it wasn’t ‘enemies’, it was an ‘enemy’. A single beast stood right in front of us, eyes fixated onto our large group.

It was a red dragon. One of such fierce magnificence and grace, we could not help but stare in awe. This was not what we had expected at all. We had just entered the lair of the beast, and we had no way of turning back now. We had no choice but to conquer it.

With one huge breath, I yelled “CHARGE!!!” followed by the loudest roar I had ever heard in my life. 

Before We Met

            This is a tale of a boy and a girl. Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t one of romance. I find those too clichéd anyway. Romance is overrated, and romance is fragile. They say love is created through destiny, but maybe it is the same for friendship as well? Who is to say that we were not destined to meet every single person in our life?

            This story is about me and a girl. Let's call her Fi. She is someone I got to know not too long ago, as we go to college together. The strange thing is, I feel like I have known her for ages. When we talk, there is a certain fluidity to it, unlike when I talk to someone I don’t really know. We bonded abnormally fast and seemed to trust each other really easily. We also had this thing for sensing each other’s feelings and are at each other’s aid just when we both need it the most.

            However, there was one thing that really bothered me. Neither of us remembered where, when, or how we actually met each other. Now, you may think that this is rather minor, but I have a habit of keeping tabs on how I met everyone I’m close to, and it really bothers me. Then one day, I had a dream.

            This dream I had was unlike any other. It was so clear that I actually thought it to be real, and that I was actually there. But it was impossible, because I saw myself from a third-person point of view. Not myself as I am now, but myself as a child. I was playing in a sandbox with a girl of about the same age. Right away, I knew that the girl had to be Fi. But how can that be? Of course, I don’t remember when I met her, but I was positive that I haven’t known her for that long.

            It felt so surreal. My dream continued flicking through scenes of me and Fi as we grew up together. My 9^th birthday where Fi gave me a toy lightsabre as a present, the time when we turned 13 and had to go to separate schools, and another scene at 16 when she was in tears and I was there consoling her. I was dazed and confused. If these were memories, I definitely did not live them. So, what did they mean?

            I woke up with a jolt, covered in sweat. I looked at the clock. It was already 6 in the morning. I wasn’t planning on going back to sleep anyway, so I got out of bed and cleaned myself up for class. All the time, I only had the dream in my mind. I was still clueless as to what I just dreamt of. Were any of those scenes real?

            I was still daydreaming about it as I walked to class, so I wasn’t paying attention as to where I was going. I was walking at a normal pace through the corridors towards my class when BAM!! I crashed into someone and both our books flew in all directions. I hastily looked for the person I walked into so I could apologise, when I saw that it was Fi. She, apparently, wasn’t looking where she was going too. When we made eye contact, however, all in that split second, everything instantly made sense.

            The dream I had were definitely memories, but not mine. I never lived them. But I may just as well have had. I then knew that somewhere out there, in a parallel universe, in an alternate reality, those scenes actually played out. Fi and I were childhood friends. We grew up together. More importantly, we helped each other through life. Fi and me had already known each other before we even met! But as fate had it, we didn't live in that strand of reality, but our lives had always meant to be intertwined. And even though she never told me, I knew she had the exact same dream.


-Izzat R.

Castle Heart

            The walls were breathing. I couldn’t help but notice this fact. The stone walls seemed almost sentient. I did not know where I was, or how I even got here. I was just there, in a narrow corridor. The floors and walls were made of stone and lit torches sat in wooden brackets lined up along the walls, illuminating the corridor amidst the moonless dusk that has befallen. I felt lost, but strangely unafraid.

            I walked slowly along the hallway. From where I was, I could catch glimpses of a deserted courtyard through supporting pillars. It seemed as though I was in a kind of medieval castle, one that has been abandoned for years. Wild vines were growing everywhere and nature threatened to engulf the castle. A slight breeze blew through the night air, causing the fires burning in the torches to flicker and sending a cold chill down my spine.

            As I approached the end of the stretch of stone, I could only just make out stairs leading downwards, into the dungeons it may seem. I didn’t know what possessed me to do so, but I knew that I had to go down those stairs. Unlike the corridor I just left, the stairway was dark, lit by not a single flame. I proceeded cautiously, feeling my way along the walls with my hands.

            It seemed like a long time before I reached the bottom, but when I did, I was somewhat relieved that I was welcomed by another lit corridor. However, this one was different. It was the walls the emitted the light. A warm dark red glow was given out by the walls, despite it being made of stone. It took a while for my eyes to adjust to the new light, but I was determined to push on. I could just feel something calling me.

            This hallway was lined with many doors. All were made of the typical heavy wood found in castles. I approached the first door and immediately I felt sorrow and grief overwhelm my being. I had no intention to even grab hold of the steel door handle but managed a peek through the metal bars of the small opening on the door. What I saw was too painful to describe here.

            I pushed on past door after door, each exuding strong emotions – happiness, anger, and melancholy. I dared not open a single door. I continued until the end of the hallway, where a single door stood, unlike the others. This one was bigger and more intricately designed. There was also no space to peek into the room that lay past the door. Strangely, I felt nothing from behind the heavy oak door. This was the first, compared to all the locked up emotions in the other doors. After a minute of bracing myself, I laid my hands on the door and pushed as hard as I could. The hinges of the door resisted, but creaked open nonetheless.

            The room the lay beyond was very plain compared to the beautiful design of the door. Only an average bed stood inside, and upon it laid an unconscious – or sleeping – girl. For once, I did not know what to do, but curiosity got the best of me. I approached the girl slowly, not wanting to disturb her slumber. I examined the girl cautiously. She had the sweetest features I have seen in a long time. Even in slumber, she seemed as though she was smiling, maybe due to a dream she was having.

            Unexpectedly, a melodious female voice spoke in my head, “Finally”. I looked at the girl with shock. Her lips had not moved. Then, as if on cue, her eyes slowly opened. When she looked into my eyes, everything seemed to make sense. She smiled and said to me “Come on outside, it’s a beautiful day.”

            We ran outside together, and the desolate castle that was once there, now looked as though it was brand new. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and the fountain in the courtyard spouted beautiful streams of water. Even with all that was going on, only one question played in my mind, “How could only one person do this?”

-Izzat R.