There was a boy.
When he first saw the light of day, he was surrounded by happiness, joy and celebration. As he took in his first breath in the arms of the doctor, many could see the sparkle of life in his mother’s eyes. She saw the result of 9 months of effort; 9 months of worrying whether the baby will be okay; 9 months of waking up in the morning and vomiting into the toilet; 9 months of back ache, cramps and aches all over her body. 9 months.
As she held the baby in her arms, she was oblivious to everything. The only thing that mattered right now, was the bundle of joy in her arms; so frail, so cute, so innocent. Even the cacophony of noises her family made fell on deaf ears. The baby cried, and like magic, the whole room fell silent as the sound of the baby’s feeble cries filled the room.
There was a toddler.
Laughter filled the room as he ran around the room with an extremely exhausted mother chasing him. He ran over chairs, under tables and into cupboards. The exhausted mother catches him and he laughs and laughs; innocent, ecstatic, joyous. The mother smiles. She washes him tenderly, lovingly, carefully as the kid laughs and plays in the small tub, a lively twinkle in his eyes.
The kid lies on the bed, his face a deathly pallor. His eyes are closed. His mother sits beside him, worry written all over her face. She wrings a small cloth dry in her hands, folds it, and places it on the kid’s head. The kid groans slightly, his eyes open a crack. He sees his mother. He smiles meekly, as though embarrassed to have his mother take care of him such. His eyes sparkle. His mother smiles and kisses the kid’s forehead.
There was a child.
He puts on his new school uniform, excited about his first day in school. He can’t wait to meet new people. He’s so eager to rush out of the door and meet this new world laid in front of him. He hugs his mother and then rushes out the door and onto the school bus waiting outside for him. As he walks up the steps of the school bus, he turns back and sees his mother waving back at him. He waves back and smiles. His mother smiles back, but her eyes show worry, apprehension and concern. She wipes away a tear in her eye and sighs, returning to her housework.
He gets off the school bus. So many sights! So many sounds! So much activity! He can hardly contain his excitement. He swings his head left, right, up, down just to take everything in. There’s a big smile on his face as he wanders around the school looking at an educational institute for the first time. He’s a fearless adventurer exploring the world beyond his own.
There was a kid.
He sits at the desk, a pencil in his hand. The pencil scurries across the paper, leaving black lines all across the white expanse. He feels a sharp pain on the back of his head. He hears a barrage of coarse words and harsh language. He doesn’t understand. His paper is crumpled and thrown away. His mother storms out of the room in a huff. There are tears in his eyes. He walks over to the dustbin and picks up the crumpled piece of paper. He stares at the drawing of the 3 stick figures. Below the picture were the words "mom, dad and me".
He hears them again. They shout and shout, never for once wanting to give way, never for once coming to a compromise. He cowers under his blanket, afraid. Afraid of what has happened to mommy and daddy who once ruffled his hair and pat him on the back. Afraid of this evil noise he was hearing. He hugged his legs for comfort. He was in his bed, in his room, in a house where he was afraid. He was at home, and he was afraid. He closed his eyes, and slept, wishing that this was a dream, wishing that he would wake up, and everything would be all right again.
There was a youth.
He sat within a sea of white and blue. He was just another number, another statistic, another marking on the attendance roster. He had no identity, no singularity, no individuality. He gazes at the scenery outside. He saw blue, white and a tinge of yellow. A bird flew past the window, singing its cheerful song. He saw freedom; he saw the futility of being stuck in this place where he had no place. He wanted to escape, he wanted to be free, he was sick of being stuck in this place, this room, this prison day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, second after second listening to an old fart drone on.
The bell rings. He walks to the bus stop. He walks up the bus. He holds on to the pole and stares blankly ahead. The bus stops. He gets off. He walks back to his apartment. With mechanical precision, he inserts the key into the lock and walks into an empty house. The empty house he shares with his ghosts of parents. His parents whose back he only sees when he’s just about to fall asleep and they’re standing at the door raining abuses at one another. He can hardly remember their faces anymore. Every night, he sees only their back, over and over again, day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute, second after second.
There was a teenager.
His hair is a stark electric blue, styled to points. His face looks like a locksmith cabinet. He’s clothed entirely in black. There’s more metal on his body than one can see in a junkyard. A girl hangs on his right arm like a rag doll. He doesn’t even notice her. His face is in a permanent sneer. His eyes look dead, and yet one can see the deep sorrow of a person longing to be loved. He just stands along a corridor. Hundreds of people walk past him, yet he stands alone.
The cool breeze blows on his face. The sky is a myriad of colours. White clouds prance like sheep on a meadow of blue. Birds sing and dance across the sky. His eyes are closed, his mind at peace with his surroundings. His arms are outstretched, embracing the beauty of nature, of the world around him. He smiles and takes a step. He feels the rush of the wind one last time.
There was a boy.
