Aloha! I wrote this for an assessment in English - I really enjoyed writing it. I find it such a blessing to be assessed on something I love so dearly - my creative writing. It didn't even feel like a test or anything, just me writing what felt right. I actually ended up getting a really good grade on it - so proud!
I hope you can see the little blessings life scatters for us.
I would like to add as well that typing this from the handwritten, three page version was - to be frank - a nightmare. But it was a worthy nightmare. I also did it while watching a move - excuse any mistakes <3
A box of polaroid photos. A tatty, tired, old, complaining box. It sat underneath his bed, tucked away. Tucked away like the memory of that day. His most treasured memory. Like a chip of gold, hidden away in the depths of his heart.
It was a warm July evening; he remembered it because he was wearing flip-flops. Bright red flip-flops. He was taking a leisurely walk along the beach; feet dragging, occasionally splashing the tide as she pulled away from him. Oh, the tide. The wonderful, glorious tide. He had befriended her a long time ago, back when his home became akin to a nuclear bomb site. For months, he had found himself at the same place, looking for the same sense of comfort. The kind of comfort the sun gave on a cold winter day. He wanted to be lulled into a sense of safety, even if it was fake, at least it was worth something.
That warm July evening was no exception. Miniature waves lovingly bashed him, as he did what he always did: take his polaroid pictures. Snap! Another one. This one was of the sky, angelically bathed in beauty as dusk brought a bombardment of colours to the blank canvas.
Sunset was his favourite. He couldn't explain why. Perhaps it was the feeling at the pit of his stomach, that feeling that the world was ending. The blanket of oblivion was finally to be rested upon the decaying world, endless comfort descending upon them. Perhaps, it was the nagging reminder it presented that the day was over. The sun would rise again and he would have another shot to try.
"At least, try!"The memory rang clear in his head: his mum shouting. It was the last straw before he stormed out that night. That perfect night.
It was just before the sun truly retired that it happened. It wasn't loud or quiet. Not happy nor sad. Not real nor fake...but one thing he could call it was soul-shattering.
It was that one night. One fateful night that shattered him apart. Smashed the window of his soul and left blood-clad shards of glass scattered by his remains. It tore apart his brain, neurons clinging desperately to each other until they were forced apart. The very fibre of his being was totally, utterly, completely decimated.
And from the wreckage, he was born anew. Like a Phoenix, he rose from the ashes, and he rose undeniably fast. He found it terrifying...and yet, inspiring. He was inspired. A fire roared in his soul, passion and electrifying dedication lacing his veins. He felt like an exposed nerve ending, feeling everything.
'Alive'. That was the word he wrote in his journal. He finally felt alive. Like he had purpose. His imagination worked again, ticking away, finding new ideas every moment. His self worth was resurrected as he remembered his time on earth could have purpose.
Smiling as he woke up, his arm lazily extended below his bed. The tatty, tired, old, complaining box groaned as he leafed through the polaroids of the beach until he found his favourite. His most treasured memory. It lay collecting dust at the very bottom of the box. This memory was only his...
His eyes locked with the image. It was like so many others he had taken. Just a simple shot of the ocean. Blue water, so blue it would hurt your eyes. He would argue the ocean glowed - in the same way he glowed. With love.
What was different about this two-by-four inch polaroid was him. You could see his reflection in the water. His tanned skin and mussed dark hair, long fingers winding around his camera. It was just his reflection. Just his reflection.
In that moment that the ocean stood still, in that moment that he clicked the camera, that singular, painfully beautiful moment, he saw himself differently. Through a lens. The lens of his cheap, Polaroid camera.
What he saw was a kid. A vulnerable kid, but a kid like any other. An epiphany slapped him. He could see others with love, why not himself? The ocean loved him, why couldn't he love himself? He was just an average kid, desperate to get by, so why not love himself?
That night, his tears met the ocean. His hacking sobs filled the dark night. Years of self hatred - all for nil. He felt it, his heart breaking into two. He actually felt it.
A shy knock sounded at the door of his room and he hastily shoved the tatty, tired, old, complaining box under his bed. The door cracked open to present his mum. Her eyebrows were furrowed together, lips pursed with stress into a thin line. He smiled at her.
Launching into a speech, his mum spoke at the speed of light. He zoned out slightly but caught a few words. "I'm sorry...tough year...miss you...worried." He smiled again.
The image of his reflection flashed across his mind again; the deep blue sea, the playful tide, his rather average face. And his head filled with memories of the past year too: arguing parents, beachy walks, but most importantly that one perfect night.
His most treasured memory.
He stood from his bed and yanked his mother into a hug, muffling incoherent words into her shoulder. Everything was okay.
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