Page 90 - KCN 2020
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ECHOES OF THE TURBULENCE WITHIN
Ms Vinodhini Vennoo
Everything is so beautiful. The sun is hanging at the perfect height, the climate perfect, the
sea scented breeze mildly teasing, attempting to braid this unruly mop of hair, the warm sand soft,
the heart within rhythmically beating. If I could only shut my mind out, I may, just may be able to
find peace within this clutter which is my brain. No voices, no worries, no anger, no guilt, just accep-
tance, knowing I am where I’m supposed to be. But the mind is no faucet. Gee look! The moon is
out too! Just in time to relieve the sun of his duties. It’s her turn to watch over us now, and I am but
a speck. How insignificant.
I see a boy walking before me along the shore. He must be in his late twenties. He is clad in
I am at the beach now. East Coast Park, Singapore. Very picturesque, even with the numer- black; bleak, just like my future. In his right hand he carries a fishing net. Yes, a fishing net, not
ous ships dotting the ocean, blocking the boundaries of where sea meets sky. There is something unlike the net Spongebob uses to go jellyfishing. This heavy boy walks past, leaving behind deep
almost magical about the sound of waves. They keep churning, keep singing, the same tune over footprints. I see the waves lap up his footprints, seemingly in a hurry to devour them. It takes one,
and over again. Don’t they ever get bored? What are they trying to say? Is it a story they’re telling? two, three tries to completely wash away his footprints, and nothing is left behind… a clean slate
Or an opinion they’re sharing? It’s almost as if they put forth their ideas, and seeming to think now… awaiting new imprints. Nothing left to mark the boy’s journey. Mother nature is kind; she
it inappropriate, take it back again, only to come up with another opinion almost immediately. helps him ease his pains. If only I could write this guilt, this anguish alongside those footprints,
Indecisive much? Or am I just reading more into it because of the turbulence within? three laps would be all it takes to wipe my slate clean.
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