Something He Wasn ' t
Singapore International School ( Hong Kong ), Fok , Alicia – 11
As I flipped through the pages of Journeys to the West once more , I wondered if I could ever be as brave , as courageous , as Xuanzang to attempt such a journey .
Mother would always pressure me into doing ‘ courageous ’ things , brainwashing me with the stereotypical image of a man . Brave , adventurous , strong , and possessing the money-maker trait was what I would aim to be . Even now , when I had already learnt the real meaning of being a man .
I concentrated on the words on the page , words flowing into my mind and poisoning it with images . I had to be like him , I had to take on an adventure , I had to prove to everyone that I was brave . That I was strong . That I was willing to take on challenges . I didn ’ t even care that Xuanzang was a monk , a man withdrawn from the rest of the world . People all around me were doing different things , becoming engineers , graduating from college , and I was just … me . Diagnosed with dyslexia , I couldn ’ t make a living out of anything that involved reading or writing . With a small and weedy stature , knobbly knees and a notat-all strong jawline , it was clear that I wasn ’ t fit for physical labour as well .
So I did what any person did when they were under pressure , I made a plan to prove them all wrong . I reread Journeys to the West a thousand times , making sure I got it all right . The route , the necessities , the people … I was going to travel to India , using the same route that my hero , Xuanzang did ; crossing the southwestern mountains to India .
Inhaling sharply , I stepped out of my family home , taking one last look at it before disappearing into the streets . As per usual , mother didn ’ t utter a word when I stiffly made my way across the room . She did , however , spare me a glance when I stepped out , something that didn ’ t go unnoticed by me .
I studied the map I had stolen from father ’ s drawer , making my way through all the streets and plains . We lived in one of the rougher areas of China , so there wasn ’ t much to go on about . Everywhere you looked it was either shelter , street , or planting grounds . One of those three .
Wheezing from the pure exhaustion of climbing a mountain , I once again readjusted the rucksack on my back . The way the strap cut into my skin was turning my skin salmon pink , the source of blisters that would sprout in a mere few days .
My eyes were my friar , my survival skills and ‘ weapons ’ were my talking pig , and my perseverance was my Monkey King . I had packed a large quantity of plain , dry , biscuits and a large jug of water . I had planned my journey perfectly and since winter was fading into spring , the ice caps were melting . There would be a stream of water flowing down every afternoon , and I would be there to capture the water inside my humble jug .
Then , the ice stopped melting , the water stopped flowing . The human wasn ’ t drinking , the human wasn ’ t living . My lips were dry and cracked . You could feel the creases and the wrinkles that were folded in . The skin everywhere you looked was peeling off , and my eyes were red and swollen . When I continued walking drowsily , I felt lethargic and disoriented , and dizziness when I attempted to put my leg forth for a step more . My pulse was weak , and I constantly fell in and out of consciousness . The saliva I swallowed slowly became non-existent , and so I lived with a parched tongue , constantly pleading for just a drop of water .
Slowly , almost as if didn ’ t exist , the last good day came . The feeling crept up my backbone as it made its way to the nape of my neck . I shivered . Something wasn ’ t right . Nothing at all was right .