Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 160

The Journey to the West, the Exploration towards My Heart
which Ignites my Passion
St. Mary's Canossian College, Lam, Adora - 15
I
have always wondered how afterlife would be like. Do we get to sit beside Buddha and listen to his
sayings and teachings? Do we get to read aloud prayers alongside with monks and nuns? Will we be
happy and free from sorrows in the sukhavati? Will there be reincarnation?Do our souls exist forever
and ever?
Walking, staggering, tottering, wobbling... I was travelling in a vast desert, without my navigator. To be
exact and aghast, without my phone. Under the burning sun, I teetered ahead, with a huge bundle wrapped
in a piece of ancient cloth in the shape of a modern backpack at my back. To be precise, the bulky object
was dragged by me all along; and when I stopped and looked back at the long way I had been through, a
boundless vestige of trail came into view.
It's been a long way.
Meticulously recalling, I came to a dreadful and alarming conclusion: I had no idea where I was heading to,
and when I would arrive at the final destination. In other words, I was confused by the situation all along.
With barely no idea about the “excursion” I was engaged in, I believed that staying and wandering in the
middle of a desert would not be a wise idea, so I had to proceed. My legs ached a bit, but I told myself that I
could make it.
I tried to spot traces of human activities, but to my disappointment, the desert was remote and desolate, yet
limitless...
The arm of the cactus seemed to stretch out far and invite me on the journey to the West. Without any
hesitation, I accepted the invitation. I had always been attracted to The West, The Mysterious West. It's an
instinct, a naturally-developed liking.
With the huge bundle at my back, I soon became exhausted. Surprisingly, I never thought of abandoning it.
The bundle was quite large compared to a skinny man like me, but not the most hefty for its kind.
Brimming with curiosity, I sat down in the hot sand and unzipped the bag.
A notebook was revealed. On top of it, which was lying in the embrace of the rough cloth, extremely still,
was a name card. The name Ajal Walker was written on it. That was my name, a name that meant the
destined, chosen death Walker. I used to be indifferent towards my name, however, after the retrospection
of the messages brought by my name, I began to develop an instant dislike towards my given title. Was it a
curse that made me rove in the desert? The absurd, yet peculiar settlement made me feel unfamiliar with my
own name.
It reminded me of a dreadful event. I was crossing the road and, walking towards the Convention and
Exhibition Centre. A car came really close and failed to stop. The car bumper hit my lower leg, my elbow
hit the headlamp, and I flipped over the hood and off the side of the car to the walkway. Blood streamed
down my body, and it didn’t take long before my blood flooded me. I was alone, mourning.
A gentle breeze blew, waking me from the reminiscence of an unpleasant event. I reminded myself to keep
moving. No matter what, I still had to keep going. There was barely no chance of fleeing the barren land if
I gave up hope and perseverance. I made up my mind and continued the long journey to the west .
Night was approaching, and the sky was darkening gradually. Wind brushed my face. I shivered. To keep
myself “safe” and warm from the attack of the freezin g air, I held the begrimed bundle tightly in my arms.
At that exact moment, a special sensation emerged, as if a gust of warmth had swept through me. I instantly
felt sizzling, cheerful, hopeful and secure.
Out of my expectation, I slept very well that night: I even dreamed. I dreamed of my childhood idol,The
Monkey King, who was a popular character in a myth and the coolest, most fascinating and glamorous
figure I had always admired and believed in. He also inspired me to be a righteous person and perhaps a hero
in the future. I chatted with him about the fact that my family stopped me from imagining myself as a heroic
figure in the future and believing in the so-called myths for children. Despite their opposition, I never lost
hope in the Monkey King, but I began to “isolate” my imagination from my thoughts. I never abandoned
fantasy and miracles, because I always knew they were parts of me. They created a unique and special ‘me’.
The respected adventurer encouraged me to live out my true self and display my inner good qualities, but
not to be restrained by the people around me.
“Passers-by in our lives only surround us, but we’re the centre of our lives,” he remarked. “So seize the day
and make every moment count. Catch up with you later, pal.”