Hong Kong Young Writers Anthologies Fiction 4 - 7 2018 | Page 203

A Journey to the West
St. Paul's Convent School (Secondary Section), Cheung, Regina - 15
T
hat town, that toxic town, most of my childhood years were spent there looking out the window,
only to the beautiful cocktail-blue sky that always seems to be darkening and large pillows of
clouds moving towards me. When I got older, everything was just deteriorating, the slanted beam
of light never stays, not with me, the roar and growl had became my second nature. That town was lethal,
everything was absolutely lethal.
So this is it. I packed up my bags that seems to be so extra hefty, perhaps it is my heart, locked up the gate,
bidding a farewell to the old life, landing on a whole new golden globe with no regrets, no more hypocrisy,
no more corruption, but hope and optimism awaits me at the west.
Leaving has always sounds so grieving to me, I called this - a great escape.
They said entering a whole new side of the world, is like walking into a crowded room full of people you
barely recognise. Everyone is talking, they could be talking about you, or they are not. You feel small and
intimidated. And going through this all alone, you will feel like you are naked in a whole room of strangers,
bare and helpless in front of every pair of eyes that swallows you in, judgements piercing through, only with
an enhanced feeling of anxiety and vulnerability. But this is different, I can feel it. The harsh tides that has
crush me down ebbed away. I am calm and unfazed by anymore backstabbing guns and knives that have
once bayoneted me.
Life always amazes me, no matter how hard I try, nothing can undo my past, yet there are thousands of
roads ahead of me, for me to choose. That’s when I realised, my heart has guided me here, to this
magnificent building. A building thats holds a lot of sentiment; the breaking, the uplifting, the rupturing, the
inspiring - Art. I adore this place the achievement of stillness in the midst of chaos, a balance of purity and
serenity.
I see these people, those obscure orbs holding intense stares with pieces of enigma scattered in them that I
cannot figure, to one direction, but their facial expressions present, frowns that tend to clench their brows,
smiles that tend to the dimples by their cheeks, confusion that tend to highlight the bewildered faces,
admiration that tend light up eyes. These people intrigues me, as I divert my gaze that aligned with theirs., I
see this painting that has been hung on the plain wall at eye level.
‘Amsterdam - The Release of Happiness - Leonid Afremov’ Interesting.
As I am studying the painting, taking in every strokes of the paint brush that has glided through different
circumstances, that is now engraved on the canvas forever. The cold and dark tone of the upper sky and the
dead end of river immediately drag all my attention, tug at my dignity, and pull me in a deep sea of
unwelcoming memories. Spruce. Sapphire. Denim. Prussian. Navy. I’m not looking back to rewind my
story’s past, yet the shades of blue are never ending, awakening the disorienting fog over life. The wide sky
is the muddled colour that seems calming, at first but eventually suffocates and draws out all the glow in you,
leaving you lost and impotent in the darkest night. The river is smooth and enchanting on the surface but
deep down, the mixed hue in it forms a spiral that dangerously engulfs you into the murk, leaving you
breathless and drowning in vast negativity. A twitch of my eyebrows, I, once again stumbled over and fell
into the crater of my bygone.
Still scanning, I come across to this beam of warmth, contrasted under a dark night. Crimson. Tangerine.
Honey. Butter. Emerald green. These shades exude rays of light that seems so friendly, genuinely, casting
slanted beam of light across the meadow. Despite being night time, all the illuminations seem to turn the
originally mystic Amsterdam into a flaming patchwork of colours, adding a remarkable glamour of rebirth
on the canvas. This rush of sentiment feels so new to me, as the simple yet complex mixing of colours is a
promise that something can begin again, all the lights blinding the history, guiding the new self to an
irradiate journey. Although midnight won’t last forever, there will always be an authentic colour spectrum
peeking through every haver, in the most peaceful fluorescent bloom, along with the brightest smile.