Creative Writing Competition: 2nd Runner Up
2nd Runner Up:
Name: Jamie Kok Yixin
Course: Cambridge A Levels
Title: Footprints in the Sand
Stretched over the endless sparkling ocean, the sky mirrored the water in a gentle hue of light blue. As I took in the picturesque view before me, the sea breeze playfully tousled my hair and the smooth sand sank beneath my toes. These precious hours would mark my fifteenth birthday, a new chapter of my life, signifying that it was time to move on from the past. I could almost hear the chorus for the song ‘Happy Birthday’ being sung by nature around me, with the waves lapping at the shore and the wind whistling past my ear.
It had been a while since I was last here. Nostalgia washed over me. My lonely trail of footprints in the sand did not seem right. My hands unconsciously searched for the comforting touch of another, but instead swiped the empty air. I glanced down at my collection of seashells and picked out the smoothest, smallest conch shell, letting it sit on the palm of my hand. I quickly closed my palm around it and closed my eyes. Small and insignificant as it was, it was able to unlock distant memories I had long thought I had forgotten. Its polished surface pressed against my palm, and I fell into a reverie as bittersweet recollections flashed before my eyes.
“ That’s no fair!” I giggled as my older brother ran past me and did a silly triumphant dance at the ‘finish line’. I laughed even harder as he chased me across the water’s edge, mimicking monsters from the wild bedtime stories he always told me, then tickling me as best as he could until I wormed my way out of his grasp. Finally, we collapsed on the sand together, still laughing and clutching our aching sides, exhausted from a fun day. He reached over, with his eyes twinkling and a bright smile lighting up his face, and said: “ Happy birthday, little sis, I’m proud of you.” I remember telling myself that I never wanted that day to end.
I recall the orange-red streak across the sky as the sun set, and how the waves grew quiet as my eyes scanned the shore for more seashells I could add to my collection. I proudly showed my glassy assortment of seashells to my brother, who admired it and praised me for my find. I asked him what I should do with it, and he thought about it for a moment. He took a few from my hand, bent down and carefully placed one in my footprint. Then he took another, and another, and another, until there were exactly six , gleaming seashells in my small footprint.
“There,” he said resolutely, as if finishing a masterpiece. “That’s six seashells for one six-year-old sized footprint of a big six-year-old girl.” “They look pretty!” I said, admiring the glinting seashells huddled together against the soft white sand. Then, bending down, I began to place sixteen seashells into his much larger footprint beside mine. “One, two, three, four.....” Right after I reached six, he suddenly stopped me. Puzzled, I looked up and asked him why.
He pointed at my tiny footprint, nearly full with the seashells in, and said: “That’s six seashells for the number of years you’ve entered this world.” Then, he pointed to his footprint, hardly filled up with the six small seashells in it and dwarfing my little footprint beside it, and said: “That’s six seashells for the number of years you’ve entered my world.” Beaming, I laced my wet, stubby fingers with his, clutching his calloused palm tightly as brother and sister watched the gentle evening sun go down together.
It soon became a tradition of ours. Year after year on my birthday, we would beg our parents to bring us to the beach and just forget ourselves as we splashed in the sea and raced on the shore. We loved the beach, not just for the shining sun beating down on our backs or the cool water soaking our bodies, but for the time we shared there that made it a fond place in our hearts. Silly as it may seem, we always ended the day by placing seashells into our footprints, and every year, I had to find more as the number of seashells in my footprints grew as I grew.
Before long, we had made up our own specific rules to our little game. On my 8th birthday, my final seashell in my ever-growing footprint was a Pink Conch, because that year I sang a solo for my school’s choir showcase to thunderous applause. Then on my 9th birthday, a Buttercup Lucine, because the flowers at our tiny flourishing garden at the backyard were blossoming beautifully. Time passed and I began to treasure those days more and more as I got to see my brother less and less. The last birthday I had with him was my 10th birthday, and that was the last time I had been to the beach, till now.
I remember the utter devastation. That brief visit from the police officer, followed by nights of crying with my mother as her shaking shoulders shook my body. The deep crinkles on my father’s face and the dark circles beneath his eyes too marked how badly our family took the news. I could hardly believe it. A post mortem examination showed the cause to be Leptospirosis, or rat urine poisoning from something he ate from his army camps. But it only confirmed the worst for us.
My brother was gone.
That was five painful years ago. As I stare blankly out into the ocean now, I watch the pounding waves crash over each other, like how the memories have crashed over me. Years ago, the tide washed away two sets of footprints, not one. My hand would be clasped in the reassuring hands of another, and a beautiful day at the beach was a treat meant to be enjoyed by two. The daily collection of seashells, no matter yellow, purple, white or blue, big or small, was the proud achievement of both brother and sister. And finally, the satisfaction of adding a single shell to my footprint every year, was a deeply significant moment shared and understood only by my brother and I.
Coming back here was both painful and calming. I have always loved the beach and the sights and sounds of nature. Yet, this place harbours so many memories, so many that I do not know whether to laugh or cry. Nonetheless, a single tear rolls down my cheek, landing beside the indentation of my foot on the sand, reminding me of the reason why I came here again.
I take seashells out from my bucket, one by one, and gently place fifteen into my footprint. For a moment, I admire the glinting seashells, colourful and each one different. Fifteen seashells, no longer to signify the years of my life on this world, but placed there in hopes that these fifteen years I have spent can bring justice to the impact and immeasurable influence he has made on my life. If his footprint was beside mine right now, he would still put fifteen seashells in, and he would say that only the time I’ve been in this family, in his world would matter to him rather than his full twenty-five years. Well, in the same way, these seashells symbolize the time he’s been in mine. Even though he’s no longer here, he’ll never stop being with me, and I’ll never stop counting and adding the years he has.
Ever since day one, my life has been defined by countless moments of brotherly love. I remember the time his eyes lit up when I knew my ABCs perfectly by heart, the time I baked my first cupcake and forced him to eat it, the time I cried myself till I couldn’t cry anymore, and tried to hide his military uniform from him, the time he gave his last wave and threw his last smile over his shoulder at the airport.
My brother is my hero, through and through. I am grateful for the day I met him, as he told me many times, it was the day he first took me into his arms and called me his little sister- the day I was born.
The sun is setting as my birthday comes to an end. As I walk back to meet my parents, I take one last look behind me, and watch the waves gradually lapping away at my trail of footprints.
I can’t help but smile.
Name: Jamie Kok Yixin
Course: Cambridge A Levels
Title: Footprints in the Sand
Footprints in the Sand
Stretched over the endless sparkling ocean, the sky mirrored the water in a gentle hue of light blue. As I took in the picturesque view before me, the sea breeze playfully tousled my hair and the smooth sand sank beneath my toes. These precious hours would mark my fifteenth birthday, a new chapter of my life, signifying that it was time to move on from the past. I could almost hear the chorus for the song ‘Happy Birthday’ being sung by nature around me, with the waves lapping at the shore and the wind whistling past my ear.
It had been a while since I was last here. Nostalgia washed over me. My lonely trail of footprints in the sand did not seem right. My hands unconsciously searched for the comforting touch of another, but instead swiped the empty air. I glanced down at my collection of seashells and picked out the smoothest, smallest conch shell, letting it sit on the palm of my hand. I quickly closed my palm around it and closed my eyes. Small and insignificant as it was, it was able to unlock distant memories I had long thought I had forgotten. Its polished surface pressed against my palm, and I fell into a reverie as bittersweet recollections flashed before my eyes.
“ That’s no fair!” I giggled as my older brother ran past me and did a silly triumphant dance at the ‘finish line’. I laughed even harder as he chased me across the water’s edge, mimicking monsters from the wild bedtime stories he always told me, then tickling me as best as he could until I wormed my way out of his grasp. Finally, we collapsed on the sand together, still laughing and clutching our aching sides, exhausted from a fun day. He reached over, with his eyes twinkling and a bright smile lighting up his face, and said: “ Happy birthday, little sis, I’m proud of you.” I remember telling myself that I never wanted that day to end.
I recall the orange-red streak across the sky as the sun set, and how the waves grew quiet as my eyes scanned the shore for more seashells I could add to my collection. I proudly showed my glassy assortment of seashells to my brother, who admired it and praised me for my find. I asked him what I should do with it, and he thought about it for a moment. He took a few from my hand, bent down and carefully placed one in my footprint. Then he took another, and another, and another, until there were exactly six , gleaming seashells in my small footprint.
“There,” he said resolutely, as if finishing a masterpiece. “That’s six seashells for one six-year-old sized footprint of a big six-year-old girl.” “They look pretty!” I said, admiring the glinting seashells huddled together against the soft white sand. Then, bending down, I began to place sixteen seashells into his much larger footprint beside mine. “One, two, three, four.....” Right after I reached six, he suddenly stopped me. Puzzled, I looked up and asked him why.
He pointed at my tiny footprint, nearly full with the seashells in, and said: “That’s six seashells for the number of years you’ve entered this world.” Then, he pointed to his footprint, hardly filled up with the six small seashells in it and dwarfing my little footprint beside it, and said: “That’s six seashells for the number of years you’ve entered my world.” Beaming, I laced my wet, stubby fingers with his, clutching his calloused palm tightly as brother and sister watched the gentle evening sun go down together.
It soon became a tradition of ours. Year after year on my birthday, we would beg our parents to bring us to the beach and just forget ourselves as we splashed in the sea and raced on the shore. We loved the beach, not just for the shining sun beating down on our backs or the cool water soaking our bodies, but for the time we shared there that made it a fond place in our hearts. Silly as it may seem, we always ended the day by placing seashells into our footprints, and every year, I had to find more as the number of seashells in my footprints grew as I grew.
Before long, we had made up our own specific rules to our little game. On my 8th birthday, my final seashell in my ever-growing footprint was a Pink Conch, because that year I sang a solo for my school’s choir showcase to thunderous applause. Then on my 9th birthday, a Buttercup Lucine, because the flowers at our tiny flourishing garden at the backyard were blossoming beautifully. Time passed and I began to treasure those days more and more as I got to see my brother less and less. The last birthday I had with him was my 10th birthday, and that was the last time I had been to the beach, till now.
I remember the utter devastation. That brief visit from the police officer, followed by nights of crying with my mother as her shaking shoulders shook my body. The deep crinkles on my father’s face and the dark circles beneath his eyes too marked how badly our family took the news. I could hardly believe it. A post mortem examination showed the cause to be Leptospirosis, or rat urine poisoning from something he ate from his army camps. But it only confirmed the worst for us.
My brother was gone.
That was five painful years ago. As I stare blankly out into the ocean now, I watch the pounding waves crash over each other, like how the memories have crashed over me. Years ago, the tide washed away two sets of footprints, not one. My hand would be clasped in the reassuring hands of another, and a beautiful day at the beach was a treat meant to be enjoyed by two. The daily collection of seashells, no matter yellow, purple, white or blue, big or small, was the proud achievement of both brother and sister. And finally, the satisfaction of adding a single shell to my footprint every year, was a deeply significant moment shared and understood only by my brother and I.
Coming back here was both painful and calming. I have always loved the beach and the sights and sounds of nature. Yet, this place harbours so many memories, so many that I do not know whether to laugh or cry. Nonetheless, a single tear rolls down my cheek, landing beside the indentation of my foot on the sand, reminding me of the reason why I came here again.
I take seashells out from my bucket, one by one, and gently place fifteen into my footprint. For a moment, I admire the glinting seashells, colourful and each one different. Fifteen seashells, no longer to signify the years of my life on this world, but placed there in hopes that these fifteen years I have spent can bring justice to the impact and immeasurable influence he has made on my life. If his footprint was beside mine right now, he would still put fifteen seashells in, and he would say that only the time I’ve been in this family, in his world would matter to him rather than his full twenty-five years. Well, in the same way, these seashells symbolize the time he’s been in mine. Even though he’s no longer here, he’ll never stop being with me, and I’ll never stop counting and adding the years he has.
Ever since day one, my life has been defined by countless moments of brotherly love. I remember the time his eyes lit up when I knew my ABCs perfectly by heart, the time I baked my first cupcake and forced him to eat it, the time I cried myself till I couldn’t cry anymore, and tried to hide his military uniform from him, the time he gave his last wave and threw his last smile over his shoulder at the airport.
My brother is my hero, through and through. I am grateful for the day I met him, as he told me many times, it was the day he first took me into his arms and called me his little sister- the day I was born.
The sun is setting as my birthday comes to an end. As I walk back to meet my parents, I take one last look behind me, and watch the waves gradually lapping away at my trail of footprints.
I can’t help but smile.
