Independence Day of India
"Long years ago we made a tryst with destiny, and now the time comes when we will redeem our pledge, not wholly or in full measure, but very substantially. At the stroke of the midnight hour, when the world sleeps, India will awake to life and freedom. A moment comes, which comes but rarely in history, when we step out from the old to the new, when an age ends and when the soul of a nation, long suppressed, finds utterance.... We end today a period of ill fortune, and India discovers herself again."
- Jawaharlal Nehru
20110620
20110130
Harvesting my Dreams
Israel Rodriguez, 15
Manson, Washington
Humility, hard work and perseverance are family values that most define who I am today. My humble background has opened my eyes to the reality of those who do not have the resources to voice concerns or needs, and are overwhelmed by dark circumstances. In my future, I visualize myself being a voice and a source of hope. To accomplish my dream, I aspire to pursue a career in law school. Being a court
representative will allow me to fight against injustices specifically those that affect migrant and seasonal farm-workers. I can identify and I am sensitive to the struggles that migrant families overcome. In addition to having a personal understanding of the migrant and seasonal farm-worker community, I hope to one day
gain the legal knowledge to advocate and represent those who have shaped my life today. With great difficulty, yet some enthusiasm, I wake up before the sunrise. I look forward to the challenge of conquering another 8-10 hour day of heated conditions, endless rapid precise picking, and heavy lifting in the cherry orchards. I see the faces of those who after an exhausting day of work, leave with
the satisfaction of knowing that they will be able to provide for their families. Understanding their dedication and ability to surpass some of the most difficult circumstances, has taught me that even what may seem an unreachable dream to some like becoming a lawyer, is by all means possible. Finishing an orchard season
takes a lot of persistence and devotion. Filling the last bucket of cherries after almost convincing myself that I can no longer continue, is what makes me stronger and more empowered to reach my potential. My inspiration derives from my dad. He is a man who one day migrated from my country of origin, Mexico, with the hope that my sisters and I would have a fruitful future. “What was easy I accomplished yesterday, what is difficult I am already doing, and what is impossible I will conquer tomorrow,” are his words that often echo in my mind. His words teach me that I can own my past, and current accomplishments, and that my “tomorrow” is filled with possibilities. My dad is a visionary optimistic man who never hesitates to lend a hand. His compassionate nature has given life to my desire to reach out to
others. What is most inspiring about my dad is his example of living a fulfilling life by enjoying life’s simple pleasures and serving others. The lack of financial support may present as a potential obstacle in what I aspire to become.Envisioning myself in a university and pursuing a law career, could be intimidating. Having confidence in myself even when my experiences do not fit with “typical” university students, will be another challenge I will face. The support from my family is unconditional and will be a key piece in my ability to accomplish my
dreams. I hope to gain insight from mentors and from those who also had various limitations and did not give up on their dream. The teachings I have gained from my experiences in agriculture will be valuable in my life journey. If in the process of accomplishing my dreams, my circumstances become difficult, I will remember the
sweaty faces under the orchard trees that look up with optimism and keep going. I will remember the heavy cherry buckets I lifted when I felt weak, and I will keep going. I will remember the feet that carried me from one tree to the next and did not let me give up, and I will keep going. Lastly, I will remember the restful
night after a long working day, where I laid in bed and fell asleep to the beat of my heart that whispered “you did it.”
Manson, Washington
Humility, hard work and perseverance are family values that most define who I am today. My humble background has opened my eyes to the reality of those who do not have the resources to voice concerns or needs, and are overwhelmed by dark circumstances. In my future, I visualize myself being a voice and a source of hope. To accomplish my dream, I aspire to pursue a career in law school. Being a court
representative will allow me to fight against injustices specifically those that affect migrant and seasonal farm-workers. I can identify and I am sensitive to the struggles that migrant families overcome. In addition to having a personal understanding of the migrant and seasonal farm-worker community, I hope to one day
gain the legal knowledge to advocate and represent those who have shaped my life today. With great difficulty, yet some enthusiasm, I wake up before the sunrise. I look forward to the challenge of conquering another 8-10 hour day of heated conditions, endless rapid precise picking, and heavy lifting in the cherry orchards. I see the faces of those who after an exhausting day of work, leave with
the satisfaction of knowing that they will be able to provide for their families. Understanding their dedication and ability to surpass some of the most difficult circumstances, has taught me that even what may seem an unreachable dream to some like becoming a lawyer, is by all means possible. Finishing an orchard season
takes a lot of persistence and devotion. Filling the last bucket of cherries after almost convincing myself that I can no longer continue, is what makes me stronger and more empowered to reach my potential. My inspiration derives from my dad. He is a man who one day migrated from my country of origin, Mexico, with the hope that my sisters and I would have a fruitful future. “What was easy I accomplished yesterday, what is difficult I am already doing, and what is impossible I will conquer tomorrow,” are his words that often echo in my mind. His words teach me that I can own my past, and current accomplishments, and that my “tomorrow” is filled with possibilities. My dad is a visionary optimistic man who never hesitates to lend a hand. His compassionate nature has given life to my desire to reach out to
others. What is most inspiring about my dad is his example of living a fulfilling life by enjoying life’s simple pleasures and serving others. The lack of financial support may present as a potential obstacle in what I aspire to become.Envisioning myself in a university and pursuing a law career, could be intimidating. Having confidence in myself even when my experiences do not fit with “typical” university students, will be another challenge I will face. The support from my family is unconditional and will be a key piece in my ability to accomplish my
dreams. I hope to gain insight from mentors and from those who also had various limitations and did not give up on their dream. The teachings I have gained from my experiences in agriculture will be valuable in my life journey. If in the process of accomplishing my dreams, my circumstances become difficult, I will remember the
sweaty faces under the orchard trees that look up with optimism and keep going. I will remember the heavy cherry buckets I lifted when I felt weak, and I will keep going. I will remember the feet that carried me from one tree to the next and did not let me give up, and I will keep going. Lastly, I will remember the restful
night after a long working day, where I laid in bed and fell asleep to the beat of my heart that whispered “you did it.”
20101031
Beautiful Coral - My Chinese Name
Lishan Nan Caroll, Age 6, 1st Grade
Stanford
Nixon Elementary School
My mommy says Chinese names set expectations for life. My mommy’s name is 王立華(Lihua). It means Build up China. But I think she wants to climb trees instead.
My name is 麗珊 (Lishan). It means Beautiful Coral. I want to Be healthy and to be beautiful. Coral is Sharp! I must read Books and study.
My dog’s name is Sparky. Her Chinese name is 兔兔 (bunny). Could she be a bunny? No! But she can jump and sometimes she eats carrots.
My dad’s name is Glenn. His Chinese name is 野平. It means wild and calm. My did is not wild. But sometimes he Barks like a wild dog.
My mom’s dad’s name is 金堂 (gold house). I wonder if the gold house has windows? Because we can’t see inside him where the gold should Be.
My mom’s mom’s name is 龍珍 (Precious Dragon). She is not like a dragon but She is very Precious and Special.
What’s in a Chinese name? Where does it come from? Usually the parents. The Chinese name tells some expectations from the parents. The Child hears the name, learns the expectations, then decides to try to do them _____ or not! I think it is better to try but not always. Yes, you should listen to your Chinese name, to the ideas of your parents and ancestors, But you must also be true to your heart.
Stanford
Nixon Elementary School
My mommy says Chinese names set expectations for life. My mommy’s name is 王立華(Lihua). It means Build up China. But I think she wants to climb trees instead.
My name is 麗珊 (Lishan). It means Beautiful Coral. I want to Be healthy and to be beautiful. Coral is Sharp! I must read Books and study.
My dog’s name is Sparky. Her Chinese name is 兔兔 (bunny). Could she be a bunny? No! But she can jump and sometimes she eats carrots.
My dad’s name is Glenn. His Chinese name is 野平. It means wild and calm. My did is not wild. But sometimes he Barks like a wild dog.
My mom’s dad’s name is 金堂 (gold house). I wonder if the gold house has windows? Because we can’t see inside him where the gold should Be.
My mom’s mom’s name is 龍珍 (Precious Dragon). She is not like a dragon but She is very Precious and Special.
What’s in a Chinese name? Where does it come from? Usually the parents. The Chinese name tells some expectations from the parents. The Child hears the name, learns the expectations, then decides to try to do them _____ or not! I think it is better to try but not always. Yes, you should listen to your Chinese name, to the ideas of your parents and ancestors, But you must also be true to your heart.
20100820
"Kami Ang Kabataan" (We Are The Youth)
Hogan High School's Filipino-American Class rehearse their rendition of a literary piece entitled "Kami ang Kabataan" (We Are The Youth) written by Christian Manansala. The poem is about love of country, diversity, and humanity.
20100819
To Fly Wingless
Fay Pon, 11th Grade
San Ramon
Dougherty Valley High School
By the age of six, I had moved a grand total of four times. And every time, Baba’s favorite gingko tree came along with us. No matter how many times its roots were pulled, torn, and cut from all the moving and replanting, the gingko tree never died.
Baba had brought its seeds from China to America when he was a child, and the tree has grown with him ever since.
“I replant my tree,” he explained, “because trees like this one will grow to be sturdy and it will live anywhere.”
Behind our new house was a small garden, and I would watch my father replant many, many gingko bilobas.
“Fay, when you grow up, you will be just like this tree. You will study hard and have a steady job and no matter where you go, you will survive and thrive well.”
I nodded obediently. I am a tree and I will grow up to be successful.
At the age of seven, I was going to be a wealthy business woman. It only takes four years of college, my mother would say to me, and it’ll keep you from ending up on the streets. It had been, indeed, a practical career choice. I again nodded obediently, not giving much thought for who I was going to be a decade from then.
However, as the year to choose colleges drew nearer, my outlook on my future began to change. I loved telling stories. I would tell them to the darkness of my bedroom when everyone slept and no one could hear, but it felt good because my voice echoed against the walls like a microphone. I would scribble them hastily on the margins of my homework planner. I would trace make-believe family trees and character-names with my finger. I was going to be a writer.
My Mama liked to tell stories too, but they all led back to the same moral lesson—
“And so, you have to study hard, and go to a good college, and be successful. You have to fulfill the expectations of your poor ancestors.”
Just like that, the phrase “good college” being the understatement of the century.
One day, when I was 12, I told my mother about my dreams.
She was in the kitchen preparing dim-sum whilst telling me about her life in China, a life of very little opportunity because of the death-strewn ravages of war, “You’re lucky, that Stanford is only an hour away.”
Mama gave me a gentle smile that flickered with hope. With dreams. With expectations.
I looked up at her, “But Mama, I want to publish a novel.”
“W-What?”
“A novel, Mama. You’re going to tell me more stories and I’m going to write it all down.I’m going to be a writer when I grow up,” I replied.
The smile on my mother’s face, however, slid off immediately.
“No Fay, most writers end up on the streets. You need a practical job. You will study hard and become an engineer like your father.”
At that, she pushed an Algebra book into my arms, “Go study.”
Oh well. Amongst the crowd, I guess I am just one person, like any other. Why should I dream any differently?
I was 14 when everything changed in our family. After my younger sister was diagnosed with Autism, I found interest in something other than writing. I soon began studying diseases and learning about the research involved in treating such maladies because, at the time, the doctor had told our family that there was no remedy for Autism. That made me sad, and no matter how much I wrote and wrote about despair and angst and forlorn little things, I could do nothing with words.
I wanted to help others, to take action in improving my sister’s condition and that of other patients as well. And so, in the waiting room that night at the hospital, I told my mother,
“I want to be a doctor, Mama.” I told her this, despite the fact that I still gripped my writing notebook in one hand and a fountain pen in the other.
She turned to me and smiled gently, taking my hand, “You know Fay, you are a strong girl. You should be what you want to be.”
And in that instant, my dreams came back.
I am almost 17 now, taking college courses as a high school student just like all the other Asian students in town.
But aside from the usual classes, I take Creative Writing classes. Despite the lack of encouragement, my dream in becoming an Asian American writer has not faltered.
I will double major, one in Medicine to pursue Autism research for my sister and one in Writing & Literature for myself, so I can fulfill both dreams, connect both ends of my family’s gossamer thread of hopes. And through time, I have grown to love both.
I have stories to tell about people like me, here in America, I say. My English teacher gives an encouraging smile.
I have the hands and the heart to help save lives, I say. At home, my family nods in approval. After all, studying medicine is a dream shared by us all.
My dad once told me that I was going to grow like a gingko tree one day, steady and wise. The tree can grow and grow and spread its roots, but it cannot walk away.
I am a bird. And the gingko tree is my home. A bird that can spread its wings even when the weather grows drafty, that can fly back and forth from dream to dream, from home to home.
A messenger bird, indeed.
It likes to tell stories, to sing its songs for the world to hear.
I can live two dreams now.
San Ramon
Dougherty Valley High School
By the age of six, I had moved a grand total of four times. And every time, Baba’s favorite gingko tree came along with us. No matter how many times its roots were pulled, torn, and cut from all the moving and replanting, the gingko tree never died.
Baba had brought its seeds from China to America when he was a child, and the tree has grown with him ever since.
“I replant my tree,” he explained, “because trees like this one will grow to be sturdy and it will live anywhere.”
Behind our new house was a small garden, and I would watch my father replant many, many gingko bilobas.
“Fay, when you grow up, you will be just like this tree. You will study hard and have a steady job and no matter where you go, you will survive and thrive well.”
I nodded obediently. I am a tree and I will grow up to be successful.
At the age of seven, I was going to be a wealthy business woman. It only takes four years of college, my mother would say to me, and it’ll keep you from ending up on the streets. It had been, indeed, a practical career choice. I again nodded obediently, not giving much thought for who I was going to be a decade from then.
However, as the year to choose colleges drew nearer, my outlook on my future began to change. I loved telling stories. I would tell them to the darkness of my bedroom when everyone slept and no one could hear, but it felt good because my voice echoed against the walls like a microphone. I would scribble them hastily on the margins of my homework planner. I would trace make-believe family trees and character-names with my finger. I was going to be a writer.
My Mama liked to tell stories too, but they all led back to the same moral lesson—
“And so, you have to study hard, and go to a good college, and be successful. You have to fulfill the expectations of your poor ancestors.”
Just like that, the phrase “good college” being the understatement of the century.
One day, when I was 12, I told my mother about my dreams.
She was in the kitchen preparing dim-sum whilst telling me about her life in China, a life of very little opportunity because of the death-strewn ravages of war, “You’re lucky, that Stanford is only an hour away.”
Mama gave me a gentle smile that flickered with hope. With dreams. With expectations.
I looked up at her, “But Mama, I want to publish a novel.”
“W-What?”
“A novel, Mama. You’re going to tell me more stories and I’m going to write it all down.I’m going to be a writer when I grow up,” I replied.
The smile on my mother’s face, however, slid off immediately.
“No Fay, most writers end up on the streets. You need a practical job. You will study hard and become an engineer like your father.”
At that, she pushed an Algebra book into my arms, “Go study.”
Oh well. Amongst the crowd, I guess I am just one person, like any other. Why should I dream any differently?
I was 14 when everything changed in our family. After my younger sister was diagnosed with Autism, I found interest in something other than writing. I soon began studying diseases and learning about the research involved in treating such maladies because, at the time, the doctor had told our family that there was no remedy for Autism. That made me sad, and no matter how much I wrote and wrote about despair and angst and forlorn little things, I could do nothing with words.
I wanted to help others, to take action in improving my sister’s condition and that of other patients as well. And so, in the waiting room that night at the hospital, I told my mother,
“I want to be a doctor, Mama.” I told her this, despite the fact that I still gripped my writing notebook in one hand and a fountain pen in the other.
She turned to me and smiled gently, taking my hand, “You know Fay, you are a strong girl. You should be what you want to be.”
And in that instant, my dreams came back.
I am almost 17 now, taking college courses as a high school student just like all the other Asian students in town.
But aside from the usual classes, I take Creative Writing classes. Despite the lack of encouragement, my dream in becoming an Asian American writer has not faltered.
I will double major, one in Medicine to pursue Autism research for my sister and one in Writing & Literature for myself, so I can fulfill both dreams, connect both ends of my family’s gossamer thread of hopes. And through time, I have grown to love both.
I have stories to tell about people like me, here in America, I say. My English teacher gives an encouraging smile.
I have the hands and the heart to help save lives, I say. At home, my family nods in approval. After all, studying medicine is a dream shared by us all.
My dad once told me that I was going to grow like a gingko tree one day, steady and wise. The tree can grow and grow and spread its roots, but it cannot walk away.
I am a bird. And the gingko tree is my home. A bird that can spread its wings even when the weather grows drafty, that can fly back and forth from dream to dream, from home to home.
A messenger bird, indeed.
It likes to tell stories, to sing its songs for the world to hear.
I can live two dreams now.
20100817
Beautiful Coral - My Chinese Name
Lishan Nan Caroll, Age 6, 1st Grade
Stanford
Nixon Elementary School
My mommy says Chinese names set expectations for life. My mommy’s name is 王立華(Lihua). It means Build up China. But I think she wants to climb trees instead.
My name is 麗珊 (Lishan). It means Beautiful Coral. I want to Be healthy and to be beautiful. Coral is Sharp! I must read Books and study.
My dog’s name is Sparky. Her Chinese name is 兔兔 (bunny). Could she be a bunny? No! But she can jump and sometimes she eats carrots.
My dad’s name is Glenn. His Chinese name is 野平. It means wild and calm. My did is not wild. But sometimes he Barks like a wild dog.
My mom’s dad’s name is 金堂 (gold house). I wonder if the gold house has windows? Because we can’t see inside him where the gold should Be.
My mom’s mom’s name is 龍珍 (Precious Dragon). She is not like a dragon but She is very Precious and Special.
What’s in a Chinese name? Where does it come from? Usually the parents. The Chinese name tells some expectations from the parents. The Child hears the name, learns the expectations, then decides to try to do them _____ or not! I think it is better to try but not always. Yes, you should listen to your Chinese name, to the ideas of your parents and ancestors, But you must also be true to your heart.
Stanford
Nixon Elementary School
My mommy says Chinese names set expectations for life. My mommy’s name is 王立華(Lihua). It means Build up China. But I think she wants to climb trees instead.
My name is 麗珊 (Lishan). It means Beautiful Coral. I want to Be healthy and to be beautiful. Coral is Sharp! I must read Books and study.
My dog’s name is Sparky. Her Chinese name is 兔兔 (bunny). Could she be a bunny? No! But she can jump and sometimes she eats carrots.
My dad’s name is Glenn. His Chinese name is 野平. It means wild and calm. My did is not wild. But sometimes he Barks like a wild dog.
My mom’s dad’s name is 金堂 (gold house). I wonder if the gold house has windows? Because we can’t see inside him where the gold should Be.
My mom’s mom’s name is 龍珍 (Precious Dragon). She is not like a dragon but She is very Precious and Special.
What’s in a Chinese name? Where does it come from? Usually the parents. The Chinese name tells some expectations from the parents. The Child hears the name, learns the expectations, then decides to try to do them _____ or not! I think it is better to try but not always. Yes, you should listen to your Chinese name, to the ideas of your parents and ancestors, But you must also be true to your heart.
20100512
My Faustian Pact
By Wilson Wu Fan Ai Tong School, 5A
"You've been tested positive.." Those words form the doctor weighed down like an anchor. MY heart sank, body iced and mind blanked in an instant. Now that I recall, the first image to enter my mind after regaining a semblance of composure was a dying AIDS1 victim, surrounded by his family members, in an advertisement from United Colours of Benetton. I'm now a carrier of the HIV2 virus.
About a year ago, I still had a future. Leading to its destruction, ironically, was an opportunity that my friends and I thought was golden. "Boys, we've got a gig!" exclaimed Steve. He was the lead vocalist of The Cream, a nascent band that featured his younger brother, Jacob, as the percussionist; Johnny, our childhood friend, as the bass guitarist; and me, the lead guitarist. Lady Luck must be smiling down, all of us thought, when Steve broke the news that we had been selected to perform at the annual Rock Festival.
The event was an unexpected success. We were buoyed by the cheers and applause from the electrified crowd. What surprised us even more were the flattering comments from Matthew, an influential composer in the region. "It was a fantastic performance. I didn't have the impression that you guys were a bunch of rookies," he remarked. Before parting, we were invited to a party at his house. Steve eagerly agreed on our behalf. "We need connections," he told us later.
An unmistakable air of hedonism permeated the sprawling apartment. The owner had no lack of any material comfort that I could think of. Every piece of furniture, decoration and entertainment device was synonymous with luxury. It seemed that we had entered a different world. Except for us, the guests at Matthew's party were all dressed in designer outfits. They were dancing to techno music while we stood at a corner sipping cocktails served by waiters who treated us condescendingly.
Jacob, feeling bored and uneasy, said, "There are only high society people here. This is not a place for us." Just when we were deliberating whether to leave, the host came up to us. "Hey, are you guys comfortable?" Matthew asked. "Let me be a gracious host," he continued without waiting for a reply. "You can ease yourselves into the party." Matthew then took Steve's hand, placed a packet of pink pills on his palm and closed the the fingers to make a fist before letting go. I saw a smirk on the composer's lips. His penetrating eyeballs gave each of us a glance. He walked away after pretending to pop something into his mouth. The gesture was easily understood.
"We are not going to touch that stuff!" Jacob protested as soon as the host was out of sight. I nodded in agreement. "Are you afraid of ending up like Kurt Cobain?" Steve snapped. "Don't forget the premature deaths of Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison!" Jacob retorted, citing the names of iconic rock personalities who had their lives terminated by drugs. The two brothers were embroiled in a heated exchange of words until Johnny interrupted, "Jacob, I know that we should stay clean, but your brother is right. We need the performances, songs and tips that Matthew can offer to give us the success that our talents deserve." There was no denying that Matthew could propel our musical ambition. Steve coaxed. Johnny cajoled. By rejecting the drugs, they believed we would not get another opportunity to seek the help of Matthew. In the end, we made a dual pact. We agreed to rid our lives of drugs once we achieved our objectives and to prevent each other from getting into a vicious cycle of addiction.
It turned out to be a Faustian pact. Our acceptance of drugs from Matthew brought us into his circle of influence. He used his clout to help the band gain publicity though various platforms, and much sooner than expected, a proposal was tabled for us to cut our very first album. In the meantime, we ventured deeper and deeper into the wasteland of drugs. The dark side of Matthew was soon revealed to us. Behind his facade as a respected composer, he was the leader of a drug syndicate. We were among his clientele. The few attempts made to wean ourselves from drugs were blocked by withdrawal symptoms that brought absolute misery. It was too difficult to exchange glamour and rewards for suffering. In the spiraling freefall, we graduated from "Ecstasy" pills to a smorgasbord of cocaine, heroin and marijuana.
A drug raid abruptly ended our life of decadence. Narcotics officers operating undercover arrested us in a discotheque. Memories of the incident are vague. I was high and dazed when the law caught up with me. It was in police custody that I realised the folly of my actions. However, I did not expect the consequences to be more severe that imprisonment and caning. Three days after a mandatory blood specimen test, I was told of my infection with the deadly HIV virus. It was tantamount to pronouncing the death sentence on me. The same fate fell on Steve. We must have been infected through needles used by other drug abusers.
Almost two months have since elapsed. During this period, I experienced the agony of freeing my body from narcotics dependence. Many times during the day, in a silent lucidity, I wished regretfully that time could be reversed. The nights were interspersed with intense moments of anguish. Thoughts of suicide crossed my mind. The haunting guilt and pain are difficult to exorcise.
Yet, I have derived from them the strength to live on. In the drug rehabilitation centre where I am now, many former addicts have shared their stories with me. All the accounts invariably end with a desire to make restitution to those who have been hurt. I cannot cause more sorrows to my parents. Rather than choosing a road to perdition, I have decided to complete my remaining journey with dignity. Obstacles will arise along the way, but I am prepared to face them. Indeed, the price for taking drugs is too high to pay and they must be shunned without hesitation.
1 AIDS is the acronym for Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome
2 HIV stands for Human Immunodeficiency Virus
"You've been tested positive.." Those words form the doctor weighed down like an anchor. MY heart sank, body iced and mind blanked in an instant. Now that I recall, the first image to enter my mind after regaining a semblance of composure was a dying AIDS1 victim, surrounded by his family members, in an advertisement from United Colours of Benetton. I'm now a carrier of the HIV2 virus.
About a year ago, I still had a future. Leading to its destruction, ironically, was an opportunity that my friends and I thought was golden. "Boys, we've got a gig!" exclaimed Steve. He was the lead vocalist of The Cream, a nascent band that featured his younger brother, Jacob, as the percussionist; Johnny, our childhood friend, as the bass guitarist; and me, the lead guitarist. Lady Luck must be smiling down, all of us thought, when Steve broke the news that we had been selected to perform at the annual Rock Festival.
The event was an unexpected success. We were buoyed by the cheers and applause from the electrified crowd. What surprised us even more were the flattering comments from Matthew, an influential composer in the region. "It was a fantastic performance. I didn't have the impression that you guys were a bunch of rookies," he remarked. Before parting, we were invited to a party at his house. Steve eagerly agreed on our behalf. "We need connections," he told us later.
An unmistakable air of hedonism permeated the sprawling apartment. The owner had no lack of any material comfort that I could think of. Every piece of furniture, decoration and entertainment device was synonymous with luxury. It seemed that we had entered a different world. Except for us, the guests at Matthew's party were all dressed in designer outfits. They were dancing to techno music while we stood at a corner sipping cocktails served by waiters who treated us condescendingly.
Jacob, feeling bored and uneasy, said, "There are only high society people here. This is not a place for us." Just when we were deliberating whether to leave, the host came up to us. "Hey, are you guys comfortable?" Matthew asked. "Let me be a gracious host," he continued without waiting for a reply. "You can ease yourselves into the party." Matthew then took Steve's hand, placed a packet of pink pills on his palm and closed the the fingers to make a fist before letting go. I saw a smirk on the composer's lips. His penetrating eyeballs gave each of us a glance. He walked away after pretending to pop something into his mouth. The gesture was easily understood.
"We are not going to touch that stuff!" Jacob protested as soon as the host was out of sight. I nodded in agreement. "Are you afraid of ending up like Kurt Cobain?" Steve snapped. "Don't forget the premature deaths of Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison!" Jacob retorted, citing the names of iconic rock personalities who had their lives terminated by drugs. The two brothers were embroiled in a heated exchange of words until Johnny interrupted, "Jacob, I know that we should stay clean, but your brother is right. We need the performances, songs and tips that Matthew can offer to give us the success that our talents deserve." There was no denying that Matthew could propel our musical ambition. Steve coaxed. Johnny cajoled. By rejecting the drugs, they believed we would not get another opportunity to seek the help of Matthew. In the end, we made a dual pact. We agreed to rid our lives of drugs once we achieved our objectives and to prevent each other from getting into a vicious cycle of addiction.
It turned out to be a Faustian pact. Our acceptance of drugs from Matthew brought us into his circle of influence. He used his clout to help the band gain publicity though various platforms, and much sooner than expected, a proposal was tabled for us to cut our very first album. In the meantime, we ventured deeper and deeper into the wasteland of drugs. The dark side of Matthew was soon revealed to us. Behind his facade as a respected composer, he was the leader of a drug syndicate. We were among his clientele. The few attempts made to wean ourselves from drugs were blocked by withdrawal symptoms that brought absolute misery. It was too difficult to exchange glamour and rewards for suffering. In the spiraling freefall, we graduated from "Ecstasy" pills to a smorgasbord of cocaine, heroin and marijuana.
A drug raid abruptly ended our life of decadence. Narcotics officers operating undercover arrested us in a discotheque. Memories of the incident are vague. I was high and dazed when the law caught up with me. It was in police custody that I realised the folly of my actions. However, I did not expect the consequences to be more severe that imprisonment and caning. Three days after a mandatory blood specimen test, I was told of my infection with the deadly HIV virus. It was tantamount to pronouncing the death sentence on me. The same fate fell on Steve. We must have been infected through needles used by other drug abusers.
Almost two months have since elapsed. During this period, I experienced the agony of freeing my body from narcotics dependence. Many times during the day, in a silent lucidity, I wished regretfully that time could be reversed. The nights were interspersed with intense moments of anguish. Thoughts of suicide crossed my mind. The haunting guilt and pain are difficult to exorcise.
Yet, I have derived from them the strength to live on. In the drug rehabilitation centre where I am now, many former addicts have shared their stories with me. All the accounts invariably end with a desire to make restitution to those who have been hurt. I cannot cause more sorrows to my parents. Rather than choosing a road to perdition, I have decided to complete my remaining journey with dignity. Obstacles will arise along the way, but I am prepared to face them. Indeed, the price for taking drugs is too high to pay and they must be shunned without hesitation.
1 AIDS is the acronym for Acquired Immunodeficiency Syndrome
2 HIV stands for Human Immunodeficiency Virus
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