🤩 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐦 𝐓𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐬 🤩

[Scroll down for Model Essays.]

🧑🏻‍🏫Ever wonder what keeps our teachers up at night? It is not just marking papers! At Writers' Guild, our dedicated team has been 𝗵𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 composition topics from schools across the island to give our students the extra edge. Over recent years, 𝗣𝗦𝗟𝗘 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗽𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗿𝘆 𝗲𝘅𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗰𝘀 𝗵𝗮𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗹𝘆 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗳𝗶𝗰, narrowing the scope of what students are encouraged to write about. Read on to explore our insights on these evolving trends and visit our blog to read the exemplary essays crafted by our teachers.

🤔While more focused questions can 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙫𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙘𝙡𝙖𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙮 and help students 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙨, they often limit the 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙫𝙚 𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙚𝙣𝙨𝙞𝙫𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙣'𝙨 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙘𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙗𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙚𝙨. This reduction in imaginative freedom can inhibit the expression of broader ideas that students may want to explore.

👏Despite these constraints, we believe our students can excel by offering 𝗳𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗵, 𝗼𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗽𝗿𝗲𝘁𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 of even the most narrow topics. To do so, they must navigate the hidden pitfalls and rise to the challenges posed by each prompt.

🧳Today, we are unpacking SIX 𝙥𝙤𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙧 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙚𝙭𝙖𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙤𝙥𝙞𝙘𝙨!🧳

💡 💡💡𝗣𝗨𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗡 𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗔 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗢 𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 💡 💡 💡

Generic Idea:

Example: I saw a YouTube video on making fish and chips and tried it at home. I thought it would be easy, but it was hard. In the end, I got it right. My family enjoyed a nice fish and chips dinner cooked by me.

Analysis:

The plot focuses too much on actions with no emotional connection. The lack of conflict or personal stakes makes the storyline flat. Students often overlook the importance of emotional resonance and character development, which are crucial to elevating both content and language. A creative, well-crafted plot can significantly enhance a student’s score, potentially improving their overall score by 5-10 marks.

Improved Idea:

Example: Grandfather was terminally ill with cancer. He was missing Grandmother’s beef rendang. I had an amazing idea which was to replicate the dish to fulfil his dying wish, but I was running out of time!

Why It Works:

Adding emotional stakes and focusing on internal conflict and relationships creates a more compelling and engaging story.

🦵 🦵 🦵 𝗞𝗜𝗖𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔 𝗕𝗔𝗗 𝗛𝗔𝗕𝗜𝗧 🦵 🦵 🦵 

Generic Idea:

Example: I was a student who had a habit of procrastination. I was always distracted by social media and video games after school. I fought with my friend over a game controller. In the end despite the fight, we were able to finish a big assignment. Ta-da! I was no longer a procrastinator.

Analysis:

Taking on a unique perspective of a teacher as well as ensuring that there is a relevant complication within the story ties the entire story together. Having the main character fail then succeed later allows the fulfilment of the story mountain arch. In essence, this establishes the main character's growth over the complication of the story thus resulting in a payoff moment in the resolution.

Improved Idea:

Example: I was a teacher who had the bad habit of being late. After a particularly embarrassing moment at the school gates, I vowed never to be late again. After I slipped back into bad habits and was late on an important occasion, I was called out by the principal in front of the whole school. I was also served a warning letter. I had to do everything I could so that I would never be late again, including getting to the root of the problem.

Why It Works:

Taking on a unique perspective of a teacher as well as ensuring that there is a relevant complication within the story ties the entire story together. Having the main character fail first then succeed later will create more tension within the story. This keeps the reader at the edge of their seat.

🪃  🪃  🪃  𝗔 𝗦𝗨𝗗𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗡 𝗢𝗙 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦 🪃  🪃  🪃  

Generic Idea:

Example: I witnessed my mother getting into a car accident. However, by a stroke of luck, she managed to survive. She had no lasting complications.

Analysis:

This topic requires a stark contrast between the initial situation and the subsequent turn of events. Students sometimes fail to create this contrast, resulting in a less impactful narrative. It's essential to highlight both the speed of change and the emotional repercussions for the characters to fully capture the "sudden turn."

Improved Idea:

Example: My mother and I were feeling on top of the world on a dream vacation. We were at the top of our career and schooling life respectively. A devastating tsunami suddenly interrupted our lives. She was lost in the waters and I was faced with the prospect of being orphaned. As I was surrounded by death, and when all hope seemed lost, she called out for me.

Why It Works:

A strong backstory, as well as colourful characterisation, sets the backdrop of an idyllic holiday that was cut short by a sudden disaster. The stirring plotline depicts the strong relationships between the characters and draws out their powerful emotions. Furthermore, the unexpected twist lies in the ending.

🚀 🚀  🚀  𝗔 𝗕𝗢𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗢𝗙 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗙𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘  🚀 🚀  🚀

Generic Idea:

Example: I was a shy student who struggled with public speaking and was dreading an upcoming presentation. However, my parents gave a pep talk to boost my confidence.

Analysis: Many students fall into the habit of writing a piece without any interesting peripheral characters that have the potential to spice up the story. The story becomes one-dimensional, lacking depth, contrast and readability.

Improved Idea:

Example: I was nominated to represent our group project when my charismatic groupmate, who was supposed to present our project, fell sick. A stranger to the spotlight, I was paralysed on stage. Adding fuel to the fire, my crush was in the audience, making me even more self-conscious. In an exciting twist, it was her who turned out to be my boost of confidence.

Why It Works:

The colourful characterisation here not only helps to develop the theme but enhances reader engagement. A huge contributing factor to the complication unexpectedly turns out to be the solution.

💞  💞  💞  𝗠𝗔𝗞𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔 𝗗𝗜𝗙𝗙𝗘𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗖𝗘  💞  💞  💞

Generic Idea:

Example: My parents were complaining that I was not spending enough time with them. I decided to make a difference and started to include them more in my daily life.

Analysis:

The danger in this topic is not ensuring that the difference that is made shows much significance or emotional weight. Moreover, without effective characterisation, the narrative runs the risk of becoming tedious and fails to distinguish itself.

Improved Idea:

Example: My beloved school canteen vendor was suddenly absent for many days. With no one willing to disclose the truth to me, I was troubled by this. Shockingly, when she returned, she was a ghost of her old self due to an illness. I started crowdfunding and rallied everyone to give her emotional support. This made a world of a difference to a childless and lonely low-income woman.

Why It Works:

The story features well-developed characters who grapple with relatable, real-life challenges. The main character's innocence and kindness drive the story forward and effectively highlight the theme by positively impacting someone cherished by all.

🥹 🥹 🥹 𝗧𝗥𝗬𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗡𝗘𝗪 🥹 🥹 🥹

Generic Idea:

Example: I was an introverted student who was not sporty at all. Seeing my friends talking excitedly about their Taekwondo class, I decided to join them and try something new.

Analysis: Students may risk placing excessive emphasis on the backstory and buildup, potentially neglecting the process of trying something new. There may be a lack of reason why they wanted to try something new in the first place. They might also overlook reflecting on their personal growth and emotions following their new experiences.

Improved Idea:

Example: I was averse to anything horror-related. However, after being dragged into a horror theme park, a cute rabbit caught my eye and I wanted to win it for my girlfriend. The cost of this would have to come from earning tokens from the horror-themed attractions at the theme park. To my shock and surprise, I found the experience exhilarating and overcoming my fear gave me an entirely new perspective on life.

Why It Works:

The protagonist begins with a clear aversion to horror, highlighting a common fear that many can relate to. Being dragged to the horror theme park serves as a pivotal moment that forces the protagonist out of their comfort zone. The desire to win the cute rabbit for the protagonist's girlfriend adds a layer of motivation, emphasing the importance of personal sacrifice and the willingness to face fears for someone we care about. This transformation from fear to enjoyment encapsulates the essence of trying something new — showing how stepping outside one’s comfort zone can lead to surprising and positive outcomes.

Check out our model essays on these popular P6 Prelim Paper 1 Composition Topics here:

 A Boost Of Confidence

“Next up, the handsome Hugh Cherryman!”

My ears perked up at the excited cheers from the television. The stimulating visuals on the screen captured my attention. It was the finals of The Voice, my favourite singing competition on television. The camera panned to show the spotlights focusing on a contestant, who was nervously fidgeting with his hands. As I tucked into my popcorn, happily perched on my comfortable armchair, I was suddenly reminded of a moment that I stood equally nervous in front of a crowd. There was a glimmer of pride in my eyes as vivid memories of that memorable experience came flooding back…

My heart was palpitating like a symphony of a thousand drums. It was our presentation day! I had been working tirelessly on a project for months with my two best friends, Keegan and Douglas. I trotted merrily to school, knowing full well that our presentation would be phenomenal. After all, we had Keegan, our hidden arsenal. Not only was he good-looking, he had an amazing voice and was a salesman by nature. He could even convince me to buy a dirty spoon if he wanted to!

As I was thinking to myself about how lucky I was, I received a text from Keegan stating that his cough had worsened and he was unable to come to school for the presentation. Staring in stunned silence, a small gasp escaped my lips. My slightly shaky hands concealed my mouth which was hanging wide open. He was the star of our presentation. What were we without him? Douglas had a stutter and I had severe stage fright. As I continued reading his text, my jaw dropped. Realisation hit me like a bucket of ice water. He had appointed me to be his substitute.

Fear began crawling in my head as it nestled itself cosily inside me while I was preparing for Keegan’s part. My mind went blank and I could not remember any of his lines! It felt like blood was sucked out of my face as I turned as pale as wax. Although I was familiar with Keegan’s part, I could never emulate his flair. I bit my lip hard, hoping that this was all just a bad dream.

I ran my fingers through my hair.

“I can’t do this, man… Can I?” I babbled.

At that moment, I glanced at Douglas who was nervously biting his lips. Realising how much he practised, I realised that I could not throw away our hard work just like that. The pain in my head was throbbing, but I chose not to abandon my team. Just then, the emcee called upon our group’s name to go on stage.

As I sauntered onto the stage, I gazed out at the audience. The spotlight blinded my eyes. I raised a hand to block out the spotlight. I could feel the stare of every audience member boring into me.

Gulping, my eyes flickered over the faces of each audience member. I started sweating profusely and I could feel myself break out in perspirations. My hands grew clammy. Shards of self-doubt pierced through my entire body. I was glued to the spot and stood as still as a mannequin.

Just then, I caught sight of a familiar face in the audience. It was my crush, Anne. My confidence plummeted even further and my voice caught in my throat. She looked stunning. Her usual ponytail was now a waterfall of raven-black tresses. She was wearing her favourite baby pink jacket that brought out her apple-red cheeks. With her piercing eyes scrutinising my movements, I was like a deer caught in the headlights. Frightening thoughts raced through my mind. What if I embarrassed myself in front of her?

A fervent blush crept up to my cheeks. I wished that the ground would open up and swallow me whole at that instant. If Keegan was here instead, we would have certainly aced the presentation. I could never replace charismatic, captivating Keegan. Pin-drop silence filled the air. I stared down between my toes as beads of nervous perspiration formed. I felt like I was free-falling into a deep dark abyss.

In the thick of the merciless struggle in my head, I heard a voice as sweet as the angels’ singing calling from the audience, “You can do it, Jay! Remember all the hard work you put into this? Don’t let it go to waste! ” Looking into the spotlights, I scanned the seats. I caught sight of Anne pumping her fists in the air as she cheered me on. The light danced around her, illuminating a halo over her head. Her fists shook and she jumped up and down, seemingly in slow motion. Breathless at the magnificent sight before me, I felt a surge of electricity through my spine. My heart was thudding furiously in my ears. Anne’s encouragement gave me a boost in confidence.

Seeing her radiant smile, I smiled radiantly too.

My pearly whites flashed in front of the audience.

I took a deep breath. The floodgates in my mind opened as my subconscious came rushing in the form of a brand new persona to help me. Words began tumbling out of my mouth naturally. Looking between Anne and Douglas for support, I steeled myself as I soldiered on through the presentation. Anne’s smile gave me strength. I walked the stage from left to right like a beauty queen, gesturing and articulating myself confidently.

“... and that’s why we should implement free healthcare.” I pumped my fist into the air.

As I spoke my last sentence, the audience ruptured into a tumultuous applause. Pride coloured my face as beautiful as the rainbow. I bowed, both bashfully and contently at the resounding applause I was showered with. Beaming at Douglas, I rushed over to hug him tightly as he clutched on tightly to his cellphone and eagerly texted the positive reception of our presentation to Keegan. In the midst of the feverish flurry of celebrations, I caught a glimpse of Anne’s eyes twinkling in the audience as she grinned from ear to ear. She dashed to the stage and gave me a high-five. My heart skipped a beat and it felt like time had slowed down.

“Congratulations to Ryan Graynolds on winning first place!” The roaring applause on the television snapped me back to reality. I jolted in my seat with a silly smile painted across my face at the memory. Up till this day, I could still vividly recall how proud I felt when I overcame my stage fright and got the support of my crush. Where there is a will, there is a way. The day I was given a boost in confidence taught me a valuable lesson that you should never give up or compare your abilities to others. Nothing is impossible, not even if you yourself assume so.

Kicking A Bad Habit

I was a ball of sweat. Glancing quickly at my watch, I huffed towards the school gate. Oh no, I’m going to be late again! I thought to myself. Both adrenaline and panic coursed through my veins. As I approached the school gate, a stern gaze from the teacher on duty, Mr Tim, made my blood run cold. Adding fuel to the fire, the prefect on duty gave me a slow, disapproving glance, scanning me from head to toe as if weighing every flaw. I chewed on my lips in embarrassment and hugged my book tote tightly towards my chest. To my dismay, faint strains of the national anthem drifted from afar. That felt like the final nail in the coffin. It was my third time being late for school!

“Late again, huh?”  Mr Tim stated emphatically. A current of unease electrified the air around me, setting my nerves alight. I stared at my shoes. As other latecomers sprinted towards the school gate, I stood rooted, willing the national anthem and pledge to be over. Every second felt like a painful eternity. As the chorus of voices faded off, Mr Tim unlocked the school gate to let everybody in. I attempted to blend in with the other latecomers, shuffling my feet hastily when a voice rang out.

 “Mr Shaun. Huh. Not exactly a role model for the other students, are you?” Those words stung me like a whip, leaving an invisible mark. At that moment, a reel of my mother’s and university lecturers’ faces started playing in my head in sepia-tone.

"You are the compass guiding your students' behaviour and growth.”

“Lead by example”!”

“You are moulding the future of our nation!”

A stab of guilt tightened in my chest. I had spent the entire night playing Fortnite on my phone. Not exactly embodying the role model I wanted to be for my students. That bad habit of mine had seized control of my nightly routines. What began as an escape from a painful breakup had evolved into an all-consuming force, infiltrating my professional life. Night after night, as the hours ticked away, I stayed up late. Lost in the glow of the screen, caught in the thrill of the game. Lately, I found myself consistently pushing the limits of my arrival time at work, leading to that very moment.

Mr Tim warned me that if I were to be late again, he would report me to Principal Paul. I nodded hastily and quickly scampered off to lead my form class to their classroom. Every pair of eyes seemed to follow me, acutely aware of my irony in being late as their teacher. As we meandered towards their classrooms, I squeezed my eyes shut momentarily, vowing to kick the awful habit of mine that seemed to have eroded my students’ respect for me.

That day represented Day Zero—my resolute commitment to cease nighttime gaming. I powered off my phone at 10 p.m. that night in an attempt to go cold turkey on my addiction. An unsettling wave of withdrawal washed over me. The urge to power up my phone and dive into the comfort of my familiar virtual world clawed at my mind. My innocent looking silver phone seemed to call out like a siren. As I stared at the ceiling, I drummed my fingers on my belly, willing my eyes to close and the night to pass.

That happened for several nights. Instead of getting easier, I started to become irritable and restless as I adjusted to having to face the real world. I also felt a huge sense of loss because of the time and effort I used to pour into the game. However, I knew I did not have a choice. Another instance of tardiness could land me in the principal’s office. Imagine that! How ironic it was for a teacher to be late and then summoned by the principal! I gritted my teeth for exactly eight days, not foreseeing what would happen on the ninth.

As I wrapped up my marking for that evening, I yawned and stretched out my arms. I flopped onto my bed like a beached seal, getting ready to turn in for the evening. I placed my phone on my nightstand as I had recently been doing and pulled up the covers. I turned and faced the wall, willing the night to pass quickly. A familiar ding rang out. I realised I had forgotten to turn off my phone. I grabbed my phone and realised it was my gaming buddy’s message about a new game release.

My heart raced, a mix of familiar pleasure and dread swirling within. An intoxicating wave of exhilaration took over me. I hesitated. My fingers started to tremble as I logged into the app store. As I gave in to temptation, the weight of my resolve shattered, replaced by a rush of nostalgia and adrenaline. Mr Tim’s voice whispered the cost of my choice. However, I ignored his ghost and folded my legs, my arms perched on them for support, and got ready to embark on a brand-new adventure…

The night evaporated before I knew it. I rubbed my crusty eyes and drowsily flicked a look at the Apple watch on my wrist. 8 a.m.?! I was half an hour late! I had spent the entire night gaming and fell asleep near dawn. To compound the situation, I stared at the date for a hot minute, only to realise that it was Speech Day. I was the host. 

A wave of goosebumps erupted on my skin. I put on my creased suit and hurried to school with great urgency, sprinting like never before to expedite my much-needed arrival. I huffed, yet again another ball of sweat, towards the gate and mercifully that morning, it was unmanned. I bolted up the stairs and headed toward the main hall, where the bright lights illuminated the space and the floral scents from the decorations wafted through the air. Behind the closed doors, a muffled booming voice echoed. I opened the doors cautiously, hoping to slip backstage unnoticed.

“Mr Shaun! Ah! Our host! I guess he took the scenic route to work today!” Principal Paul addressed me and the crowd with a bright smile, but his voice was tinged with unmistakable irritation. I froze in my tracks. Realisation hit me like a sudden blush of fire, spreading warmth across my cheeks and tightening my throat as I wished for the ground to swallow me whole. I clenched my jaw tightly, lowering my gaze, unable to confront the scrutiny of the sea of students, parents and teachers around me. I had never been so mortified in my entire life. I staggered towards the stage, feeling both urgency and reluctance as I knew I had to assume my duties for the day. My unpreparedness and sense of humiliation impacted my performance as a host. I stumbled over my words and stammered my way through. When the ceremony ended, I could see the disappointed and cringing faces of my colleagues who completely avoided me like the plague when I stepped off the stage. As they tucked into their bento lunchboxes, they avoided my gaze and cast judgmental looks whenever I accidentally caught their eye. My students and parents, who were a little more affable, asked why I was late for the day. I laughed it off uncomfortably and gave a somewhat generic non-answer. The cherry on top of that bitter cake was a text from Principal Paul on the end of the day enclosing a warning letter. Another episode of tardiness would result in immediate termination.

I felt a sense of profound failure. I had not only failed myself. I had failed my colleagues, my superiors, and the entire school population. The moment I reached home, I sank to my knees and wept like a child. My shoulders shook with each sob, unable to get over the fact that I had one job and was doing a horrible job of it because of my gaming addiction. At that moment, I opened my drawer and chucked my phone in there, refusing to let it take over my life again. I decided to dedicate myself to improving my professionalism and relationships with my family and colleagues.

To distance myself from addictive technology, I started a journal to strategise on how I could be more productive and efficient as a person. I also spoke to my school’s counsellor who gave me some tips on how to be a more present individual. I even started redecorating to make my home environment conducive for exercising and marking. As I cleared my unwanted belongings from all over the house, I found old photos of the very relationship that triggered my gaming addiction in the first place. I wistfully threw them away, hoping that I could also throw my bad habits along with that too. I knew I had to fill up that unrepaired hole in my heart with a healthier way of living.

I decided to transfer the same fervour from my old online world to real life, filling up my days with not just exercise and work, but also volunteering. The rewards from gaming were nothing compared to the innate sense of happiness I felt from serving others. Day Zero had to start again. However, as I learned from my school counsellor, there is no shame in starting from scratch again. Overcoming addiction has its ups and downs. Every time we climb back up, we find out more about ourselves. In fact, kicking a bad habit takes courage. The ability to start again also shows perseverance and determination – a commitment to changing for the better and a desire to lead a more well-balanced life. That is something to be proud of.

Making A Difference

Humid air greeted me as I entered the school canteen. Raucous chattering filled the air and excited students could be seen buzzing around the open area. I took in a deep breath and sighed as the familiar salty aroma of freshly baked pretzels wafted into my nostrils. I felt like I was on cloud nine. Strolling deeper into the bustling canteen, the rich scent of hot caramel invaded my senses. I scanned the crowd, searching for that delicious treat but a shadow flickered in my mind. Instantly, I was taken back to the memory of when this sweet aroma had almost become a distant echo…

If I had to pick one thing to eat for the rest of my school life, it would be Aunty Anne’s amazing pretzels. However, she is not to be confused with the popular American pretzel franchise, Auntie Anne! Our Aunty Anne was a woman dear to the hearts of students from Pumpkin Primary School. She had cheeks that were as rosy as the reddest apples and everyone in the school adored her. Despite knowing aunty Anne for years, all we knew about her was that she lived alone and had no children.

I remembered a time when I forgot to bring my wallet to school. I was a devoted fan of her pretzels and so Aunty Anne gave me my favourite flavour, free-of-charge! Her generosity knew no bounds. Every recess, I looked forward to one thing and one thing only, aunty Anne’s amazing pretzels. However, in the last few days, I noticed that Aunty Anne’s stall had been closed on multiple occasions. From my loyal patronage to her stall, I knew that this was unusual. When I asked the vendors from the other stalls about it, they would skillfully dodge my questions. I heaved a big sigh, unsatisfied with their responses. After all, for all six years of my life at Pumpkin Primary School, I had been eating her pretzels without fail.

I sat listlessly in my classes as I let my thoughts wander to the flakey mystery of Aunty Anne’s strange behaviour. Drumming my fingers on the table, I pouted. The drone of my teacher’s voice went from one ear and out the other. Eventually when the bell for recess rang, I scrambled to the canteen. To my utter delight, Aunty Anne’s stall was open that day! A relieved smile found its way onto my lips. I wiped away the nervous sweat that had unknowingly been trickling down my forehead. I had not realised how much I missed Aunty Anne and her glorious pretzels. Clutching my coin purse and armed with determination, I was determined to find out about her absence.

Marching up to the stall with an unwavering resolve, I rehearsed my lines in my head. Suddenly, something drew my gaze. I stopped short and all the colour drained from my face. aunty Anne had her hair shaved and was wearing a beanie as she took the orders. Her complexion was as pale as a sheet and her once supple cheeks were looking sunken. Frightening thoughts ran through my mind. Could she have been ill the entire time? Was that why she had to occasionally close her stall? I shook my head to get rid of those negative thoughts. When it was my turn to order, Aunty Anne’s cheerful visage greeted me.

“Long time no see, darling. How have you been?” Upon hearing her soothing honey-like voice, I immediately froze. I struggled to find the words to ask about her absence and state of health as she looked at me expectantly. Unsure of what to say, I managed a forced smile, I timidly placed my order. “I’ve been well. May I get one caramel pretzel, please?”

For the rest of the school day, I was completely distracted even until the school bell rang. I found myself trudging to the school gates when I caught sight of something unexpected. Aunty Anne was on the phone, her face in her palms as she paced around nervously. Worry creased my forehead. Something was wrong.

I watched with bated breath as Aunty Anne fished around her haversack to pull out a whole container of medication. That was when realisation hit me like a bucket of ice water. Aunty Anne was clearly unwell. I wrung my hands as I stared forlornly at the scene before me. Sadness engulfed me whole. An expression of deep concern was etched on my face. I could not help the growing sympathy.

Pity settled into a rock in my chest, heavy and flinty. I had to do something about this. Instantly, my mind was ensued in a ruthless duel. Should I speak to her or should I not? If I speak to her, aunty Anne may not want me to know about her situation. However, if I do not, I may never be able to help her and let her know that I care. I sighed. My mind was caught in a fierce, unrelenting struggle. All of a sudden, an idea crossed my mind.

Grabbing my pens, I started to pen down a well wishing note, showing appreciation for aunty Anne’s pretzels. I even got my classmates to join in and show support for Aunty Anne. Before long, the board was filled with colourful notes and words. Relief flooded my heart. Everyone seemed to be concerned for aunty Anne just as much as I was.

“Having to close her stall for days must have affected her income.” One of my classmates pondered aloud. “Should we raise some funds to help with that?”

Our teacher chimed in to say that it was a great idea! We brainstormed the concept from the beginning to the end. We decided to sell hand drawn greeting cards during the approaching School Carnival. The happiness that was glowing from inside of me was bright enough to light the entire country. I was thrilled that everyone was so enthusiastic. I was smiling so wide that my cheeks started hurting.

In preparation for the carnival, the class stayed back after school to craft colourful and charming greeting cards. When the School Carnival rolled around, we were confident that we would be able to sell out. On the day itself, we watched in a feverish excitement as our stock of greeting notes depleted and our cash box got heavier.

Ding ding ding! The bell signalling the end of the carnival rang. My classmates and I hurried to organise all that we had prepared for aunty Anne. We caught Aunty Anne in the nick of time just as she was packing up for the day. My heart was palpitating like the symphony of a thousand drums as I presented our messages and proudly announced, “Aunty Anne, we have something for you.”

Staring in stunned silence, a small gasp escaped her lips. Her slightly shaky hands received the messages and the cash box from our fundraiser as tears dripped down her pale face. “Thank you, you are such sweet children. This will certainly help me a lot!” she breathed. All the tension from earlier melted into relief as I could finally breathe.

Her hands trembled and her chin wobbled. We could see tears shining in her eyes.

“Children… thank you so much. As you all know… I don’t have any children. Aunty cannot have any children,” she suddenly wept. We looked at each other, biting our lips. Suddenly, there was not a dry eye in that room.

“However, thank you so much. In Aunty’s heart… you are all my children. Thank you so much for caring for me. Aunty is sick. However, thank you for your strength and efforts. This money will help me to recover. Your encouragement gives me strength… and hope to live on. I wish to see you all every day. I want to get well and make your pretzels every day!”

A soothing sense of fulfilment enveloped my heart. I was jubilant that my classmates and I were able to make a difference to her day and also, her life.

“Shane! It’s your turn to order.” A rough nudge on my right arm shook me back to reality. I blinked away the memory and looked up at Aunty Anne who was waiting for my order patiently as always. “Oh, one caramel pretzel please!” I placed my palms together in excitement. Aunty Anne had recovered from her illness and came back stronger. The most beautiful thing that had happened was that her illness brought us students and her even closer. We would never fail to give her a hug when we were on our way home from school. She found strength in our love.

I will never forget the sweet sense of satisfaction I felt that day. The day I chose to make a difference will always be burned into my memory. Love makes the world go round. That day taught me a valuable lesson that life is short. I should always show love to everyone, every day and whenever I can.

Putting An Idea Into Action

The peaceful ticking of the clock and the gentle hum of the fan was the soundtrack of that evening. I flipped through my textbook, revising for one of my upcoming tests. I sighed and rubbed my eyes, realising that my concentration was fading. Looking up, I caught sight of an old framed photograph on the wall. It was a photograph of my beautiful Grandmother who had passed on a few years earlier. Her playfully enigmatic smile, like the Mona Lisa, danced across her face like a mischievous fairy. I miss you, I whispered.

“Sayang… are you alright?” the gravelly voice of Grandfather punctuated the air. He tried to sit up but he lacked the energy to, slumping back. His frail frame was unable to withstand the force of sitting up. I quickly rushed to his side, helping him to sit up straight. As he wheezed just by simply sitting up, I was reminded, once again, about how grave his condition was.

Grandfather had been diagnosed with terminal cancer a few months ago. We were still reeling from the departure of Grandmother. As a very tight family unit, we had not gotten over our matriarch’s passing. Her contagious laughter was still very much present during holidays and birthdays. The twinkle in her eyes, her warm comforting hugs and delicious meals were much missed by every single one of us. Grandfather’s condition had hit us like a lightning bolt, striking our already wounded family tree from the crown to our very roots. His oncologist had given him less than a year to live. Every day was a haunting reminder of time slipping away like sand in an hourglass. We were all filled with a deep sense of loss as we all faced the painful reality that moments once taken for granted were now precious and fleeting.

“Would you like something to eat? I can quickly grab something from the kitchen,” I whispered as I placed my pen down on his bedside table and held his calloused, veiny hands. Hands that resembled the bark of a tree.

“Funny that you should ask. I was just thinking about your grandmother’s beef rendang. Did you know she first made it for me seventy years ago, when we first met? I wish I could have it again. Just even a lick of it would make me so happy,” he mused dolefully.

At that moment, an idea struck me. What if… what if I was able to replicate that dish? The thought of being able to fulfil my dying Grandfather’s last wish ignited a flicker of hope in my heart. Although I knew that Grandfather’s condition was irreversible, his wish was something I somehow had control over. I needed to put that idea into action before another person I held so dear to my heart slipped away like a mist.

As I tucked Grandfather in for the night, I quickly set to work. I first announced in my family group chat that I wanted to try to make Grandmother’s famous beef rendang. Everyone was proud of me for suggesting it. Nobody in our family, aside from Grandmother, had a flair for cooking. It was somewhat of a lost art in our family. Auntie Siti, who lived next door, handed me Grandmother’s recipe book. Uncle Nazry had a fantastic idea that we should come together during Grandfather’s birthday the following week. We could throw him a party and present his lost beloved’s beef rendang dish to him.

I was ablaze with anticipation. The thought of him giving me the nod of approval in front of our entire family was playing in my mind. Gleefully basking in the brilliance of my idea, I scrambled to go shopping for the ingredients the following morning. Unbeknownst to me, my downfall was waiting on me. I had perhaps underestimated the simple and crucial fact that I had never cooked before and had no idea how to do it. Furthermore, Grandmother’s rendang recipe lacked precise measurements. I basically hurled myself into uncharted territories.

Upon getting all the ingredients, I dashed back home in excitement. I set all the ingredients on the table, eager to get to work. My late grandmother’s handwritten recipe lay open before me, its pages worn and slightly stained with time. Eager to recreate her beloved dish for my grandfather, I scanned the instructions, my heart filled with nostalgia. The recipe called for "a pinch of salt" and "a dash of oil," terms that felt both comforting and daunting. I hesitated, unsure of how much to use. With a sprinkle here and a scoop there, I relied on my instincts, but as I stirred the mixture, a nagging doubt crept in. The beef rendang stewed on the stove for a few hours. I felt a sense of heightened expectation, knowing that the pressure was on me to replicate the flavours that Grandmother once provided to our family.

Ding! The timer rang gaily. I hurriedly opened the lid and scooped a tablespoonful to my lips. As soon as that first spoonful entered my mouth, I sputtered and gagged. It was revolting. How could the combination of the same ingredients taste so vastly different? I was confronted with a heart-wrenching shock. Would I not be able to fulfil my grandfather’s last wish? What if he left before I could… The thought struck me like a tidal wave. I was wracked with self-inflicted guilt and a huge sense of urgency. I slowly cleaned up and kept the remaining ingredients in the fridge, feeling like an absolute failure. As I heard Grandfather sleeping in the adjacent room, I wept quietly into my pillow, the tears soaking the pillowcase as I surrendered to the weight of my emotions, drifting into a sorrowful sleep.

For the next few days, I consulted with my friends who were more adept with cooking than I was and I pored over countless cooking ‘hack’ videos on TikTok. I even spoke to the makcik or Auntie at the Malay food stall at the hawker centre for some tips on spices and flavouring. I was very confused by all the different instructions, but I did my best to combine everybody’s helpful advice into cooking a storm in the kitchen. As Grandfather got weaker by the day and his slumbers increased in their duration, I felt a mounting sense of urgency to speed up my efforts.

Thankfully, Grandfather was very much awake on the day of his birthday. He radiated a warmth that illuminated the room, a huge contrast to the shadows that often accompanied his terminal cancer. We placed a party hat on his bald head, and he donned his favourite Hawaiian shirt from the seventies. His wrinkly eyes sparkled with a childlike glee. He took the time to greet everyone with a bear hug. His voice, though weak, filled everyone with joy. He settled into his favourite chair at the dining table, surrounded by all his loved ones. It was as though the weight of his illness was momentarily lifted. His joy was unmistakable, a testament to the love that we all shared for him.

With much hesitation, I brought out my new and improved version of the rendang. No one had tasted it yet. I was the only judge of my own efforts up to that point. It had been a few years since I had tasted the dish, and I was a young child at that point in time. I had no idea if my dish was even anywhere close to the quality that Grandmother once literally brought to the table. I approached the table with trepidation and anxiety, wondering if it was anything like Grandmother’s.

“Grandfather… remember you once said you wanted to taste Grandmother’s beef rendang again? Well… I tried to make it. I hope you like it.” I gingerly placed the pot on a trivet in front of him. His ancient eyes gazed up at me in wonderment. His eyes brimmed with glistening tears, and one solitary tear, echoing his loneliness, trickled down his cheek. He reached out a shaky hand and retrieved a spoon. My entire family of fifteen looked at us in hope and anticipation, waiting to see if I had successfully put my idea into action. I sat down at my seat, waiting to hear the verdict.

Grandfather slurped up the gravy and chewed on the beef. Almost like Gordon Ramsey, he furrowed his brow and had a pensive expression on his face. He sighed. Having no idea what that meant, I asked if he was enjoying the dish. He beckoned me towards him. I knelt down by his side. He cradled me tenderly and hugged me.

“This dish is not exactly the same as Grandmother’s. Somehow though... I can feel her. I just wanted to feel her one more time… and I feel her because… Sayang… I know you love me as much as she loved me.” He struggled in saying these words because he was both emotional and very frail. I nodded with hot tears pouring down my face. He told us he did not want to leave us because he would miss us so much. Clasping his hands tightly, I told Grandfather how much I loved him and how much I would always, always love him.  I leaned in close, the air thick with all the love and loss I didn’t know how to express. I pressed my forehead to his, feeling the coolness of his skin, and closed my eyes. One by one, we found our own ways to say goodbye—some through whispers, others through touch. A hug here, a kiss on his forehead there. Somehow, we all knew it was the last time we would be able to tell him that.

That night, Grandfather departed from our world. While we were heartbroken, there was a shared solace in knowing he felt the deep love we all had for him and there was no more physical suffering. Our grief was bittersweet. I took comfort in the thought that my efforts had contributed to a meaningful farewell for the man who had been the heart of our family. It was time for our angel to take flight and be reunited with our Grandmother in the heavens.

A Sudden Turn Of Events

“Mother, look! I made a sand fortress!” I yelled, waving my spade and pointing enthusiastically at my work of art.

 “Very nice, honey!” my mom called from her sunchair. She looked beautiful under her floppy hat, her brown curls cascading like a waterfall. Her long, crossed legs stretched out leisurely. She wore a bright blue swimsuit and a scarf adorned her neck. She was the poster child or rather, poster mother for a lovely day at the beach. She looked picture-perfect.

Yet, our lives were not.

My mother was a single mother. Our father had left us when I was three years old. However, fiercely determined and armed with the strength of a hurricane wind, she brought me up and worked two jobs through university to put food on the table.  Mother slowly climbed the corporate ladder and was then the head of the accounting team. Despite the missing person at our dinner table, Mother made sure there was no missing food. In fact, on top of making sure all my basic needs were met, she was an excellent mother, always ensuring that she was present during the important milestones in my life, despite being an incredibly busy woman. She seemed to power through all the odds in her life. Despite never having a father figure, I was always an optimistic and happy child because of my mother.

That vacation at Phuket was a reward for the both of us at the end of a very productive year. That year, I had topped my class for the first time and Mother had just received a pay raise. I remember how exuberant I felt that day. I was so grateful that I had such a wonderful mother. The pride on her face, knowing I had brought her honour, was unmistakable as well. We were both worry-free and care-free. We were charting new highs; both of us at the pinnacle of our work and studying life respectively, reaping the fruits of our labour.

I remembered vividly how cloudless the sky was and how cold the crystal-clear water felt when it kissed my feet. I remembered closing my eyes, feeling the wind on my face. I remembered standing tall over my sand fortress proudly. Then, I caught sight of something that I would always, always remember.

The cold water suddenly pulled back.

An entire shoreline of fish were left abandoned by their habitat. Why was the water acting this way? I thought to myself. I spun on my heel to see if anyone else had noticed. Everyone seemed to be living their best lives. A lifeguard was flexing his biceps to impress a giggling tourist. Another mother perched her little toddler on her hip as she sung to him softly. The young children beside her were busy digging into the sand. Couples on romantic holidays snuggled closely next to each other, shaded by the coconut trees, whispering sweet nothings to each other. A street vendor was napping on a chair. The rest of the tourist population seemed to be relaxing on their rented beach chairs, as if nothing was wrong.

My gut feeling told me something was very wrong. A lingering, foreboding sense of doom did not leave me.

Then, from a distance, I saw it. Like out of an action movie, the little frothy waves, usually playful and noisy, morphed into something far more sinister. In the distance, I saw the water approaching towards us. However, it was not simply returning as water. It was advancing as a huge wall, ready to bulldoze anything in its path.

I froze like a mannequin. It was as if a stun dart had been shot at me. I stood there, for a moment, unable to catch my breath or move a muscle. Realisation hit me like a punch in the gut. I saw that familiar image on many, many documentaries. We were about to die.

I screamed at the top of my lungs.

“MOTHER!!! It’s a tsunami! A tsunami!” I spun on my heel and sprinted towards my mother. My mother stood up, removing her sunglasses in horror. Her floppy hat had been blown clean off her head. Her full mane of hair whipped fiercely in the wind. Her “mom-mode” had been activated. She furrowed her brows, picked me up and tucked me under her armpit like I was a doll, and started running.

It seemed like everyone lifted their heads from their phones or whatever it was they were doing. Panic ensued and everyone started running amok like headless chickens. I could hear the shrill screams of every single person. Every tourist, every local. They knew that the tsunami did not discriminate. If they did not move, they would die.

Everyone scrambled inland. That was the most traumatising thing that I had ever witnessed. The concrete wall of water smashed against everything it came in contact with, swallowing up trees, people, power lines, and subsequently, buildings. Tears filled my eyes and streamed down like rivulets when I saw people eaten up by the water, their flailing hands seemingly the last thing to ever mark their existence.

“Mom! Hurry! The water is coming towards us!”

My mother, a former track star, pounded the pavement towards a narrow street in an attempt to run up towards a hill. I watched in amazement as she did her best to carry me to safety. Words were unspoken, but I knew that I was the only family she had left in this world and she would do everything in her power to keep me safe. As she covered more distance, her speed slowed. I knew the extra weight she was carrying was slowing her down.

Before we knew it, the mossy-green wall of water surged towards us with an intensifying fury. I closed my eyes and felt the power of the wave at its maximum. At that moment, I felt myself disengaged from the warmth of my mother’s body and swept into the cold, unforgiving beast that was the tsunami. I gazed helplessly at my mother before the tsunami tore us apart. My heart shattered into smithereens. My mother screamed and clawed desperately at me, but the water carried her away in a split second.

My body was hurled against a pillar and I grabbed it desperately. Though thankful that I had something to cling against, my relief was drowned by the fact that I had no idea where my mother was. In addition, the horrific sight of people being carried off by the waves, floating belongings, and hearing the wails of everyone made my head hurt. I closed my eyes, wanting to drown out everything I was seeing and hearing. My shoulders shook violently with deep uncontrollable sobs. The thought of my mother dying terrified me. I needed her as much as she needed me. My sobs seemed to rob me of air, leaving me gasping, desperate for a steady breath that never came as I witnessed the turbulent scene before me. My mind was in a whirl. Would I survive this? Would she survive this? I honestly had no idea, and no control.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly as I clung to that pillar. I honestly had no idea how long I was there for, but my wrinkly white fingers were an indication. My eyes drifted open and close. I was numb to the bodies floating past me, one after another. Finally, the waters receded. The radiant sun appeared oblivious to the monstrous consequences of the disaster beneath it. As my feet met the ground, I saw the extent of the damage the tsunami had caused. The shophouses that had once been beautiful landmarks of a beach paradise lay in ruins, as if they were the discarded toys of a giant. Streets were cluttered with debris and shattered glass. Trees were uprooted. Vehicles were overturned. A pungent, salty smell clung in the air. It was a devastating reminder of Mother Nature’s wrath and power.

As I stepped over the leftover damage from the tsunami, a poignant scene lay before me. The little toddler that was perched on his mother’s hip on the beach sat crying in the middle of the street. It was a miracle. He had survived. However, his mother was nowhere to be seen. I choked back a sob, realising that I might be similarly orphaned if I could not find my mother. I picked up the toddler, shushing and soothing him. I carried him while walking desperately around. Each minute seemed grimmer and grimmer. As I trudged through the mud and damage, something near a power pole caught my eye.

It was my mother’s scarf. I wanted to scream, to wail, to let the anxiety pour out of me, but instead, I remained eerily silent, my eyes wide and unblinking, scanning the destruction for any sign of her. The world numbed me. Everything was a blur of shattered lives and instantly-lost moments. Around me, people screamed as they discovered bodies of their loved ones. As the hours passed, I started losing hope that I would find her among the ruins. Every emergency worker that I asked had not seen her. Numbed by a deep, desperate sorrow, I felt like I was searching for a light in an ever-darkening world, and with each futile call for her name, the darkness closed in around me.

I promise you, God, I whispered. I will be the best kid, I promise. I will do anything. Please do not let my mother die. She is the most important thing in the world to me. I need her. I do not have a Dad. Please do not take her away. Please.

The sky was turning from a beautiful cerulean blue to a dark navy. The streets were now devoid of sound. The child in my arms had fallen asleep. The only thing I could hear was his breathing. The land was eerily still, a stark contrast to the violent chaos that had torn through it. It was a shell of what it used to be. I slumped against the wall. I had exhausted all my energy and gave up hope that my mother would be found alive. When all hope seemed lost, there was a sudden turn of events. I heard the most beautiful voice call out my name from a distance.

“Laura?”

Trying Something New

“Boo!”

An animated voice boomed from behind me causing me to jump in shock. I could feel cold sweat beading on my forehead from the nerves I had built up. My eyes were fixated on the dark shadows dancing around me and the sweet scent of caramel apples lingered as glowing lanterns hung from twisted trees. It was Halloween night! I had been dragged to a haunted theme park by my fellow platoon mates. Out of the darkness, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

Bracing myself for a scare, I timidly turned my head. Instead of a ghoul, I came face-to-face with Patrick, my sergeant in the army. I had known Patrick only for a short time since enlisting. He commanded respect from those around him whenever he spoke. However, respect was not the only side I knew of Patrick. He frequently teased me for my inability to handle anything related to horror, going so far as to prank me during night duties. He would hang plastic bags in trees that would flutter in the wind, he would upload a ghastly face on my computer’s screensaver so it would pop up when I was least expecting it. “It’s for your fear endurance!” Patrick would always say. When he invited me to attend the haunted theme park event, I had no choice but to accept the challenge. However, I told myself I would stay in a corner and eat candy corn while waiting for everyone to finish taking part in their activities.

“Alright, Squad Alpha, we’re here with a mission: to build your courage. I want each of you to step out of your comfort zone and try something new. Especially you,” Patrick smirked, jabbing a finger at me. “Face the scariest rides and events. Let’s show everyone the courage of Squad Alpha! Move out!”

“Yes Sergeant!”

As my squad mates split to enjoy the various festivities, I found myself like a moth to the flame drawn towards the bright lights of the food stands. The various wandering creatures of terror avoided the bustling crowd of ravenous visitors at the food stands seeking only to silence the monsters in their stomachs. My mind raced. How would I squirm my way out of this conundrum? I slipped past the sea of people, stopping at a stall displaying a rainbow wheel.

A lucky draw! My eyes wandered and stopped on a large fluffy rabbit plush toy. My girlfriend, Tracy, would be thrilled to have that. However, as I stepped up to the stall, my heart sank. I realised that to enter, I needed to collect stamps from around the haunted theme park, given out as a reward for facing the horrors prepared. My heart sank and I sighed. I felt like an abject failure.

When it came to horror themes, Tracy and I were the polar opposites of one another. One could say that she was the ‘man of the relationship’ in that area. She often referred to me as an adult-sized mouse because of how fearful I became whenever we watched horror movies together. I loved Tracy for everything that she was and that included her interest in scary things. 

Instantly, a tug of war ensued in my mind. Brave the myriad of scary attractions or retreat in cowardice? Braving the attractions would mean I have to face my fear of horror. However, retreating means I am admitting defeat and I will not be able to bring the rabbit toy back to Tracy. I was stuck in the trenches of a dilemma and forced to choose between the bayonet and the bullet.

As I wrestled with my dilemma, my eyes caught a poster on one of the rides that read, “A new experience!” It reminded me of my primary school teacher’s wise words, “New things are scary, but we must push past our fear to learn. Let curiosity fight back the darkness.” Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself and decided to face the attractions ahead.

Trepidation wrapped around me as I approached the aptly named ride, Tower of Terror. I forced my frozen feet to shuffle forward with each movement of the queue. Fear swirled in my mind as I settled into the ride, glancing up at the full moon dramatically as if asking it for a prayer. The roller coaster clicked upwards with each clack heightening my anxiety. The anticipation built with every creak and groan of the tracks, my hands gripping the safety bar tighter than I thought possible. My heart raced, and a small voice in my head whispered, Why did I get on this ride?

I stared at the decorations – mummy jaws waiting to swallow me whole and braced for the twists and turns. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath when suddenly, the ride froze.

Then it happened—the car lurched forward, pulling me up the first steep climb. The air around me felt thick, like everything was slowing down. I could see the world dropping away below as we rose higher and higher, and with it, my fear started to creep up. At the peak, there was a brief moment of stillness, and I barely had time to brace myself before the car plunged down.

I hollered, but to my surprise, it was not fear that came out—it was pure exhilaration. I chuckled when the mummies popped out of their boxes as the wind whipped against my face, and suddenly, my anxiety was replaced by uncontrollable laughter. As the coaster twisted and turned, I found myself raising my hands, feeling weightless, like flying. When I saw the fire blazing in the corner with the fake corpses coupled with the sudden drops, the loops, the fast turns — it was all unexpectedly fun, a rush I had not expected to enjoy so much. A hologram of a mummy’s face really tipped the scales. I thought it looked amazing!

As the ride came to an end, I hopped off the ride a new man. The rest of my evening was spent exploring the nugget of excitement I had found shining in the depths of my fears. What was there to be afraid of now? I had conquered something that had previously terrified me for the longest of times. I had a bounce in my step as I sprang from one scary attraction to another – from the House of Horrors to a few more scary rides. Voluntarily going to horror-themed attractions gave me a new insight into both pushing past my fear of anything horror-related and enjoying new experiences. I could not wait to share these stories with Tracy and also to give her a toy from the wheel. As luck would have it, I did not win the large fluffy rabbit toy but a smaller one on a keychain. Despite this, I felt victorious. What I felt that I had truly won was a new sense of confidence. I felt like a snake shedding its old, tired skin. I was reborn.

Patrick, who thought it a hoot that I was initially petrified, was amused at the smile that was plastered on my face when we met at the entrance later on.

“Good job, kid!” he patted my shoulder an encouraged me. He had seen me voraciously enjoying myself as I was slowly discovering the joys of the macabre.

I would constantly tell the tale of how I conquered my fears at the haunted theme park to Tracy, who revelled in my newfound appreciation for horror related content. Fear still crept at me but I chose to focus on the excitement and curiosity instead of the fear. Trying something new at the haunted theme part taught me a priceless lesson that we should stride forth towards our curiosity instead of shrinking back from our fears.