《Rose Jellyfish》


 Chapter I

    I''ve always been a smart kid. I do not mean to brag, but that''s simply the truth.


    You''ve heard all those ¡°Rags to Riches¡± success stories: How the speaker comes from a poor family, always had failing grades, decided to study hard for the sake of graduation. They always finish with a degree and a Latin honour to accompany it. My life is quite the opposite.


    As a child, I was very active during class. I was usually the first one to have their hand raised during recitations. I was the forerunner during school events that involved dancing or singing or giving a speech.


    One of my clearest memories involved singing ¡°Even Now¡± by Barry Manilow on stage in front of hundreds of people¡ªthough it was mostly my schoolmates, their parents, and the staff.


    I remember two or three of my schoolmates not having their parents around with them. One of them stared blankly at me while I performed. He definitely wished he had my talent.


    I was the quickest to learn in class. The one who almost often got the perfect scores. When the teacher hands out the finished tests, my name is usually the first one to be called. Others do get ahead of me, but that''s not really a massive problem. My ego is not that huge to swear hatred upon others just because they surpassed me in a mere test.


    My parents were not as strict as those academics-addicted parents. I did not get punished for failing to get perfect marks, nobody is that perfect. Even the smartest guy to ever live has gotten an item wrong or two. You can''t force that to your kids, and I was lucky my parents didn''t.


    A classmate of mine wasn''t too lucky. I believe her name was Alexandria, or Alex; she''s half-Chinese. She always worked her hardest, but got half the scores at best.


    There was an event at school where we were encouraged to bring our parents. The adults stayed at the back and happily chatted about their kids. Laughing about how hard it was to take care of them, and now they''ve grown enough that they''ve made their own friends. Patiently waiting for the time these kids they raised to eventually rebel against them.


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    It was all smiles at the back as far as I remember, besides from one pair¡ª it was Alex''s parents. The air around them was heavy, a stark contrast to the general positivity circulating around the room. It''s clear on their faces how disappointed they were of their child.


    Nobody from my class noticed this besides the young version of myself, probably. Everyone else was fixated on impressing their parents. I didn''t come up with this conclusion at that time exactly, I''m not that much of a genius. It''s something I noticed much later in my life.


    I graduated from preschool with a silver medal and nearly secured a place at the top 10 podium. I was not upset about it, that I nearly made it on stage. I did not feel like I needed that extra attention from the school. My goal never was to be acknowledged. The medal was more than enough. My parents hopefully shared this feeling with me.


    Alex, meanwhile, remained seated as if part of the audience. The only time she had the chance to walk on stage was when it was time to grab the certificates. Not a smile on all three of their faces.


    We sang a song directed to our parents, prepared by our teacher; dance steps also included. It was a terrible performance to put it bluntly, but it was a precious moment for the parents.


    The event concluded as soon as the school hymn finished and one of the teachers has completed their closing remarks.


    My parents afterwards took me to the nearest restaurant, and I don''t remember eating much.


    At the time, I was a supremely picky eater. I would eat nothing but fish, meatloaf, nuggets, and chicken skin. Eggs and Sausages were also on this narrow list. Fried Bacon was one of my childhood favourites. I never ate chicken meat, and pork, and beef.


    Vegetables were obviously a no-go.


    The meal prepared onto our table was rotisserie chicken that looked absolutely savoury now that I think about it. I wish I could smack my younger self for solely choosing the mac and cheese. The current me would no doubt demolish that chicken in seconds!


    A couple of my classmates were also at the same restaurant as me, along with their own set of loved ones. The place became rowdy with all the children gathered in one space. I, too, was guilty of contributing to this racket. Was it to impress someone? I don''t know.


    We left the restaurant a mess. I feel bad to whoever was in charge of cleaning that day. It might be, no, it''s obviously too late now, but please accept my apology.

 Chapter II

    The summer break that preceded the next chapter of my school life had nothing of note to write about¡ªbesides the absolute unit of a dog one of my neighbors had. I went inside their house one time to play, so I saw it firsthand.


    Now I''m not sure if my childhood eyes were playing tricks on me, but I''m pretty sure the dog was the size of a garage; I''m not kidding. When it howled, those howls echo in the streets, it was terrifying!


    I never got to play with her and her dog after that. I never got the chance to see her again, and I eventually forgot her name.


    Summer faded away before I had even realized. Now my first day of school had arrived.


    My grade school life started more or less the same as preschool. I expected a couple of step-ups, but not a lot of personal changes were actually needed.


    I woke up almost late on my first day of school. I remember the driver of this school service honking his horn wildly, urging me to hurry up. I frantically ate my lunch as a result (I was taking afternoon classes) and rummaged through my things. I then gave my mother a quick kiss on the cheek as a goodbye and went off.


    I entered the rear door of an old, maroon Isuzu. It was cramped inside. School buses aren''t really a thing here; all we had were civilian cars pretending to be buses. The Isuzu had rails on its roof to stuff our bags on, but I chose to not entertain that idea because, honestly, I was afraid that my backpack would fly off. So instead, I hugged it tight.


    The diesel engine of the Isuzu roared as my home appeared smaller and smaller. That noise soon got overshadowed by the unharmonious screams of us kids.


    The trip was around twenty torturous minutes long, if I was the driver that is. As a kid, those twenty minutes flew by. But the driver was a nice guy. I believe he stayed with the family who owned the service business for two more decades. I heard he is living a good life now in Singapore. A key feature of his is his crooked teeth, which never got fixed.


    The driver stopped at one of the three front entrances of our new campus. This entrance has a wide gate, easy to get mass students into. The second entrance was a lot narrower compared to the first gate. This gate no longer exists as it got converted into a bookstore. The third entrance, which should be considered as the main one, had glass doors and is also the main lounge of the guards.


    I opened the door of the Isuzu and hopped out. This is a new beginning for me at this new campus. I slammed the door behind me and¡ª


    ''AH¡ª!'' I heard someone behind me make a sharp sound. And all of a sudden, the air around me felt tense and silent. It felt as if everything had stopped.


    I looked back to see what happened. A fellow student, the same age as me, had his hand meshed with the car hinges. All four fingers, leaving only the thumb exposed.


    The world again began to move, and the noise grew. A lot of eyes gravitated towards me¡ª the driver, the other students, the guards.


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    Me? Was I the one at fault? I didn''t see him, I wasn''t looking at all. Wasn''t it his fault for placing his hands there? Didn''t his parents teach him not to do exactly that?


    ''I...I didn''t mean to!'' I said in a panic, and I ran away from this heavy scene as fast as I could.


    What was I supposed to do in that situation? I can''t just stay there. I couldn''t do anything. For the first time in my life, I had no answer.


    I darted all the way to my new classroom, with tears nearly exiting my sockets. I managed to hold it in and composed myself. I instead tried to observe the new room.


    It was a decently sized room, with colourful matting down the centre and the aquamarine tables pushed to the sides. My classmates sat on the mats, and I saw Tim inviting me.


    Tim was a familiar face, we were classmates during preschool. Beside him was Miles, another classmate of mine. Us three used to be an inseparable trio. I still talk to Tim at times, usually gym-related; Miles, I lost complete contact with him.


    Before I had the chance to sit down, the teacher in front of the class called me to do an introduction. I obliged and joined her upfront.


    ''Hello, my name is Stephen Guandula. I came from... there.'' I pointed to the direction of the preschool campus, which was the sister campus. It no longer hosts children. Rumour is, it is now a retirement home. I continued with my introduction, mentioning my age, birthday, and my interests.


    ''I like...Monster trucks, and VW Beetle.'' It''s not quite a unique interest for a kid, but the specificity made it different. ''When I grow up, I want to be a driver!''


    That one was no longer specific. My dream was to be on the road, much better if its on the dirt. I was impressed by the machines of Dakar and WRC, and I wanted to be a part of it too.


    That dream, much like any other dream, never came true. I blame the country for not creating a proper rally academy; but I also blame myself for being too scared. I still imagine what could''ve been.


    Just before I finished my introduction, the far door gently began to open. It was the student whose hand I crushed earlier, and he is part of my class.


    His name is Martin. Apparently he is the grandson of the owner of the school service I''m in. Now, Martin is one of my closest friends. He is someone I can trust. But back then, we were the most bitter of enemies... or so he says.


    I have no recollection of the things he did to me, but he confessed that he was my bully. He was very mean to me, and I recall no single detail of it. What I do realize now is that I failed to be a good friend.


    The teacher noticed Martin entering the room, so she asks ''Why are you late?''


    Martin, with a bandana wrapped around his injured hand, pointed at me. His swollen eyes locked onto mine, with brows furrowed deep.


    Something happened between us, and everybody in the room knew that. They faced towards me for an answer. All eyes are on me again. The tears I tried to suppress fell due to the pressure.


    ''It was an accident!'' I softly cried out. I rushed to the space left by Tim and sat down.


    ''Why? What happened?'' Tim curiously asked.


    ''It''s because¡ª,'' I got his hand trapped on a door. Those words refuse to escape my mouth.


    A clueless Tim said ''It''s okay, It''s fine.'' as comfort. I couldn''t even look to his direction.


    The attention gradually shifted away from me and the day moved on as if nothing happened.

 Chapter III

    Halfway through my first year of grade school, it was time for the annual sports festival. It''s something I used to look forward to.


    I''m not built to be an athlete. In fact, I''m slim, and also very short. I''m first in a lot of things, and ¡°in line¡± was surely one of them. Curse the school system for often arranging us by height.


    Even now my friends tower over me.


    As I''m on the smaller side, I am expected to be agile and nimble. Hence, my name is usually first on the team sheet for activities such as obstacle courses.


    There was an obstacle relay this year, and I got listed down with minimal consent. All I heard was the class representative asking me if I had joined in any of the games. I said no.


    It was time for the relay and I didn''t disappoint, though it did require more effort jumping on tires. The same goes for the hurdles.


    I breezed past the section with the cones, and went around the sole chair at the opposite end of the starting line. After the chair was a long sprint back.


    The wind blew hard across my ears. I could hear the cheers of the crowd, but I couldn''t actually understand what they were. My eyes could only see my team in the distance.


    I wasn''t even aware of my opposition; all I could think about was to run back as fast as I can. I made the tag to a teammate as soon as I reached the end, and let him have his turn.


    I didn''t feel a single bit tired after, but I sat on the open bleachers anyway. A classmate approached me, her name was Princess. I believe she was my first crush.


    ''You looked quick out there!'' she claimed.


    ''Thanks,'' I said while grabbing a cup of juice as a refresher. ''What sport did you join?''


    ''They made me join the Grape Relay.'' A lack of enthusiasm on her reply.


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    ''Grape Relay?'' I questioned. I didn''t know there was another race besides the one I just did.


    ''See, you bite the end of the spoon like this,'' she took a spoon from the ground and pretended to bite it, ''and you balance a grape at the end. Then, race!''


    ''Oh... so did yours fall off?'' I joked with her. Princess, in return, showed an embarrassed smile.


    ''Yeah, it did. I stepped on it too!'' She showed me the sole of her grape-stained shoe. A piece of grape skin still there.


    ''You could still eat that you know?''


    ''Gross! No!''


    Princess was a singer, or maybe she still is. I haven''t updated myself of her since ninth grade. She had a cute, bubbly voice, glossy black hair that touched her shoulder blades, and not exactly a chubby frame. I don''t quite get it as well.


    With the event slowly began to close, so did the energy of the students and the teachers. We were all tired from all the cheering. As the day wound down, the only things left to do were to either go home, or help clean up. Princess decided to go home, and so did I. We waved at each other goodbye before hopping on our respective school services.


    Me and Princess usually talked during assemblies. Those occurred in the morning, before we enter our rooms. We lined up at the school gymnasium, alongside fellow afternoon class goers at various levels.


    Princess usually arrives at around 10am, two hours ahead of schedule. Her trolley can usually be seen at the head of the line. I, on the other hand, had my fair share of being at the tail end.


    I did have times where I took the first school service trip just to have more conversations with her. My service had three trips, I''m often at the second. Not too early, not too late.


    Our topics circle around what shows and movies we''ve seen recently. Her favourite seemed to be ¡°Wall-E¡±, I had seen the movie too. It''s about a small compactor robot following around a floating iPod of some sort. We recreated a few scenes from there, and rave about how cute the tiny sweeper robot was.


    If I wasn''t talking to Princess, I''d be playing with the boys in class. A small group of us formed a game where we battle out using our hands. The index and middle finger served as the legs, and the thumb and ring finger were the arms. We called it ¡°Super Finger Federation¡±.


    It started with me and two other boys, one of them named Kerwin. We had our own characters with their own unique abilities. The ¡°battle arenas¡± varied, from trolley handles to things like ¡°floating platforms¡±, more commonly known as our left hand. Eventually, around half the boys in class started playing our silly game.

 Chapter IV

    Before I knew it, I was already in my second year of grade school. Once again, I went up on stage to receive my silver medal. My mother was the sole parent to join me as my father worked overseas. Gold once again not achieved.


    The award ceremony happened in the morning. Those students who had the morning schedule don''t have classes to attend anymore. But since I''m once again part of the afternoon class, I had to go back to our designated classroom.


    There were not a whole lot of familiar faces to be seen. Kerwin was one of them though, at least I had someone to talk to.


    We continued playing Super Finger Federation, now shortened to ¡°SFF¡±. We created a few more characters. I remember one having the ability to be indestructible. Downside is, that character is sluggish, heavy, and prone to falling over. We found humour in the way that character fought.


    Martin was in a different class now. But we still rode on the same school service.


    One day, I was playing SFF on my own (which is weird now that I think about it) near the front seat of the service, just behind the driver. There was a division separating me and the adult.


    I used that division as a platform to play SFF on. I practised my kicks, my punches, and all other abilities. Martin, who seated opposite of me, caught wind of this.


    ''What are you doing?'' asked Martin.


    ''I''m playing.''


    ''How do you play that?''


    I then showed Martin the basics of how to play SFF. I told him he needed to create a character before playing.


    ''Hey! It has to be your own character!'' I critiqued. Martin proposed ¡°Lonk¡±, wielder of a sacred sword and can also use a bow. It sounded super familiar.


    ''Then, ¡°Draxelon¡±! He can... shoot lightning!''


    ''...Yeah, that''s good!'' I replied after a momentary pause. ''My character is ¡°Knife¡±, and this is what he does...''


    Me and Martin played this simple game before and after school. We played until one of us reached home. Most of the travel time was spent battling and sharing character ideas with each other. I believe this is how we got close.


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    SFF was one of the earliest showcases of my desire to create. I''ve drawn cars and monster trucks before, but I have never done characters. My drawings up until now never needed emotions, or feelings, or relationships. They had no story.


    Right then and there, I decided to challenge myself. It felt like something I had to do. I grabbed a pencil and a half pad paper. I started writing my first comic. My first story.


    It was a short comic based on a show called "Spongebob Squarepants", are you familiar with that?


    My story was about him feeling underappreciated to such a degree that he decided to end himself. When his loved ones found out about this, they were all stunned. I remember the boss crying out about how was he going to look for a new cook.


    They went to his funeral, saying their apologies, memories and goodbyes. Spongebob was looking down from above, happy. Happy that everybody gathered to see him.


    Soon, his best friend joined him up in the sky.


    I passed this story around class like it was chainmail. Some said it was great, others didn''t know what to do with it. I received comments on how well I drew the characters. The story was also memorable enough that somebody brought it up during high school. It was flattering. I was happy about it.


    From there, I started creating more characters, more abilities, more stories. All my creations were kept in a single folder, which gradually became thicker as the days went by.


    The folder also housed casual drawings such as cars and landscapes¡ªanything that I made and put onto paper. I soon had my own hand crank sharpener, that I still have today, to sharpen my pencils even faster. A collection of erasers. A plethora of pencils. A pack of paper that can feed the entire class!¡ª


    ''Ok class! Keep everything in inside your bags besides your pencil, eraser, and test folder.''


    My enthusiasm got the better of me that I misjudged the day of the exams. I thought I had a week so I delayed my review sessions. I didn''t even get a single skim of a textbook.


    The teacher began distributing the test papers. First subject: English. 30 items. Mostly about spelling and grammar, plus an essay worth 5 points¡ªbreezed right through.


    Second subject: Math. 40 Items. Multiplication Table and a touch of Division. This one took me longer than English, but I surpassed it anyway.


    Third Subject: Science. 35 items. Parts of the Body. I remember part of that still. Done.


    Final Subject: World History. In that test, we were given a blank map, and we had to fill it out. It mostly had the simple countries like France and USA, not the obscure ones like Mozambique. So it was relatively easy.


    I let out a sigh of relief right after. The only subjects left were the minor ones: Music, Arts, and Physical Education. Those three had practical exams instead, reserved for a different day.


    I managed to get away relying on pure stock knowledge. The panic I felt initially was gone. I don''t think my mother ever knew I took my exam without studying; she''d have been furious if she found out. Either way, I''m never doing that again.

 Chapter V

    The teacher entered our room with a thick bundle of papers held closely to her chest.


    ''Good Morning class!''


    In response, we stood from our seats. ''Good Morning, Teacher Emma!'' we said, as we bow our heads.


    A pause.


    This type of greeting is the norm of this school. It''s been taught to us as early as preschool. Sometimes the teacher would play around and pause as we said our good mornings; that silence was a killer. This was one of those days. As kids, we didn''t know if they were genuinely pissed, or if someone''s going to get the boot.


    ''Please sit down.''


    ''Thank you, Teacher Emma.'' the class said altogether, bowing our heads once again before settling back to our seats. A sense of relief can also be felt.


    ''Before I hand back your test results, I would like to introduce your new classmate!''


    ''A classmate?'' our thoughts sounded in unison. The mood of the room switched into that of curiosity¡ªthe test flew out of our minds.


    Teacher Emma went outside once again, and came back dragging a grumpy-looking kid along.


    There wasn''t much to his introduction. Other than his name, Ibrahim, he didn''t say anything much else. To relieve the building up tension, Teacher Emma instructed him to sit at the back of the class. Ibrahim did as he was told, and sat down at the seat reserved for him just a few rows behind mine. I didn''t even notice there was an available seat there.


    Martin told me at the end of the class that Ibrahim was originally his classmate; and that he got sent out for an altercation. Martin himself was involved in that too, but took more of a spectator role. Turns out, it was between Ibrahim and Tim, the same Tim who is my friend.


    I didn''t force Martin to tell all the details, but it did end up with both their parents coming to the school, and Ibrahim being placed on our class.


    ''Okay class, I will be handing out your test results now!'' Teacher Emma reinforced her authority, ''Ibrahim, I don''t have your paper yet, but expect it to be given to you some time later.''


    The teacher called us one-by-one, I''m guessing it''s from highest to lowest once again. My name wasn''t the first to be called, or the second, or the third¡ªit was the sixth.


    I stood up and went to the teacher''s desk near the front corner. Teacher Emma smiled at me as she gave me my papers, ''Good job! You studied hard, didn''t you?'' she chuckled.


    I said my awkward thanks and headed back to my seat.


    It didn''t take long before I started reviewing my results. I mean, of course I would! I''m high up in the class podium without a single textbook read!? I seriously could not believe it.


    I skimmed through the red ink, checking which guesses were correct and which weren''t. A lot more ticks than loops.


    ''26...over a possible 30.'' I muttered to myself.


    I got away with one subject, and there''s three more to go. My expectations dropped even further. I was certain I won''t be able to fluke all four exams.


    The maths teacher came in next as Teacher Emma headed out, also carrying a bundle of papers. Much like Teacher Emma, this teacher called us out one-by-one.


    Each name that passed was like a knife to the gut. A game of Jenga where my foundation gets taken down block by block. It is the reality.


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    Finally, my name was called. I walked up to the teacher and held my hands out. He placed my papers on my hands and tapped my shoulder after. For what?


    I folded my paper to make it easier to carry with one hand; and that puzzling feeling was with me as I walked down the aisle. Did I do that poorly on the test? Was the result that bad that he felt the need to console me?


    As I sat down, my seatmate''s first instinct was to ask how I did on the test. The others around me caught wind of this and now had their eyes on me.


    ''I don''t know. I''m just about to take a look myself.'' I replied.


    ''Open it up! Come on!'' she said with enthusiasm.


    I gave in to their demands and let them have a look.


    For a moment, I didn''t hear a single sound¡ªnot even a snicker. It took a while for someone to break this silence.


    ''...Wow...''


    ''How long did you study?'' Your book must be worn out being open all the time.''


    ''...No? I didn''t read a single page at all.'' I responded their praise.


    ''Liar...,'' a classmate accused, ''there is no way you got a better score than me.''


    ''And me! I woke up 3:00 in the morning for this test.'' another one butted in.


    ''But it''s true¡ªbelieve me!'' I defended myself from their complaints.


    I turned my paper towards me to have a better clue what they''re griping about.


    There it was¡ªencircled in glowing red ink. ''39...,'' over a possible 40.


    My sole mistake was forgetting to add a decimal point¡ªa momentary lapse on my part. How did I let myself be so careless? Even though the score was by no means deserved, I still couldn''t deny the feeling of frustration. It was almost there. It was so close that it''s funny.


    I folded the paper into a quarter and stuffed it sloppily into my bag. I heard our maths teacher stand up from his desk as he kicked his chair back. He made his way towards the centre aisle.


    ''Okay class,'' his big voice forcing our attention, ''I''d like to congratulate everyone who passed¡ªespecially Stephen, he got the highest score in class!''


    The classroom roared in applause.


    ''39, out of a possible 40!'' the maths teacher added. The cheers grew wilder in response.


    The attention was too much for me to handle. I kept my head down, chin grazing the gap between my collarbones.


    I chose to remain silent. I could no longer explain to the rest of the class my result was a complete fluke. If it didn''t satisfy those seated near me, It won''t satisfy the rest either.


    The maths teacher held his fist up, regaining control over the class. ''Now for those who failed, better luck next time. Maybe you could ask Stephen here to tutor you.''


    Please don''t.


    You have nothing to learn from me.


    His class ended, and eventually a different one starts. Those classes also handed back our test papers. I wished for a different, more deserving outcome this time, but the world had been kind to me.


    29 over 35 for Science.


    28 over 30 for History.


    Why? ...How?


    What is my motivation now that I can get good scores without even trying?


    It works in my favour too, right?. Less time for studying means more time for drawing, and playing games. More time can be dedicated towards fun.


    I could create more characters, more stories, more comics.


    More time can be wasted on phone calls. I can learn more video game boss themes from Martin. Though, really, I barely care at all.


    It doesn''t matter if I study or not anyway, I don''t have the need to. Not anymore.

 Chapter VI

    Second grade passed by, and I entered third grade with another silver medal. Another walk up to stage, another photo taken. Once again, my father missed the ceremony as he is still overseas. The ones to accompany me were my mom and, surprisingly, one of my aunts who happened to be there.


    Silver is considered an ¡°almost¡± medal


    I noticed some familiar faces mixed with new ones in the new room. Martin was once again a classmate of mine. By this point, he was one of my closest friends. We usually call each other after class, sharing boss themes from his favourite game series. Martin plays a track, while I open up a fan-made wiki to understand what the hell he''s talking about.


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    I sometimes still feel bad about not caring as much as he did. The telephone was quite the distance away from the nearest laptop, so I had to drop the handset before doing my little searches. There were instances where I forgot to talk while searching; Martin calling my name over and over on loudspeaker until I answered back.


    One of those calls, he mentioned having a crush on someone. A singer from our class who allegedly has an actress for a cousin. Martin described in detail how much he liked her, and for how long. Even putting forth plans on serenading her, asking me to do it with him. I accepted.


    The plan was a daring one. Martin will be singing and giving her a small stuffed toy, those that clung on bags. My task is to play the recorder. We''ll be doing this as she leaves on her school service; we''ll be chasing the service.


    The surprising thing is, we actually pulled through with this wild plan. It happened two days after his proposal. We were there at the parking lot, waiting for his crush''s school service to leave. When its engine roared, it was our signal to move. The both of us sprinted as the service began driving off. Martin sang horribly and I, out of breath and clinging to my recorder, barely let a proper note out. But it was a success with Martin''s crush receiving his gift.


    I would say I was happy it''s over, but we re-did the act the following day, minus the gift giving. And the day after, minus the singing this time. And the the day after that. It reached a point where we just ran and chased the school service. We even became notorious for it. ¡°The boys who kept chasing a van for one girl...¡±