I still remember the day when I was selected from a bunch of others, felt a notch special, wanted, and distinctively segregated from the rest. The next I knew, I was transported to another camp before I met with a bunch of familiar faces who have all been shortlisted to travel.
It was a bumpy ride, totally pitch-dark and awfully crowded, nothing quite close to first-class travel but it was alright. They say it is always the journey that counts, and fair to say, I was too busy minding my own mission: I was going to change somebody's life - loud and proud.
I could still recall vividly the very skillful hand that picked me, the same hand that brought me home. Home to me - has always been cosy but I would say it was rather spacious on day 1 until I woke up the next day and found a few new friends: the relatively small-built G. Kiwi brothers - Golden and Green; a friendly chap named Orange and a not-so-friendly, uppish lady with a gorgeous smell nonetheless, named Mango.
We all got along pretty harmoniously until 2 days later, stingy Mr. Pineapple and the almighty Durian decided to join the bandwagon. Didn't leave us with much room to manoeuvre after their occupancy as one would imagine, and that was when frictions and conflicts began. Everyone tried to flex their muscles and emerged just that bit taller and more convenient than the rest of the pack. I wasn't too bothered, I chose to stay low because I was too busy minding my own mission: I was going to change somebody's life - no matter what.
Last-in, first-out - we learned that's how the world has been operating isn't it, at least it applies to the airline's baggage claim systems anyway. Mr. Durian came last and was the first to be chosen. The next day was uppity Mango followed by good old Orange. I continued to stay low profile, not that I wanted to, but dear Pineapple was shielding me from most of the day light anyway. The next morning came and Kiwi brothers went, and so as Pineapple.
Why wasn't I the chosen one?
Isn't there anybody out there who loves me?
Just when I was reciprocating my own echoes, I discovered a few bruises on my waistline and one big bruise at the top too. Goodness gracious, when did that happen? I shan't be chosen. I can't let them do that. I wanted to be the first they picked, but I know it was all too late then.
"Please don't pick me...." I shouted with all my might, yet the boy couldn't hear.
"Oh mother, the apple doesn't look good enough to eat, don't think I should have it," said the boy.
"Do me a favour and chuck it into the bin please, would ya? " said the boy's mother.
Just as I thought that was the trashy end of it all, the fact that I would be rotting to death with some garbage I refused to communicate with - namely plastic bottles and chicken bones, a bright beam of light was shone and I was picked up by a hand with short but strong fingers. Immediately - half of me was gobbled down - in I went into a hungry man's oesophagus.
Living has meaning when you have something to do; someone to love and something to look forward to.
Apple waited for how many days? Six, I think.
That was her mission completed with contentment - she did changed somebody's life at the end.
