Rock and Flames I have a dream…a vision so vivid that it transcends the boundaries of age and time. From the tender age of six, I felt the spark within me, the celestial melody that whispered of a destiny far grander than what my parents could fathom. They dreamt of me treading the wellworn path, conforming to societal norms. My parents are rocks. They are the foundation of my life, the pillars of my home. They are the supporters of my soul that chisel away the rough edges, revealing the masterpiece of my truest self. But sometimes, rocks can be burdensome, inflexible, and monotonous. They can drag me down, confine my movement, and numb my senses. They can also be obstinate, traditional, and unyielding. They don’t understand my passion for technology, and the yearning to make a difference in the core of the rocks. They saw it as a mere distraction, a hobby to be indulged in only during leisure time. “Is this all just a phase, dear?” my mother asked, her voice laced with quivering like leaves caught in an autumn breeze, “Shouldn’t you be focusing more on your science and maths?” Their disappointment and fear were like the anther of hibiscus, thorny and rigid: barriers that clung between us. We sat at the dinner table, their eyes laden with concern, as they questioned my choices and unwavering dedication to technology. In the depths of my heart, I harboured an unquenchable passion for technology. It was the language through which I expressed myself to ascend the celestial heights, the paintbrush with which I created my masterpieces. I’m not like them. I’m not a rock. I’m a spark. I’m not satisfied with the status quo and the ordinary. I want to achieve something extraordinary. “Mama, Papa,” I pleaded, my voice trembling with a mixture of determination and desperation, “I understand your concerns. It’s not just a fleeting interest— it’s a calling. It’s my way of leaving an indelible mark on the world. Please…try to understand.” A shudder went down my spine as I finished off. My father’s face hardened, this disappointment etching deep lines on his brow. “Dreams are for the young,” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “But reality is what nourishes us. We want you to have a stable future, a secure path.” The moment was cold. I couldn’t surrender my dreams, not without a fight. And so, I embarked on a clandestine journey. I searched for solace and guidance in the vastness of the online world and found a mentor—a judge for the national robotic competition that I had secretly signed up as my proving ground—a realm where age was but a flickering candle in the face of boundless innovation. Our conversations were a lifeline, a buoy in the tumultuous sea of doubt that surrounded me. Their words, like gentle whispers of encouragement, infused me with renewed determination. “Age is not a measure of greatness,” they said. “Passion knows no boundaries, and innovation is not confined by time. Let your dreams soar, young one, for in the realm of possibilities, the young hold the key.” I delved deeper into my project—a histology system that would revolutionise healthcare in the local community. It was my way of bridging gaps, of fostering compassion within my community. Voices seemed more melancholy than sweet. Technical difficulties threatened to derail my progress, deadlines loomed like distant storms, and rival teams sought to sabotage my efforts. Yet, amidst of trials, I found strength and camaraderie in fellow competitors, young souls yearning for greatness. As my project neared completion, my parents noticed the changes in my behaviour, my unwavering dedication that seemed to overshadow all else. “You’re neglecting your studies, your responsibilities,” my mother snapped, anger blazing in her clenched jaw. “You’re jeopardizing your future, can’t you see?” I implored, “Mama, Papa,” my voice tinged with both defiance and longing, “I’m working on an assignment…that can make a difference in the world with technology, and I want to prove it to you. Believe me, please!” Their disapproval lingered in the air. My heart ached for their acceptance, for their understanding. But I knew that the road to my dreams, would only be a Rock pavement. *** The fateful day arrived—the day my secret was laid bare. “How dared you disobeyed and deceived us!” my father thundered, his voice filled with a mixture of fury and disappointment. “You’re wasting your time and energy, on something that will amount to nothing.” Their anger ignited like a wildfire, consuming the fragile peace that had settled upon our home. I couldn’t stand idly by as they extinguished the flickering flame within me. “Papa, Mama” I pleaded, my voice quivering with the weight of my desperation, “this competition means everything to me. It’s not just about the project—it’s about proving that age doesn’t define greatness. I’ve the opportunity to advocate for change, to showcase my passion to the community. Please…I beg you, let me continue.” My father’s face darkened, his anger boiling over. “Enough!” he shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “We’ve had enough of your nonsense. You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying here until you come to your senses.” He reached for my laptop, which lay on the couch behind me. It was my lifeline, my connection to my mentor, my friends, my project. I couldn’t let him take it away from me. I lunged for it, grabbing it with both hands. “No!” I cried out, clutching it to my chest. “You can’t do this. This is my project, my passion, my dream.” He pulled at it, trying to wrestle it from my grip. “This isn’t a dream, this is a nightmare,” he said, his voice strained with frustration. “You’re throwing away your future for a foolish fantasy.” We struggled for a few seconds, our eyes locked in a fierce battle of wills. Then with a sudden jerk, he yanked it out of my hands. The laptop flew across the room, crashing into the wall with a loud thud. I gasped, feeling a surge of pain in my chest. I watched in horror as the screen shattered into pieces, darkened. My project was gone. My father stared at the broken laptop, his expression a mix of shock and regret. He glanced at me, his eyes softening with remorse. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice breaking. “I didn’t mean to…” But it was too late. I felt a wave of anger and sadness wash over me. I felt betrayed and misunderstood by the people who were supposed to love me and support me. I felt like a rock that had been smashed into dust. I ran out of the house, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t look back. *** I spent the night at a friend’s house. My mind consumed with a whirlwind of emotions. He lent me his laptop. I worked relentlessly throughout the nights until dawn pierced through the window, illuminating the keyboard with a harsh glare. The sudden brightness startled me. A flash of memory invaded my mind, a memory of the day my dream was crushed. A pang of pain prickles in my chest. *** I finished my project. I was ready for the final stage of the competition. Days passed quickly; it was normal, in the beginning. A different rhythm, but a steady beat. Then, life crescendo, tragedy struck. My mother’s voice trembled through the phone, her words carrying the weight of fear and despair. My father had fallen ill. I stood at the crossroads of my dream and my responsibilities, torn between two worlds. With heavy footsteps, I entered my father’s hospital room, the sterile scent of antiseptic clinging to the air. His weakened form lay before me, a testament to the fragility of life. The enormity of my choices consumed me—a weight upon my shoulders, threatening to crush my spirit. I looked into my father’s eyes, a silent conversation unfolding between us. He weakly extended his hand, the lines etched upon his palm telling the tale of a life filled with sacrifices and unfulfilled dreams. It was then, amidst the echoes of beeping monitors, that I made my decision. I gently squeeze his hand, my voice quivering but resolute. “Papa, I’ll be a rock by your side, my dreams can wait, for family is the cornerstone of my existence.” *** Days turned into weeks, and my father’s health improved. An email arrived— an invitation to the World Robot Olympiad. My heart swelled with gratitude and accomplishment. The echoes of my parents’ pride reverberated within me, as I walked alongside fellow innovators with unyielding spirit of youth. Age does not matter. It is the flame within me, the determination to pursue my passions, that transforms mere rocks into stepping stones toward a future where dreams and reality could coexist. And as I stood on the grand stage, hand in hand with my loved ones, applause thundering, that I know that I am not just a rock— I am the architect of my own destiny. --------------------------------------------------------------1 Automated Histology System. Revolutionised Healthcare as it enables factory flow-line of diseases such as Cancer diagnosis without much involvement of humans. It increases accuracy and effectiveness, as well as speeding up the process.
