October, 1996
Sighs of the Clouds
2nd Runner up, 1997 Pacific NorthWest Writers Conference Essay Contest

The dryness of the grass pricked into my flesh, but I did not mind. Tilting my head at an angle, sunlight profiled its warmth on my back, and I gazed up on the heard of white clouds which drifted ever so freely in the sky. Clouds like flexing muscles of titans, clouds like roaring seas. A story was just conjring up in my mind when the clouds abruptly drifted apart, scattering like beads in a plate. I wondered why, but when the wind swept across my face it came clear to me again: they did not scatter by themselves, they were blown apart.
It was the day after I found out I had to go away that I first realized that clouds drift without freedom.
It was a damp Hong Kong morning, and the air smelled of wet leaves and school uniforms. 8:51am. I was late. The black metal gates screeched open in accusation and my hurried footsteps faded into echoes in the quiet schoolyard. Everyone was already in class, and from the far classroom somewhere came the muffled sounds of teaching. "Two. Times the root of thirty four. Plus five equals ... anyone?" I darted across the foyer, swung my way left on a pole and rode the momentum the stairs. A few sparrows looked with curiosity as I burst into the empty classroom.
The class was already gone for Home Economics. Standing by the door, I took a few moments to observe the stillness of the room. A pencil case, a bok left open, puffs of chalkdust in suspension. Then reality attacked. Suddenly, memoris fogged up the silence like breath on cold glass. Memories of friends, friends who were once together and now apart. Identities born into and now forced to be abandoned. A place called home, this place, and now no more. I loved this place, and now I had to go away.
Away. Away. Away.
I took a deep breath and left the room with a slam. Walking slowly, I tried to push the thought away, but I caught myself noticing door hindges, cracks in walls, cllecting every small detail like gathering evidence from a burst dream, just to convince myself that I once played a role. How different these once familiar halls and stairways look now, I thought, but it was too late to cherish the difference. The clock on the wall struck nine, and I quickened my pace.
The teacher had her back turned to me, busily copying the recipe on the board. I sneaked up to the window and gently tapped on teh glass. Tap tap tap. Come on Carmen, open up. Click, the door handle turned and I sneaked in like a snake.
"'Wow, you are LATE. REAL LATE. " Carmen hissed from the corner of her mouth.
"I didn't sleep well last night. " I whispered while I took out the sieve. We were making banana pancakes. She added the eggs and reached for the milk.
"What were you up to? Staying up all night thinking about getting new uniforms? Where are you getting them anyways?"
I stared into the bowl of batter and was silent. I was getting new uniforms all right. More like getting a new self, in a new place. Vancouver, was it? The batter was getting creamy, but I kept on mixing.
"Carmen, I think the batter is ready. " I turned the bowl. "By the way I'm leaving."
Silence. Still I kept on mixing, but the mixing did not help. Silence. And I knew I had to look at her.
There was a calmness in her that I did not expect and she held it a few seconds before she froze into acknowledgement. Without a word she turned her head and looked deep and meaningfully into my eyes. A glisten of exclamation asked the silent question, "You too?"
Yes, my dear friend, yes.
Away. Away. Away. We exchanged silence, and stood together in the tacit mourning of separation.
"Carmen, I think the batter is ready. " I walked over to the stove and poured the batter into the pan, and the smell of cooking fogged up the silence. We cooked, we ate the pancakes but in my heart I wished I was still just mixing the batter. In my heart I grasped time, but time seeped away like sand. The tighter I clasped it, the faster it slipped away, and now it was blown away by the wind.
The wind blew, the clouds scattered and my story with them ended before it was finished. I got up from the grass and looked up one last time. Nope, no more Titans and no more roaring seas. But I would not blame the clouds, I could not, for I know perfectly well in my heart that they were just reluctant exiles, too.

Jane Ng

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October, 1996 Sighs of the Clouds 2nd Runner up, 1997 Pacific NorthWest Writers Conference Essay Contest
The dryness of the grass pricked into my flesh, but I did not mind. Tilting my head at an angle, sunlight profiled its warmth on my back, and I gazed up on the heard of white clouds which drifted ever so freely in the sky. Clouds like flexing muscles of titans, clouds like roaring seas. A story was just conjring up in my mind when the clouds abruptly drifted apart, scattering like beads in a plate. I wondered why, but when the wind swept across my face it came clear to me again: they did not scatter by themselves, they were blown apart. It was the day after I found out I had to go away that I first realized that clouds drift without freedom. It was a damp Hong Kong morning, and the air smelled of wet leaves and school uniforms. 8:51am. I was late. The black metal gates screeched open in accusation and my hurried footsteps faded into echoes in the quiet schoolyard. Everyone was already in class, and from the far classroom somewhere came the muffled sounds of teaching. "Two. Times the root of thirty four. Plus five equals ... anyone?" I darted across the foyer, swung my way left on a pole and rode the momentum the stairs. A few sparrows looked with curiosity as I burst into the empty classroom. The class was already gone for Home Economics. Standing by the door, I took a few moments to observe the stillness of the room. A pencil case, a bok left open, puffs of chalkdust in suspension. Then reality attacked. Suddenly, memoris fogged up the silence like breath on cold glass. Memories of friends, friends who were once together and now apart. Identities born into and now forced to be abandoned. A place called home, this place, and now no more. I loved this place, and now I had to go away. Away. Away. Away. I took a deep breath and left the room with a slam. Walking slowly, I tried to push the thought away, but I caught myself noticing door hindges, cracks in walls, cllecting every small detail like gathering evidence from a burst dream, just to convince myself that I once played a role. How different these once familiar halls and stairways look now, I thought, but it was too late to cherish the difference. The clock on the wall struck nine, and I quickened my pace. The teacher had her back turned to me, busily copying the recipe on the board. I sneaked up to the window and gently tapped on teh glass. Tap tap tap. Come on Carmen, open up. Click, the door handle turned and I sneaked in like a snake. "'Wow, you are LATE. REAL LATE. " Carmen hissed from the corner of her mouth. "I didn't sleep well last night. " I whispered while I took out the sieve. We were making banana pancakes. She added the eggs and reached for the milk. "What were you up to? Staying up all night thinking about getting new uniforms? Where are you getting them anyways?" I stared into the bowl of batter and was silent. I was getting new uniforms all right. More like getting a new self, in a new place. Vancouver, was it? The batter was getting creamy, but I kept on mixing. "Carmen, I think the batter is ready. " I turned the bowl. "By the way I'm leaving." Silence. Still I kept on mixing, but the mixing did not help. Silence. And I knew I had to look at her. There was a calmness in her that I did not expect and she held it a few seconds before she froze into acknowledgement. Without a word she turned her head and looked deep and meaningfully into my eyes. A glisten of exclamation asked the silent question, "You too?" Yes, my dear friend, yes. Away. Away. Away. We exchanged silence, and stood together in the tacit mourning of separation. "Carmen, I think the batter is ready. " I walked over to the stove and poured the batter into the pan, and the smell of cooking fogged up the silence. We cooked, we ate the pancakes but in my heart I wished I was still just mixing the batter. In my heart I grasped time, but time seeped away like sand. The tighter I clasped it, the faster it slipped away, and now it was blown away by the wind. The wind blew, the clouds scattered and my story with them ended before it was finished. I got up from the grass and looked up one last time. Nope, no more Titans and no more roaring seas. But I would not blame the clouds, I could not, for I know perfectly well in my heart that they were just reluctant exiles, too. Jane Ng
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