Music rang throughout the household, garnering attention from the neighbours as he moved his body across the small bedroom. His eyes were pinned on the reflection in front of him, the width of the mirror barely enough to fit the image of his body. Beads of sweat trailed down his tanned skin but he did nothing to wipe them away. His arms swung around his body as he mimicked a dance move he watched in a video a few days ago. He remembered exactly what the dancer did and he carried the tough moves out with passion that could be felt by his mother across the hall.

But he lacked talent in the dancing department. His moves looked sloppy and although they were carried out similar to the professional dancer, he looked like he was drowning in them.

He dragged his hands up his torso as the dancer did but he couldn’t do it anymore. He froze in front of the mirror, hands midway across his chest as he eyed himself critically.

What a joke.

The tall male was seated at a desk, doodling across his textbook. To anyone else, it might seem like he was just scribbling out of boredom but the tip of his pen carried out more than just that. Lyrics filled each page of his Chemistry textbook, not an inch bare for the world to see. It was his least favourite subject, he had to admit. ‘Another excuse to slack off,’ his mother would say.

Whenever the male failed to understand a certain topic in his school work, he easily side tracked to write whatever was on his mind. Random love confessions, the pains of school life, stress, pressure he felt from the high expectations his mother had set for him. He wrote about anything that would cross his mind. Don’t be surprised to find a line or two about the great lunch he had that day or a thought he had while walking home. The words he formed were random and messy to others but to him, they were art.

If only they understood.

The ringing of the school bell was heard and students hurriedly piled out of the school gates, excitement flooding through them as they thought of their plans over the weekends. There are those who can’t wait to catch the blockbuster film that was just released with their friends. Some are going on dates with their significant others. Some just plan to have study sessions with their friends at a library. But not him.

He trudged home, drained. School was never his thing. He tried, he really did. His scores were never satisfactory in subjects that were deemed ‘important’ by society. He excelled in Arts, Physical Education and Music but Biology, Chemistry, Maths? No, his scores for those subjects only brought along disappointment. And not to mention the lack of close friends he had due to his shy personality. School wasn't a fun place to meet friends and have fun as it is to most kids. It was draining.

It didn’t matter to him though. He enjoyed the subjects he excelled in, especially Music. His voice was amazing compared to his peers. He had a sense of musicality students his age lacked. He loved singing but being born in the countryside, it was only a dream.

A dream he would never fulfil.

Acting was what he loved to do. He gladly took the challenge of fulfilling it when he enrolled into an acting programme in college. People laughed at him, saying it isn’t going to get him anywhere. Those who succeeded in getting into medical school flaunted their intelligence. They were going to have a brighter future than him. They were going to be richer, much more respected and looked up to by society.

It didn’t matter to him. He was going to be happier. But the thought still lingered in his head. Am I really going to succeed this way? Was this a mistake? It is a cutthroat industry and he was gambling with his future when he enrolled into the programme. These thoughts haunted his mind every day as he sat in class, the faces around him also drooping more and more each day as they contemplate their decisions like he did.

Was he really going to be happy?

Good-looking wasn’t a word people associated with him. And to them, looks and intelligence were the sources of success. The things they called him were painful. They made fun of his chubby cheeks, his small eyes, his thick lips. No, people hated those things.

He found a way to handle it all. Dancing was his escape. The way his body moved would make everyone forget about the insults they threw at him earlier that day. He attended a dance academy to make his escape his future. To turn it into an everyday activity that he would enjoy.

Still, people didn’t like it. Their words never stopped hurting and when they found out how serious he was about basing his future on such a thing, they laughed. He had the talent, yes. Nobody could deny that. But why would anyone take him when there were so many other dancers who looked much more pleasing to the eyes? Who maybe lacked the talent and passion but were much more interesting to watch due to their amazing genes.

He knew they were right.

The words that slipped from his lips were speedy but sloppy. The ones he called his friends laughed at his failed attempt at a freestyle rap. He wrote lyrics, he tried his best to rap but every time failure slapped him in the face, his friends’ insults did too.

They thought that they were better than him. They’ve been doing this much longer than he had been. They had more experience but every time he produced something amazing that would blow their mind, they had to shut him down. They couldn’t do what he did. Even after years of experience, their lyrics were nowhere near his. His wordplay was smart and the topics he covered were deeper than they could ever imagine. Whenever they were impressed, they were also scared. They had to shut him down. They couldn’t possibly let his work get out there before theirs did.

He didn’t know though. The jealousy that came with talent was natural. They made it harder for him. They talked smack about him and never helped him when he needed it most. He had trouble with money and without the support of his friends, he had to sleep on floors and overcome things kids his age shouldn’t even hear about.

But those struggles made him who he was. His lyrics were deep because his wounds were. He could write all day about feelings and pain that ran through his veins. But just like it would to anyone else, the struggles broke him. Slowly, he closed himself off. He didn’t feel comfortable talking about his feelings; writing was the only way. He didn’t feel comfortable with those he called ‘friends’ for so long.

He didn’t feel comfortable with himself.

He wandered into the strawberry estate mindlessly. Picking at a strawberry, he bit into it and grimaced at the sour-flavoured attack on his tongue. He came to help his grandmother out during the holidays. Most kids would throw a tantrum when asked to do the same at the countryside with no WiFi but he wasn’t like that. His grandmother was like his best friend. They were closer than any other grandmother-grandson pair out there and he would happily spend his holidays with her.

People often found the boy a little weird. He did things no one else would and the thoughts that crossed his mind and made their way to his lips were nothing like what other kids would say. He knew exactly what they thought of him. It was obvious when every time he would attend school, no one would talk to him. Or when they whisper to each other and point at him. He didn’t make it obvious, but it hurt.

His grandmother used to tell him to not worry about them. Kids say things without thinking, even when their words hurt. She held him whenever he came home and burst into tears after a tough day in school. She told him to be strong. She showed him how to be strong through her actions and he gladly followed her example. She was strong, he knew. He wanted to be just like her. He wanted to take all the insults with a smile on his face and not take them to heart, but it was easier said than done because truth is;

He would never be strong enough.