Original Works

Twenty-Twenty [12 Genre Months]

March 18, 2020

It’s a typical Wednesday—bumper to bumper traffic on the Federal Highway since 8 a.m. The midweek blues has officially set it, and I can’t wait for the weekend. How boring can today be, am I right? There is, however, an interesting topic for discussion—my colleagues and I have been talking about a virus. Its rapid spread in the past few months has made it a global affair. It’s literally #trending. Oddly enough, no one seems to care. I guess… we’ll get over it soon.

March 20, 2020

One more long day before the weekend! And guess what? We’re having a farewell party for Siva tomorrow. It’s his last month with us before he leaves the country for his new job in Germany. Since he told us he resigned, we’ve been trying to speak German with him. I’ve gotta say, he’s pretty good. Granted, he took classes. Meanwhile, I’m here trying to learn Korean from k-dramas.

March 21, 2020

Evelyn just called. She said she isn’t feeling very well, and might even call in sick next week. Evelyn rarely falls sick. I mean, she’s the healthiest one of our lot. The girl hits the gym like… everyday? Well, I guess there’ll be more food for me later. Though, I don’t really feel all that great either. But… I can’t just bail too, right? We’ve been planning this farewell for a while now. So… I’ll just go. After all, I already bought a new dress for tonight—when else can I wear it?

March 23, 2020

Yup, Evelyn called in sick. She must be feeling horrible—she barely replies to my messages. Poor girl. She isn’t even sure if she has the flu or some other virus. Hopefully, with enough rest, she’ll get back to the office soon. We’re in a very busy season, and one man down affects us all. Now if only… I could call in sick, too.

March 25, 2020

Unbelievable. Three more people called in sick today. I can’t possibly be covering for everyone. This is insane! I already have this impossible client on my hand, and now I have to take on their clients, too? Also, why do people think it’s okay to call in sick over a little cold? Just pop a freaking Panadol. Don’t have Panadol? The office has some! Just get your butt to work!

March 27, 2020

Just got a message from our office WhatsApp group—Evelyn is in the hospital. A few of us want to visit her this weekend. We’re thinking of getting a few balloons, just to brighten her mood a little. Though, we don’t know what time we should go. Evelyn still hasn’t been responding to her messages. Honestly, I’m a little worried.

March 28, 2020

I can’t remember the last time I went to a hospital, but are all hospitals this busy? There were so many people, it took us forever just to get Evelyn’s room number. As for Evelyn, she wasn’t conscious when we arrived. Her family was there though, and they said she has the virus. Since we couldn’t talk to Evelyn, and it was awkward conversing with her parents, we left the balloons and called it a day.

March 30, 2020

I had to apply for an emergency leave today—mum wasn’t feeling well. She said something about not being able to breathe. So I had to take her to the hospital. This hospital, too, had a lot of people. For some reason, everyone decided to fall sick at the same time. And it’s a little troubling—I don’t think they have enough staff to handle the crowd. Well, hopefully mum gets better soon.

March 31, 2020

The nurses told me I can’t visit mum anymore. They said it was too dangerous. They wouldn’t explain anything. Heck, they don’t even have the time to entertain any of my questions. So I’m not sure what is going on. It feels like the end of the world… yet everyone is acting like it’s just another regular day. I also heard some people mention the virus. Apparently, it’s still trending. But… no one seems to care? I hope we’ll get over it soon.


12 Genre Months © 2020 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for the list of stories in this writing challenge.)

Original Works

Puteri & The Frog [12 Genre Months]

Once upon a time, there lived a princess in a white-bricked, two-storey house, complete with a shaded front porch and a tiddly garden. She had light brown eyes, thin lips, and a sprinkle of freckles—a reflection of innocence on her small, youthful face, framed by her short dark brown locks from her mixed heritage. She was like every other child, except for her name—her mother called her Puteri.

Puteri’s favourite past-time was an evening in the neighbourhood park—a gathering ground for the city-dwelling children to be one with Mother Nature. Every Friday, Puteri would bring her golden ball to the field, adjacent to a lotus pond, to toss, kick, and bounce. As she wasn’t very fond of the playground’s swings and slides, Puteri preferred her more solitude activity away from the other children. But on one fateful evening, to her dismay, her golden ball went bouncing into the still water.

“Do you need a hand?” a voice asked.

Puteri hadn’t noticed anyone else around—jumping startled at the sudden intrusion of her quiet playtime. Looking up from where her golden ball had disappeared into, she saw the owner of the voice—he stood across the pond with wide curious eyes, as though he’d never seen a girl before.

“Yes,” Puteri replied. “Can you retrieve my ball for me?”

“If I do so, will you be my friend?” he asked.

“Why do you need a friend?” Puteri frowned. She didn’t understand why friends were important—she enjoyed her own company and that alone was enough.

“I don’t like playing by myself,” he said.

“I do,” Puteri stated. “But if you don’t like playing by yourself, why don’t you go and make friends?”

“No one will play with me.”

“I see.” Puteri had no interest in being the strange creature’s friend, but she didn’t want to wade through the dark water either. So, for the sake of her beloved golden ball, she said, “I’ll be your friend if you retrieve my ball.”

“You will?” He beamed.

“Yes.” Puteri nodded and pointed to where her ball had sunken. “It’s somewhere over there.”

“At your service, princess,” he replied, promptly entering the pond.

The still water wasn’t as deep as Puteri had imagined—her imagination often wilder than her dreams. Once she was handed her golden ball, Puteri said, “Thank you.” Not waiting for a response, she promptly turned on her heel—ready to break her promise.

“Wait,” he said. “Aren’t you going to play with me?”

“Maybe next week,” Puteri hastily replied, before running home.

Puteri hoped to never see the frog again—his big round eyes, Cheshire-like grin, and stubby frame were perhaps the reasons why he had no friends. Alas, when the next Friday rolled around, there he was again.

“Hi,” he said, with a wide smile. “Do you want to play?”

“I-”

“You promised,” he said.

“I didn’t promise anything. I said, maybe,” Puteri stated.

“But you said you’ll be my friend,” he insisted. “We can toss your ball, and if it falls into the pond again, I’ll get it for you.”

Puteri hesitated. Then seeing how his excitement began to turn into disappointment—the mien of a broken heart—she said, “Fine. One game. Just one game.”

“Thank you,” he said. “We don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Puteri nodded and tossed him her golden ball. For a while, the two played without a word—the golden ball bouncing back and forth, while the shouts and laughter of the other children filled the silence. It was a bizarre game but Puteri slowly came to enjoy his company—simply having someone to toss the ball to brought comfort. And it was then that Puteri entertained the idea of keeping a friend—to have someone who truly wanted her around. Alas, before she could ask her first friend for his name, the clouds began to grumble.

“Puteri,” her handmaid called. “It’s going to rain. Let’s go home.”

“I have to go,” Puteri stated, just as her golden ball bounced into her arms.

“Next week?” he prompted

“Sure,” Puteri replied with a smile.

“Let’s go, Puteri,” her handmaid repeated, reaching for Puteri’s hand. “Who are you talking to?”

“My friend,” Puteri said.

“Your friend?” her handmaid asked, bewildered as she glanced around. “Where?”

Puteri pointed to the pond where he sat poised on a floating lotus leaf, bearing the same curious gaze as though he’d never seen a woman before.

“The frog?” her handmaid asked.

“Yes. He’s my friend.”

Her handmaid chuckled. “Frogs make good friends,” her handmaid said. “Come now.”

“Is mummy coming home for dinner?” Puteri asked. Her mother often encouraged her to make friends—it would excite her to learn that Puteri had actually made one.

“Not tonight, dear,” her handmaid said.

“And daddy?”

Her handmaid gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Maybe next week. Your mommy and daddy are very busy people.”

“I know.”

“You’ll have dinner with me tonight and we can talk all about your new friend, all right?”

Puteri nodded. She would rather have dinner with her friend, but she doubted her parents would let her bring him home. Though, would they notice if she did? They were rarely around. The only thing that was of them was the golden ball. And that itself was merely a reminder of their existence. At the very least, it made her… a friend.


12 Genre Months © 2019 by Jeyna Grace. All rights reserved.

(Click HERE for the list of stories in this writing challenge.)

Writing Journey

3 Months Ago, I Became A ‘Hot Shot’ [#TRUESTORY]

This story begins three months ago—on June 1st—when I was offered a spot in the ‘Hot Shots’ campaign.

The ‘Hot Shots’ campaign is organized by CLEO magazine, where ‘every year, we select 30 successful women across industries to speak of their success, background, and how they’re reshaping the landscape of their industries.’ I know this might sound surprising, but when I read the offer, I hesitated. Yes, I actually hesitated. I asked my mum and my colleagues if I should go for it. And only when they said, ‘Yes! Of course!” I said, “Yes,” myself. Strange, I know.

Now, despite saying ‘yes’, I didn’t actually announce the nomination—I didn’t tell anyone but those who already knew. Why? Because I wasn’t sure if it was truly going to happen. I doubted. I didn’t think I was ‘Hot Shot’ worthy, and I thought CLEO might change their mind. So before CLEO sent me the official email, with my photoshoot and interview date, I kept the news to myself. Pretty understandable, right?

My photoshoot and interview date was June 12th. At 10.30 a.m. that day, I hopped on a Grab and headed to a hotel in Kuala Lumpur. The entirety of the experience was foreign to me. And upon my return home, I wrote a Facebook post summarising the event.

On August 1st, CLEO’s ‘Hot Shots’ issue hit the shelves. Firstly, let me just say, I’m not a fan of my picture. It wasn’t me. But CLEO is a fashion and lifestyle magazine, so what most people are generally used to is not something you would see on such a publication. That being said, after flipping past my profile, I started to read about the other 29 women. And, only then, I realised that being a ‘hot shot’ didn’t necessarily mean being a millionaire—a hot shot could be anyone who is doing what they love and making a change through their works regardless of the magnitude of their success. So hey, maybe I am worthy of being called a ‘Hot Shot’ after all (nope, still doubting).

This proves how nobody knew Clark Kent was Superman.

Then, August 21st rolled around and CLEO posted my full interview—both video and written—on their website and social media. As I’m not a fan of seeing myself in action, I cringed a little watching myself in the video interview. But I’m glad… no, I’m relieved… that I shared from the heart. There was no pretending. My words were true—if you’ve been following me for a while, you know they are. The only thing that wasn’t true to Jeyna was the makeup, which made me seem a little intimidating.

A couple of days after my profile went live, I went for a CLEO high-tea event. It was a weekday, so I had to take a half day off work. It was one of the most awkward experiences in my life. Remember when I blogged about ‘How To Balance Passion & Work’, where I mentioned about how I dislike networking? Well, which introvert actually enjoys networking? I was completely out of
my element! If you follow me on Instagram, you probably saw the instastories. But if you don’t, here’s the status update on my personal Facebook account summarizing the whole 2 hours.

“Thursday, 5 p.m: Currently on my way home from the CLEO event—it’s safe to say that this is my first ‘networking’ event, so I guess it’s understandable to act and feel extremely awkward. But hey, at least I managed to strike up a conversation with a 20-year-old MMA fighter, her manager, and a singer signed under Yuna’s record label. Also, I got a free cookie and a makeup set from Wet & Wild. Overall, I’m glad I did something completely outside of my comfort zone. But next time, can I not go alone? Can I have a plus one please?”

It’s safe to say that I will remember this entire experience for a lifetime. I never imagined being recognised for my work on such a scale. Though I’m still a long way off from living the dream, the past few months introduced me to a world I didn’t know I could be a part of. So I’m grateful, tremendously grateful, for the opportunity. I’m glad, despite the fear of unfamiliar environments, that I stepped out of my comfort zone. And, if nothing more comes my way, I’ll continue to celebrate this moment. Because through it, I have bravely traversed uncharted territory and I’m now more than ready to sail into the unknown… again.

Try not to cringe! You can watch the video interview below and read the written interview HERE!

Writing Journey

This Story Begins In 2005 [#TRUESTORY]

I scrolled through my blog recently and realised that I don’t share enough personal stories. I do address certain topics based on experience, but nothing from, ‘hey, I was once an annoying kid,’ to, ‘wow, I said the cringiest things on Facebook.’ So today, I thought, let me share a #truestory.

This story begins in 2005. It was during those formative years in secondary school that I began exploring other forms of writing aside from short stories. I would write scripts for my school’s drama competitions, and I would write poetry–a whole lot of poetry. I thought I wasn’t good at short stories because I never won any writing competitions. So, I tried poetry instead. But even then–churning out both story-based and self-reflective pieces–I knew nothing about the rules and the mechanics of this art. I just wrote. And whenever I wrote, I would submit my poems to a local newspaper in hopes of being featured in their Wednesday student column.

Then 2007 rolled around. It was my final year in secondary school and I experienced the loss of two family members in a single week. My maternal grandfather passed away a few days prior to my paternal aunt. I wasn’t close to either of them as I can’t speak mandarin or hokkien–two of the few Chinese dialects in Malaysia. And, I only saw them once a year during Chinese New Year. So the loss was a strange kind of loss. I was sad–I cried when I heard about my grandfather, while I was unexpectedly called out from school–but… I didn’t know why.

At their funerals, of which I had to travel from one state to another just a few days apart, I wrote two poems. I used to carry a notebook around for when inspiration strikes, and conveniently, I had my notebook with me that week. Of course, I wouldn’t say their deaths were ‘inspiring’, but it led me to writing a piece titled, ‘Death’ and a piece titled, ‘If’. They were rather morbid pieces if I could say so myself. But it seems… I write better when in unpredictable and uncomfortable situations.

Shortly after those events, I returned to school and my carefree teenage life. Since I had two new poems, I submitted both of them to the same local newspaper. I didn’t expect anything, but twice, my friends hollered at me–after having flipped through their daily newspapers. They came into class saying, “Jeyna, you’re in the newspaper!” You see, my school allowed students a paid subscription to the daily newspaper. These students would receive their copies every morning. I wasn’t one of these students–my dad would buy the newspaper himself–and thus, I had no idea if my work was published. I had to be told, and on both occasions, the announcement from my friends and teachers were awesome surprises. Alas, it only happened twice. There was no third time, despite the dozens of poems I submitted.

Eleven years later, on May 30th 2018–coincidentally a Wednesday–I received a Facebook message from a friend with a snapshot of a different, but also local, newspaper. I knew I did an email interview. I even chose a handful of pictures to send to the journalist. But, I had no idea when the piece would be out. Being Facebook message–oh, how technology has advanced–brought back that same feeling when I discovered I was featured in 2007. This time however, almost a decade later, it wasn’t just my name. It was an almost full-page spread with my picture. Eleven years later… “Jeyna, you’re in the newspaper!”

Read The Online Version

If you’ve actually made it this far into my story, or if you follow me on Facebook and Twitter and have seen my status update itself, you might have noticed something. It took me eleven years. Eleven… long… years. Not one year, not three years, not even five years to be somewhat recognised, but eleven years. And I say ‘somewhat recognised’ because it’s only the first step. It’s a small accomplishment in comparison to the dream of having my book made into a movie. But, it’s a success nonetheless–one worth celebrating, just like the time my poems were published.

Now, if you don’t mind me asking, how many of you have been at your craft for almost a decade? If you raised your hand, let me applaud you for your tenacity and passion. Perhaps it’ll take you longer to see the fruits of your labour, but you will see it one day. You already have the drive to keep going and you shouldn’t stop. Don’t waste the years of blood, sweat, and tears. It is all worth it. Your dream is worth it. Your passion is worth it. Your story is worth it.

On the flip side, how many of you have been at your craft for less than a decade? If you’re thinking of giving up, don’t you dare! I cannot say you will achieve something in eleven years, but you shouldn’t give up just because ‘nothing’ is happening. Something is always happening when you invest in your talent. The only ‘nothing’, I dare say, is that ‘nothing’ is impossible. It might take you eleven years–it might even take you more, or perhaps less than eleven years–but nothing is impossible. Every step you take toward your dream is the first step toward something big. It’s just the start! And just like those of us, who have been chasing after the stars for many years, your dream, passion, and story are worth it–every muddy road, narrow trail, and arduous climb. After all, every path you take will eventually lead you somewhere.

This is a true story. This is my story. But this can be your story, too.

Others

Snatched Off The Page

snatchedoffthepage

I wrote a special note sharing what it means to have another novel successfully funded on Inkshares. I thought I’d snatch it off the page itself and share it here.

With the successful funding of The Battle for Oz, I feel extremely blessed to be able to hold my book in my hands. I don’t expect to have another successful round, as the first time was a miracle in itself. But I do hope that I would be given a chance to showcase more of my works to the world.

I know this is every author’s dream. I’m no different, I’m definitely not special. But I go into this project believing in crowd-funded publishing, and I want to build my foundation in this industry as an author. It’s quite a difficult industry to break into, many know that, but I want to try and I want to succeed.

Succeeding again would mean it isn’t impossible for anyone to accomplish their authoring dream. Succeeding again would mean there is hope for all authors, no matter who you are and where you come from. I hope to see crowd-funded publishing as a new platform for authors, and I hope to use it as my own in the long run.

So do consider The Slave Prince, not as another book to read, but as a democratized book – chosen by the people. Consider the concept of this platform and how it can make a difference, not only in the publishing industry, but in the lives of authors around the world. No, Inkshares has not paid me to say this. I just really believe in this platform 🙂

It has been 6 days since I launched the project, and I’ve collected 13 pre-orders so far. I’m #8 in the top 10 books, but still rank far below to be published by Inkshares. The gap seems to be growing wider with the top 3, and I could really use your help to close it.

Being a Malaysian author, living in a country with a weak economy and small publishing industry (I still love Malaysia though), crowd-funded publishing is my hope of building an authoring career. Getting support from the local scene is extremely difficult, especially when $10 is over RM40! Aside from that, I’ve exhausted all my personal contacts with The Battle for Oz, and I don’t want family and friends to feel obligated to help again. Hence why I have to count on my international readers… hence why I have to reach out to you. Safe to say, you’re all I’ve got.

When I was crowd-funding The Battle for Oz, a handful of you came on board and backed me up (which I am very grateful for). This time around, I need more than a handful. I need a movement – a shocking moment in time where my international readers decide I’m worth a shot. Will you be part of this movement?

If you’ll like to give me a chance, which I hope you will, please check out the The Slave Prince. Consider joining the royal family, and claim a royal title for yourself. It’s not everyday you can be a duke or princess 🙂

The prologue and Chapter 1 of the book are currently up on the project page. You can give them a read and see if the premise piques your interest. Only 35 days left before the competition ends! Only 35 days before I find out if I’ll be holding another one of my books in my hands.

(By the way, I’ve confirmed with Inkshares: you do get a 5$ store credit when you sign up for the first time on Inkshares. You know what this means? A 50% discount off the e-book!) 

Others

Celebrating (Almost) 7K With A Giveaway!

Thebattleforoz

This day has arrived. Never thought it ever would. I mean, 7,000 6,900 subscribers… who would imagine? Well, I have imagined, but I never thought I would reach it. A month or so ago, Big Bang had a concert in Malaysia. They had 15,000 attendees. 7,000 6,900 is less than half of 15,000, but the sight of half a stadium packed with people is still mind blowing. (No, I’m not a Big Bang fan. I didn’t attend the concert. But I think T.O.P is cute though.)

Anyway, that being said, I am just so honoured to have each and every one of you as my reader. I’m not sure how many of you are still reading my posts every week, but even if you don’t, you subscribing shows your support. Thank you for your support. It means a lot to me. Every single reader is a boost of morale. Thank you for being that one. Without you, it wouldn’t be 7,000 6,900. Thank you 🙂

So, to celebrate this awesome milestone, I have a special announcement to make.

As some of you might know, my latest novel, The Battle for Oz, will be out in September. It will be on bookshelves in the US and Canada. Some bookstores have already placed orders to have my book in stock. I’ll list them out in the near future. But that is not the special announcement today. As per the post title, there is a giveaway!

If you’re on Goodreads, there’s a Goodreads giveaway happening right now. 20 copies of the book will be freely given to those living in US and Canada! Click HERE to join the giveaway – it ends on September 15th.

Unfortunately, it’s not open to all the countries in the world. So perhaps I’ll throw my own giveaway in the future. That being said, if you would like to get your hands on The Battle for Oz, you can find it listed on many online bookstores worldwide. If you live in Asia, Open Trolley in Singapore has my book listed. You can also get it from Amazon and Barnes & Noble. If you want most of your money to be sent to me, you can buy it from Inkshares. I make the most profit from direct sales there. Inkshares also offers free shipping 🙂 Win-win!

On a side note, if you are a game developer, music composer, filmmaker, visual effects expert, artist, jewellery maker,  or anyone along those professions, that would like to collaborate on expanding the world of The Battle for Oz, send me an email. Let’s create another win-win situation 🙂

Well, that’s all for this post. Thanks again for your readership! Do continue to stick around for more awesome adventures ahead. And have a great weekend!

Original Works

Shuttle To Mars

shuttletomars

One more try, I told myself. One more try before I attempt to sleep.

Picking up my phone, I redialled the most dialled number in my log list and listened hopefully. But just like my previous attempts, the response to my call was an emotionless voice telling me the number I dialled was not available. I knew it was a long shot, so why did I subject my heart to such a disappointment? Simple… I was desperate.

As I lay down on my cold bed, I wondered how I was going to rest my tired body. I did not do much that day, but the tears weighed me down. Exhaustion had me staring at the ceiling with the phone on my chest, and shortly after, it pulled me away from reality. I don’t remember how it happened, but the next moment I opened my eyes, it was at the sound of the phone ringing.

Day was already seeping through the gap between the curtains, but exhaustion had not left. With the bleeping sound filling my bedroom, I sat up and quickly looked around for it. The moment I saw it on the floor, I jumped off the bed and answered it without hesitation.

“Hello?” I said eagerly, my voice sounding dry.

“Mrs Pebble? I’m calling from the Shuttle Station. We are arranging shuttles for families of Alpha-1 to fly to Mars. Will you and your daughter be able to check-in for today’s flights?” a voice of a young man asked.

“Yes! Yes. I’ll leave right now.”

“We will add your names to the list. Please bring your necessary flight documents.”

“I will. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The call ended with the young man assuring me he would do anything to help, but I knew his words were just attempts at comfort. Sadly, no one could comfort me now as I placed my phone down and began packing.

I was not in the mood to pick out my best clothes, so I threw whatever came into reach on my bed. I was also not in the mood to fold them nicely, but when I tried to I found my hands shaking. Clasping my hands together, I shut my eyes and inhaled deeply. I had to be strong, but strength cruelly left me. As a lump formed in my throat, my eyes began to ache. Attempts to hold my tears back only left me trembling even more, and when I finally let it all out the crushing pain swallowed me whole.

How could I be strong knowing the man I love is missing? He was just promoted and was to be stationed at Mars. He had to take the earlier shuttle to check on everything before my daughter and I joined him. Who would have thought a few hours after I bid him goodbye that Shuttle Alpha-1 would have gone missing? If I knew, I would rather be on that same flight with him. Whatever horrors I might experience on board would be nothing compared to waiting for days without answers.

When I was finally able to calm myself down, I heard a knock on my door. It was a soft, gentle knock, a knock only my innocent daughter would do.

“Come in, dear,” I said, quickly drying my eyes.

“Mummy, are you o.k?” she asked.

No, I was not o.k.

“I’m o.k. We are going to the shuttle station today. So I have to pack your clothes. Could you be a good girl and fix yourself breakfast?”

My sweet five year old nodded her head with a smile. That made my heart ache even more. How was I going to tell her, her daddy is… gone?

“Are we going to see daddy?” she asked.

I simply nodded, afraid that if I spoke I would start weeping again.

“Can I wear the pink dress? Daddy says I look pretty in it,” she added.

My eyes began to water again and I held on to my words as long as I could. I had to hold back for my daughter, even if my hands began trembling uncontrollably.

“Yes, baby… yes. Wear that,” I croaked.

My daughter jumped with joy before skipping out of the room. After she was gone, I shut the bedroom door and wept till I felt too tired to continue.

It was not easy making it to the Shuttle Station. I had a hard time focusing on the road and when I arrived I found myself being escorted into a room filled with other people in the similar fate. My daughter also did not make things easier.

As the man at the counter checked our flight documents, she asked, “Why are people crying?”

The man awkwardly continued his check as I knelt down and said, “Some people cry because they are happy, and some cry because they are sad. It’s normal.”

“But why are they crying?”

“I don’t know, baby,” I lied.

After all the necessary procedures were completed, I found a seat at a corner away from most of the people. But my attempts to protect my daughter from the horrible emotions in the room failed as I found her staring at a weeping woman. Having no other choice, I resorted to handing my child the ‘Holotab’ which she grabbed and immediately started up her favourite game. When she no longer found interest in the distraught woman, I felt a little better. I was not going to let my child suffer the emotional pain I was suffering. It would break her fragile heart.

As my daughter controlled a space penguin with her tiny fingers, I watched each person that entered the holding area. Just an hour before we were called to board the shuttle, an old man and his son took a sit across us. The moment he saw us, the old man did not stop staring at my little girl. It was unsettling, but when he got up, he said, “She reminds me of my granddaughter. She likes that game.”

Through those words, I immediately felt his pain. His son heard him too and stormed off almost instantly. But I stayed to give him a hug. He needed it… I needed it.

“I know she’s alright,” the old man said. “She’s a fighter, that little one.”

I nodded my head vigorously in agreement. As I took my daughter in my arms, ready to take the shuttle to Mars, I knew that I might not see my husband again and my baby might not see her daddy again. But I also knew there was a hope.

It might be a week or even a month before they find him, but there was hope. My man was a fighter, and miracles can be found… even when all seems lost.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

I decided to write this story for the family and friends of the passengers of MH370. It is easy for us to imagine what it would be like to be on a missing (crashing) plane, but we dare not imagine what it would be like to know someone on it. The pain, the agony, the wait… they are as lost as the passengers themselves, with no answers to their only question.

MH370 is a close to home tragedy as I know of someone who know people on that plane. Also being a Malaysian plane, we Malaysians were the first few to hear of the news. Some of us might have gotten calls, others text messages that immediately ruins the start of a weekend. I hope that you would join me and continue to pray for the passengers and their family and friends of MH370. Even though the situation looks bleak there is still hope.

I believe miracles can be found even when all seems lost. Believe that with me and lets hope for the best.

© 2014 Jeyna Grace

(For more short stories, click HERE)