The Brick Wall
Shrujana V.R.
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Perhaps the most valuable lesson I've learned in high school is that I live in a generation of brick walls. Me included. Being the ones stuck with only our own company for a crucial developmental year, we’ve somewhat lost the ability to bend. To put ourselves in another’s shoes, to meet someone at eye level. Concrete has surrounded our thoughts and ideas, refusing to break, no matter the circumstance. Last year, for the first time in a while, I met someone who actually… bent. She was careful to understand, thoughtful to respond, and conceded when necessary. It was clear to see that she’d be successful one day. It was also clear that if I didn’t become more like her, I might not be able to thrive in this world. Because those who can lay away their pride are the ones who’ll one day build a great mountain of success. And to even attempt to climb that mountain, I’d need to lose my rigidity. But it had to be me who did it. Pride is something only defeated by oneself. Over the poem’s entirety, I recounted the countless times many a brave and logical came to save, or in the wall’s view defeat, its great self. Only when the wall’s offered the option to make the choice, does the idea even seem possible. Though I did make sure it received a heavy dose of reality, just as I had, before the decision was to be made.
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Creativity, to me, is a story. A story of the world as it is, and what it might become. It is a story of one person's growth and another's regression. Of good's victory, and evil's revenge. Creativity is our lives, and our lives are stories worth telling.
