Daniel explains the writing on the wall to king Belshazzar. If Daniel was to describe my “writing on the wall” I hope it would be that I am understanding, helpful and energetic.

The first word I chose was understanding because I always want to understand the emotions and feelings of others so that I know how to help them and support them in any way.

The second word I chose was helpful. To me, being helpful can be shown in many different ways, whether it’s helping someone with their school work or giving someone advice. I want to be helpful so that through my actions, they may see Christ through me.

Lastly, I hope to see the word Energetic. By being Energetic, I can share my energy to people who may have recently been feeling down, upset or lonely. Being energetic can show others that they are not alone and that there are people out there who care, leaving a smile on their faces.

Our kidneys are one of the most important parts of our body, but why? Kidneys have an important job filtering our blood to produce urine. Without healthy kidneys the body will feel weak and tired which can soon lead to uremia and sometimes if not treated, death. Everyone deserves to have healthy kidneys but it is also our responsibility to keep them healthy. Let me show you how!

In the Cook Islands there is something called a tivaevae. What is a tivaevae? A tivaevae is a patchwork quilt sewn communally (for or by a group of people). The tivaevae has many different designs that include flowers, leaves and the most important, bright and vibrant colours. Below, is my illustration of a tivaevae design.

If I had a car sticker to put on the back of my car, what would it be? Well, I want a sticker that can show faith through Friendship, acceptance, integrity, trust and honesty. This illustration can be shown to others to encourage them if they’re going through something and need a little help.

Whenever we get sick we usually just take antibiotics and hope it will work, but does it? There can be different sicknesses and we need to know what medicine to take in order to feel better. Yes, it works sometimes but not always and here’s why:

This is my Stalag Luft lll map:

This week I have been writing a narrative story to this picture. The parable of my story is, “Never take things for granted, as the things you miss now, you will miss when they’re gone”.

                                                                            REFLECTION TO THE PAST

Hidden away in a small cottage lived Mark and Eilana. They weren’t the happiest couple and always tend to fight a lot for the dumbest reasons. Their marriage had changed a few years ago and they weren’t sure why. Despite the arguing Eilana would always keep her head up high, never letting anyone put her down while Mark would run away from home just like he ran away from his problems. June 27th was their wedding anniversary and they always celebrated with a small blueberry cheesecake, the exact same one they had on their wedding day, but today the house was quiet and the sky was moody and dark. Eilana believed that the weather represented people’s emotions, sunny days were happiness, cloudy and rainy days were sadness and thunder was anger.

Mark arrived the next morning wearing his beige coat and blue jeans. Eilana reminded him in an angry tone that he had completely forgotten their wedding anniversary. Mark stormed out of the kitchen, anger written on his face and slamming the bedroom door. Mark never took notice of anything and cared only for himself. 

The following morning, Mark woke up, clouds gloomy and the house smelling different. Every morning the house would smell like cooked bacon and eggs ready to be served. Confused, Mark strolled his way down to the kitchen and his eyes widened in shock. Eilana laid unconscious on the kitchen floor, heart silent. Mark knelt down screaming her name, hoping for her to gain consciousness. Thunder roared loud like a lion as the paramedics rushed in with their medical kits and stretcher. That night Mark decided to sleep in the hospital with Eilana, praying that she had a good recovery. Luck decided to turn their back on him, Eilana, announced dead the next morning. He cried, tears running down his cheeks like a stream. Mark walked in shame, head facing the floor. Arriving home, he sat down on the couch in the living room. Pictures of him and Eilana stayed untouched. He thought of all the moments where he could’ve treated her better, even if it was just a hug or a smile.

Happy one year anniversary in heaven, my dear. I wish you were still here with me. That’s what Mark wrote in his card before he laid it down on her grave. He didn’t visit often, he believed the more he visited, the sadder he felt. But that’s not true. He decided to go today because it’s officially been 1 year since she had passed. The sun was shining but rain still fell on his clothes. With the rainbow shining in the distance, Eilana would’ve asked if there were leprechauns at the end of the rainbow with a large pot of gold. 

Once the rain stopped Mark decided to stop by the bench where Eilana and he first met. It was 1972 and Eilana sat there beautifully with her long brown hair glistening in the bright sun. Mark was attracted to her beauty but was far more interested in her intelligence. Eilana read books everyday after school while Mark worked at a local cafe hoping to make ends meet. They soon eventually got to know each other and decided to make the big decision to get married. It was difficult at first convincing both their parents but they soon managed to. Both parents didn’t think Mark and Eliana were a good match for each other.

He stared to his side, no hope, just silence. Sometimes Mark would imagine that Eilana was still there. Not because he missed her but the fact that Mark couldn’t handle life alone. He struggled with his daily life and usually even skipping breakfast. 

An unusual shiny puddle formed in front of his black work boots. Mark, looking down, glanced at it, not taking much notice. Droplets of water rolled down and soaked his blue jeans. Mark was furious and adjusted his jeans so they would not touch the wet concrete path. Suddenly the puddle reflected like a glass mirror arraying his exact position. He bent over to get a closer look. Lifting his left hand to touch his cheek, he was still the same person he was that morning. How was this possible? The puddle was reflecting the younger version of himself and next to him, sat his beautiful wife, Eilana.

I’m in the car with my dad, he’s playing his old school music. We were on the way to pick up my little sister, Jess from pre-school. The sun felt scorching but the chilly wind cooling, like a cold glass of water. As we approached the red light something felt off. Cars started vibrating, dads sunglasses falling off his head and soon all I could hear was a gigantic rumble. 

A dark grey shadow swallowed our car and the whole world went silent. Sounds of hospital sirens echoed in my ear, am I awake, is this all just a nightmare? Trying to open my eyes and capture my surroundings I can’t help but notice this tight feeling. My vision is blurred. The smell of dust invades my nostrils making my nose feel like an unbearable itch. My mouth feels dry, my body feeling physically weak. I close my eyes, hoping for this pain to end.

My first thought, where’s my dad, my sister? Beside me on my left hand side was a side table. On the side table held a telephone and a green plant with pretty pink flowers. Then I noticed I was in the hospital. The hospital walls were painted a light blue and the floors painted plain white. It smelt like medical supplies and also smelt as if the entire place had recently been cleaned and sanitized. Deciding to explore, I grabbed the railing of the bed and attempted to sit up but my left arm felt heavy. I trudged along the empty hallways and happened to pass by a room with a large glass window. A nurse walking by stops beside me and asks me “Can I help you with anything?”. I replied, “Have you seen my little sister, Jess and my dad?” She walked towards a door, scanned her keycard and gestured to me that I was allowed to come and look inside. I took my first steps into the room and my eyes were attracted to 2 white sheets on top of what I assumed were people who had passed. I walked towards one of the sheets and used my right arm to lift up the sheet. Underneath was the person I least expected it to be. Jess, my once energetic little sister, laying unconscious. Laying my head down on her chest praying for a heartbeat, I built up the courage to unfold the sheet of the next person. Tears ran down my cheeks falling onto my dad’s clothes. I had now lost them both.

It was 12:07am, the night sky was cold and dark. In front of Mrs Shear’s front yard laid a dog, not a dog that escaped their house to explore but a lifeless dog. It was Wellington. A large pitchfork had stabbed right through him. Mrs Shears lived across the street, two houses from mine. I liked dogs, though I didn’t feel sorrow. Wellington was a very playful dog. His tail would wag happily side to side as Mrs Shears gave him dog treats. I knelt down on the cold green grass and touched his body. I stroked my hand down his warm fur. Putting my hands around Wellington’s body, I picked him up. Red blood seeped out of his body but it wasn’t much.

4 minutes had quickly passed and Mrs Shears came out of her house in her pyjamas, bathrobe and her toe nails painted a bright pink. She must’ve noticed her dog was missing. Her face was shocked. It was as if she woke up from a nightmare. She immediately yelled, “Put down my dog!”. I got scared. The feeling of getting yelled at frightens me because I don’t understand what the person is trying to tell me. As soon as she yelled  I covered my ears, rolled forward and let my forehead touch the grass. Looking up, there they were. A police woman and a policeman stood in front of me. The policeman had a leaf in his shoe and the other, a wound in her left leg. I liked the police, they are organized, their numbers are cool and they stand out in the crowd. 

I stood up and the police woman asked me, “Did you kill the dog?”. I simply replied, “No.”. She looked at me curiously then said “How old are you”, I told her I was 15. She was stunned but I couldn’t figure out why. She continued to fill my head with more questions and I started getting overstimulated. In my head were questions never answered and the cries of Mrs Shears. I laid on the ground, I felt physically exhausted and wanted to put my mind at rest. All of a sudden the policeman aggressively grabbed my arm. Getting put back on my feet I punched the policeman. I didn’t mean to, it just happened.

The police brought me into the police station and a police officer led me to a room with light yellow painted walls and told me to stay there for a while until the situation could be assisted. Waiting for minutes, I stared at my surroundings trying to entertain myself. Minutes passed and I was getting more bored as time went by. Watching the clock on the wall tick, my dads voice echoed through the halls of the station. The police officer who had brought me in opened the door and my dad walked in. I stood up from my chair and walked towards my dad. He looked down at me, his eyes slowly about to fall asleep. We walked out to the main hall and I sat on one of the wooden benches on the side as my dad and the police officer talked about the situation. It was now 1:50am and we were headed back home. Dad stopped walking, faced me and said, “Son, you know what you did was wrong”. I looked up at him and replied, “I’m sorry”. I knew what I did was wrong and there were consequences for my actions but I couldn’t hold myself back. The car ride back home was quiet and the streets were empty. This time of night was my favourite. Driving past Mrs Shears house I glanced out the window…Wellington was no longer in sight.