By: John Nayr N. Tandaan of Grade 10A – Newton
The lights flicker, mostly monochrome—just your ordinary streets. Solaris walks around ecstatically, a grin plastered on his face, his feet bouncing slightly, his friend following suit. Solaris is your usual friend: happy-go-lucky, a little bit of laughs, a simple, easy sway of his arms as he walks, a smile always on.
And yet, at the same time, his friend says, “Hey, the stars look great under this midnight blue night sky, and those dancing vermillion hyacinths. Don’t you just enjoy the moonlit marigold daisies in the corner, Sol?” Seemingly, they see the shades of color around them.
Solaris blinks once, twice, around four times. “Oh, yeah, you’re right. They do look good.” But all he sees are the charcoal grey of the night, the heavy velvet, and the dull yellow of the flowers his companion mentioned. He shrugs his shoulder; dust bunnies hop away. Absence. His mind is on autopilot, and somehow, he almost trips on air. A feeling of an empty void in the mind—but it’s New Year’s Eve, no? Then why does it feel like a tape is the only thing that keeps his grin?
Suddenly, he feels his shoulder being touched. Solaris jolts and jumps as his friend snickers at his seemingly simple accident. “You seem a little distracted. Are you sure you’re able to join our party? It’s fine if—”
Suddenly, his friend is cut off. “YES! I’m certain I can.” Solaris’s grin falters for a bit; his eyes feel heavier, his chest aches slightly, but the same joy is found on his face—maybe a little stiff, maybe a little frozen, as if stuck there permanently—but still that same joy. His friend backs away with a sharp halt but shrugs it off.
“If you say so.” Classic Solaris, right? A ball of happiness, a tangible form of euphoria—the sun, if it were a person! Sometimes the sun gets cloudy and its mind is blocked, but in the end, it’ll return to normal.
The celadon leaves fall, fuchsia orchids in pursuit, all blown away as Solaris walks alone to the building where the party is. His friend took a side route back to their house to prepare. The Sun shines, but its light flickers, almost like the fuel is depleting without someone else. His steps turn from skips to almost dragging on the ground. His arms move stiffly, yet the face stays stagnant. Empty… Empty… Empty. His thoughts feel empty. Still, the celebration calls. Colorful lights shine at the windows of the apartment flat, two hours before the call of New Year’s.
Click! The door creaks open as blasting music escapes the room, echoing along the void halls. Solaris hurries in as he sees his friends again. Some met from college, some from elementary. He recalls their names: Hydro, the laid-back person, someone on the side leaning and nodding his head to a beat; Pyro, fueled with anger and competitiveness, yet ironically humoring to be with; and Serene, a shining star with a professional demeanor, an idol some even consider. Yet despite Solaris seeing his best friends, their birthdays nor phone numbers are details he constantly forgets.
Pyro rushes in like flames to a forest: “Hey! Wanna spar again, Solaris? I’m itchin’ for a fight here, hah!” Solaris smirks, his movements energetic as he adopts an attitude. “You’re on! Wait, what’s the score again?” Pyro gives a hearty laugh as he pats Solaris on the back, making him jerk from the strength.
Moving then to Hydro, Solaris starts the conversation with a cool tone: “What up, man?” Hydro drifts out of his rhythm and replies with a simple, “It’s all good.” Solaris nods and bops his head with Hydro, his grin still frozen there, yet his movements seem robotic and without purpose. Afterwards, he speaks to Serene, offering her praise, and Serene gives her thanks. All that, and Solaris checks the mirror—yet only a blob of doodles and swirls are shown back, and only the taped grin appears.
The clock strikes thirty minutes before midnight. The room feels warm—too hot, yet too cold? Too loud, but without purpose. Too colorful, yet too dull. Too much, yet nothing.
“Are you okay, dear?” Serene’s soothing yet professional voice asks Solaris. Solaris’s grin stiffens a bit as he simply nods. He politely whispers, “I need a moment,” and walks to the balcony. His hands rest on the railings as nausea hits; his mind says to go back, but his body declines the order.
Suddenly, a calm voice is heard, like the wind’s gentle breeze or the leaves swaying. He looks around and spots a friend, yet no name appears. “You seem disturbed, Sol. Anything wrong? Perhaps some green tea may help.” Solaris blinks four times yet again and realizes it’s the friend he was walking with before; but still, no name is recalled.
A heavy breath of air escapes Solaris’ mouth, his grin faltering, arms drooping, chest aching deeply, and his legs buckling with despair. With a tired voice, he admits the truth: “Yes. Everything is wrong.” His soul feels lighter, but he still doesn’t feel any better. His friend pats his shoulder simply, the wind’s breeze passing through the two as Solaris starts to remember him.
The same person he walked with two hours ago—yet he can’t recall the name. He is not a best friend like the rest, but a friend nonetheless. “Just take a deep breath, it’ll be okay. Enjoy the midnight blue’s nighttime sky, Sol; you don’t have to be the Sun always. Besides, it’s New Year’s Eve, no?”
Solaris blinks four times yet again. ‘Don’t have to be the Sun,’ his hollow mind repeats. He cranes his neck after it has been so stiff from masking a smile; he was practically masquerading through this whole event.
The sky slowly regains its color—he sees the pretty paper-white moon, the twinkling stars above, and that same midnight blue of night. Colors of red, yellow, blue, green—everything can be seen once more, properly this time, without a 1980s VHS filter.
Suddenly, as he stares at the friend again, it’s Kazuo. Kazuo… yes, that is indeed his name. A heavy feeling presses on Solaris’ chest: guilt and worry. But Kazuo simply pats his shoulder again soothingly, reminding him it’s alright.
He looks back at the room, a loud chaotic mess of sound, but is again met with the breeze. He looks at the sky, not prepared to return—not yet, at least. At times like these, why would people stare at the stars? It serves no purpose, like the party—but this one feels light, almost whimsical. Solaris has a soft, weary smile, not feeling the need to mask his own voice. The new voice he had was to fit with others, but this specific new voice feels like his own.
The clock strikes midnight; a bell rings in the party as Solaris and Kazuo stay on the balcony. Fireworks explode—a mix of azure, burgundy, rose, and sienna, colors he’s never seen! All so refreshing, not chaotic, but not too stagnant. Balanced.
Solaris whispers to himself: “Perhaps change doesn’t have to be bad. A new voice isn’t to be for others, but for what YOU are… and new beginnings can start right now.”
Meanwhile, Kazuo returns to the party with a soft smile, letting the rebirth of not a Sun, but a Phoenix, have time to grow—for Sol’s new voice to be his own.
“One of the selected writers for January, highlighting the theme: New Beginning, New Voices.”