Tales from the Former Universe

13. Identity & The Stories

"Again?!" Royyega reacted.

"Apologies, dear Royyega," her homeroom teacher said. "The school doesn't see fit with submitting any of your stories for the local competition."

"There must be an explanation..." she begged to hear more.

"There is," the homeroom teacher revealed a note. "You... would not like it... I know."

"What do you mean?" Royyega said. "Miss... I've submitted the third time now, explanation, I dutifully need, constructive criticism to say the least."

"Not constructive, this is," the homeroom teacher said. "They... they said," she read. "They said your themes are overboard."

"But..." Royyega refused to believe, and intended to elaborate, but was shut before she could.

"They also said... that you... you can't be qualified, writing stories with such complexion," the homeroom said. "Light, it is not the request of theme, but properness, they expect of it," she had spoken all. "Royyega, your stories are amazing, and suiting to the genre and the audience but I dearly apologize... not to them, as simple as thou."

Royyega was in full dejection the moment she heard such feedback. "Thank, thank you for your time," she said and immediately left.

"No, no, wait, you must!" the homeroom teacher called.

Arlaion immediately followed her. He accidentally bumped Dilma.

"HEY, WATCH IT! I HAVE IMPORTANT SCHOOL PROJECTS TO SHOW TO MY HOMEROOM, YOU TEMPERED PIGEON!" Dilma angered.

"Apologies, apologies, a rush, I am," Arlaion apologized and rushed to Royyega, instead of being accountable for his accidents like he used to.

He rushed and caught up to Royyega's speed.

"What did they say?" Arlaion asked.

"Go away," Royyega shut out.

"That's not nice," Arlaion said of them.

"NO!" Royyega stopped. "I said... go away!" she angered. "I... I thought I could have it here!"

"Royyega, it's alright," Arlaion said. "You were not the first."

"Just leave me alone,"  Royyega said and left.

Lobertari had kept her father's promise by returning to her hometown village on Shinta Island. Upon docking into arrival by a cargo ship, a box car picked her up for a two-hour drive on the island's hilly roads. On the way, she appreciated the sights by the clouds and green plants, with the light blue sea all around.

Her father felt like he'd been waiting forever. The day before, he thought the clouds looked like his daughter's face, and the wind seemed to whisper her name. Now, he was old and weak, hardly ever leaving his chair. The night before, the moon looked like a smile, and the stars seemed to sparkle like she did. Her father really wanted Lobertari to come back quickly.

After hours of driving, Lobertari arrived in her village. Familiar faces passed by as she walked to her house, which was at the very north end of the village. The moment her father heard the door open, he looked into the moonlight and finally saw his daughter again. Lobertari bowed low to the floor of their home, respectfully taking her father's hand and touching it to her forehead.

The next morning, Lobertari awakened early as always, to prepare a common Shinta Island breakfast, which was Soto Jamur Shinta, a specific rubbery noodle which is in a helical shape, served with mushroom broth, mushroom, vegetables, ketumbar (also known as coriander seeds), some cut potatoes and nevertheless with fried garlic fillings on the top. She served it with grace, and sat next to him, eating a homemade lettuce salad.