When the Stars Aligned

By Kiden Logo-Jones

On a fate-laced evening at 7:30 pm, the three cornerstone figures in Malita’s life found her crossing their minds, yet none were present to shield her from Bruce’s malevolent grasp. Amidst grappling with the void left by her father’s absence, Malita’s world plunges into a deeper abyss when a supposed guardian from her family cruelly betrays her trust. This grave violation leaves her wrestling with shame, betrayal, and a tenuous relationship with her mother, all while battling against the engulfing tides of self-pity.

But Malita, with a spirit unyielding, musters the bravery to face the harsh truth of her fractured family and rejects the dark labels it threatens to affix on her. Embarking on a piecemeal journey, she strives to restore the shards of her destiny. In her quest for healing, the realms of forgiveness and purpose unfold before her, offering a glimpse of hope amidst despair. Malita chooses not merely to exist in the shadows of her past, but to seize the full essence of life’s offerings, demonstrating a resilient pursuit of healing and reclaiming her rightful place in the world. When the Stars Aligned isn’t just a narrative of survival, but a profound testament to the indomitable spirit of recovery and self-redemption.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Jun 21, 2024
• ISBN: 9798886939439

Kiden Logo-Jones

Kiden Logo-Jones is a Ugandan-born South Sudanese. She is a graduate of Makerere University and holds a bachelor’s degree in social sciences. Her profound interest in humanitarian work ultimately shaped her passion for social justice. It’s from this background that she felt compelled to write her first fiction novel, When the Stars Aligned. When she is not working, she enjoys spending time with her family and gives back to charitable causes that address the plight of children, boys and girls alike. She presently resides with her family in the parish of St. Ann, Jamaica.

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About the Author

Kiden Logo-Jones is a Ugandan-born South Sudanese. She is a graduate of Makerere University and holds a bachelor’s degree in social sciences. Her profound interest in humanitarian work ultimately shaped her passion for social justice. It’s from this background that she felt compelled to write her first fiction novel, When the Stars Aligned.

When she is not working, she enjoys spending time with her family and gives back to charitable causes that address the plight of children, boys and girls alike.

She presently resides with her family in the parish of St. Ann, Jamaica.

Dedication

I dedicate this book to my family. Your unwavering love and support were an inspiration.

Copyright Information ©

Kiden Logo-Jones 2024

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Logo-Jones, Kiden

When the Stars Aligned

ISBN 9798886939408 (Paperback)

ISBN 9798886939415 (Hardback)

ISBN 9798886939439 (ePub e-book)

ISBN 9798886939422 (Audiobook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023921387

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

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Acknowledgment

Being my first book, this has been a journey of self-discovery. While I put in my all to bring this story to life, I would not have reached this far without the help of the following people:

Orville Perrier: Your proficiency in the English language was helpful.

The Austin Macauley team: Your tireless work brought this book to light.

Chapter 1

The teacher reluctantly said, Have a nice weekend, and remember to do your homework.

She collected her teaching materials without exactly looking at where her chalky fingers touched. Half smiling to herself, and at anyone who cared to watch, she wondered if her last, yet important words were heard by the students who were rushing out of the classroom. They hurriedly but tactfully maneuvered between desks and chairs as if Madam Miller’s words were highly contagious, just like an airborne disease that spread in seconds.

She admirably looked at the exuberant students as she continued to smile. Very active, indeed, she thought. She slowed down her movements and watched helplessly as excited boys and girls made their way through the narrow doorway. The point of exit was too narrow compared to the number of students struggling to get out at once. One at a time, please! she yelled at them, fully aware that no one was listening.

Indeed, none paid her any attention.

As she looked on, she briefly reflected on the Island’s achievements over the years in the field of education. Mrs. Debbie Miller glowed with pride, partially as a teacher of one of the oldest high schools in St. Jude. But most importantly, her gratification came from her status as a mother. Undoubtedly, one of the first educators in a child’s life. Being part of the lives of the children she had so far taught throughout her career, reminded her of Emily, her twenty-five-year-old daughter who even at that age was surprisingly childish sometimes. Mrs. Miller always considered the role of motherhood the kind of job that was full time, with no retirement whatsoever and one she intended to excel in at all cost.

However, despite her strong beliefs in motherhood, her daughter had never taken her seriously and was always amused by her overwhelming concern when it came to safety and how she lived her life.

"Alright, my dear Emily, I will try to worry less," Mrs. Miller always replied to what she considered as blatant accusations from her ungrateful daughter. However, never at one time did she ever do as she said. "Emily, one day you will become a mother and experience what I’m going through; it’s a natural instinct to worry about one’s child, no matter how old they are." She constantly defended herself.

At forty-eight years of age, with a career she was passionate about, Mrs. Miller was no doubt a respectable member of her community. That included the oldest Baptist church in the island of which she was a member nearly all her life. She was happily married to the love of her life, Mr. Anderson Miller. Their union was blessed with a daughter, Emily who was a journalist by profession. As a family, the Millers were highly regarded among their community of mainly middle working-class citizens who shared similar family values.

As she continued to stare at the door, she witnessed the last student exiting the classroom with unnecessary force. Her heart skipped a beat, she quickly blinked repeatedly to renew her vision. She watched helplessly as the student staggered but luckily, he regained balance before he could hit the ground. Mrs. Miller suddenly felt nervous and burdened, at once she became aware of the abnormal rhythm of her heartbeat. It was so strong that she swore she not only felt her pulse but heard it as well. She gradually became nauseated, as the thought hit harder than never before.

Do I really know these children well enough to protect them from the evils of society? Or just like most people, have I been fooled by their natural charisma toward life? Clearly, irrespective of the homes they come from, these students are truly innocent and seemingly oblivious of any sense of danger lurking around and, in many instances, whatever harm society challenges them with; they somehow manage to survive. Mrs. Miller could not tame her thoughts as questions flooded her troubled mind.

Suddenly, she realized that she could no longer run from her deepest fear. The very fear she harbored most of her adult life. Do I really know the two people who mean the world to me; can I confidently say I know my husband and daughter well enough? Lord have mercy, she whispered a prayer and sighed heavily.

Mrs. Miller thought of Malita Tendle, one of the best students in her class. The veteran teacher had been in the profession for a long time and over the years, she strongly believed in building a personal relationship with students, especially those in her class. And where there were suspicions of abuse or neglect, she usually managed to crack down the barriers of whose who exhibited signs of troubled background and behavioral problems. Most times than not, she succeeded in identifying the root cause of those problems and necessary interventions to address such issues were made by the school administration and other relevant authorities.

Mrs. Miller had been Malita’s teacher for nine months at that point in time and as much as there appeared to be grounds for suspicion, she had failed to pinpoint what was actually bothering Malita. Could it be that I’m not trying hard enough to identify the issue or there is none to begin with? All in all, I’m not ready to give up on her, at least not yet, she thought.

Mrs. Miller was rudely brought back from her multiple thoughts by the sound of her handbag which she had accidentally pushed to the ground. She immediately followed the sound with her rather tired eyes and quickly rushed to the other side of the old metallic table where the handbag lay shabbily on the floor. The brown handbag had overturned, expelling all its contents. Mrs. Miller was not the type who was consumed by her physical appearance. As a teacher, she always dressed appropriately, observing the rather strict dressing code that governed her profession. She was all about natural beauty and excessive make up was of little significance to her.

Henceforth, she was not really worried about makeup bottles and containers messing up other contents of her handbag. However, her immediate concern was the thought that she might have carried along her ink pot to school that day, which if opened would be more disastrous than what any makeup could ever do.

Thank God! she exclaimed with relief after she scanned through the heap underneath and realized that the ink pot was not in sight; she then placed the handbag on the table and began stuffing its contents back inside. She usually found it very difficult to keep her handbags neat. Despite the various compartments within, she did not have the discipline to put the contents neatly back in their respective places once she took them out and used them. She just did not have the patience to put them back the way she would have wished. I’m not the only one with that problem. Emily usually grumbles openly about the same; she smiled and wondered at the number of times she unconsciously thought about her daughter.

Worried that someone might be watching her, she fought hard to block her spontaneous thoughts, quickly packed up everything and hurried out of the rather humid classroom. The students were long gone by then. Being a Friday, she too was tired and needed to brace herself for the weekend. Saturday was the only day of the week she had to pay some much-needed attention to her own house.

She steadily made her way to the staffroom and as expected it was deserted, most of the teachers would have already left for the day.

Good evening, Mrs. Miller.

Evening, Mr. Dash; and what are you still doing in this abandoned building? she inquired, frowning at the only colleague in the staff room.

Good question, Madam, he replied with his usual broad smile.

You need to leave now and go home; it’s Friday; go mingle and try to have a life outside your work. Mrs. Miller continued jokingly as she closed the gap between them. She enjoyed teasing Mr. Dash. ‘An eligible bachelor’ was what she called him.

I have a few years to retirement, and you have to settle down and have children before that happens. She cautiously reminded him with her eye brows raised, and do not forget that you promised to find a decent wife before I retire, not so, Sir? she probed, her eyes searching all over Mr. Dash’s face for any possible objections he might have had.

Yes, Mom; however, I have a music concert to organize, not so? Do not worry, the right woman will come along one day, trust me, he assured her, and made his way to the door. Have a nice weekend, Mrs. Miller! he yelled, before stepping out of the building.

Alright, my dear, you too, she replied, almost to herself, aware that her colleague was out of sight.

Mr. Emmanuel Dash was roughly the same age as Mrs. Miller’s daughter, and, from the first day they met, the two instantly developed a liking for one another; as a result, a mother and son relationship was quickly forged. Though Mr. Dash mostly took their discussions as mere jokes, Mrs. Miller on the other hand took her role as an advisor very seriously.

Whenever she had such conversations with Mr. Dash, she always wondered about her own daughter, she was not even sure if Emily ever thought about getting married and settling down; it seemed for the moment, all she could do was hope for a decent Christian man for a son-in-law one day.

Anybody there! one of the guards on duty called from outside.

Yes, Sir, Mrs. Miller answered.

Are you still using the room? he inquired.

Oh, no, I’m done; you can go ahead and lock up.

Thanks, Mom, the guard replied respectfully as he began to close the windows.

I need to get out of here, too—it’s getting late, Mrs. Miller thought, and she did just that—left the building. With the school behind her, Mrs. Miller felt a load had been lifted off her shoulders, there was too much work and stress with the end of year examination roughly less than a month away. She was basically relieved that it was a Friday as she headed to the comfort of her home. Twenty minutes later she drove inside her car pouch. She wound up the car windows but remained seated. She closed her eyes and rested heavily in her seat, glad to finally be at home. However, she still could not shake the thought of Malita.

The school was quiet with everyone almost gone. There were small groups of students chatting and preparing to leave any minute. As the security guard walked around the compound, he wondered whether the remaining students were planning to head straight home or to other mini-appointments along the way. At the extreme left of the art studio building, there lay the sports field. Some members of the school cricket team were practicing for their upcoming match with a rival school.

They were so much absorbed in their game that it seemed they dreaded the fact that the sun was almost setting. The heavily populated school was finally free of crowds, revealing the dirty compound littered with trash of all sorts. Although there were rubbish bins strategically placed in every corner of the school, the school administration was still having serious problem maintaining general hygiene especially outside the classrooms and in the restroom area.

The health prefects and the health club tried to contain the littering but any drive to curtail the problem proved futile over the years. The majority of the student population simply refused to cooperate to keep the school clean. The supporting staff made several complaints to the school administration but without redress, they learned to overlook the mess and did the best they could to earn their pay. Despite those challenges, the school had managed to maintain reasonable degree of cleanliness, a version of the standards accepted by the Ministry of Health.

St. Patrick High School was one of the oldest schools in the Island of St. Jude. With a population of roughly three hundred students, thirty-five teachers plus a large number of supporting staff with a high level of attrition, it was evidently the most populated high school in the island. The school’s original buildings were made of red bricks that matched perfectly with the large wooden windows and doors. Giving the school a handsome Victorian look. To many residents of the island, the appearance brought back the bitter-sweet memories of the colonial era. Over the years, new buildings were added to the original architecture.

The new buildings were coated with light brown paint on the outside. For the sake of uniformity, all the buildings, both original and additions alike were painted cream on the inside. All ceilings were painted white apart from the art studio’s which was spray painted in multiple colors. The electrical wiring and lightening in the classrooms were kept minimal, with only a single bulb and an electric socket in each class, except for the science laboratories and the computer room which had more electrical appliances.

Besides its obvious architectural beauty, the school was well planned with all structures standing in their right places. The first building one came across as they entered through the main gate was the administration block. It housed most of the offices and the staffroom as well. The administrative block happened to be one of the quiet sections of the school, very much avoided by most students at all times. The only time many found themselves there was when they were in trouble with a teacher. For those with unruly tendencies, the administrative block was a place notable for handing out punishments.

After the Admin block, the wide pavement from the main gate continued into the school compound. The compound had some sections tarmacked but the vast area was covered with grass. Stunted yellowish grass evidently deprived of rain and scotched by the tropical sun. The deplorable state of the grass was further worsened by the constant trespassing from students and teachers alike.

Although the general hygiene of the school kept declining with each passing year, the pavement leading into the school compound was kept clean, shrubs evenly planted on each side of the road were well trimmed. Their stems painted bright yellow to compliment the ever-green foliage. Further into the compound, the pavement became much wider as it led to the parking lot that overlooked the assembly ground. It was where the school held its morning assembly. The same venue was also used as the emergency assembling point of the school.

Another spectacular building of the institution was the main hall; it was made of stone, glass and wood. Its unique design was the pride of Mr. Dash, the current music teacher and all the other past music teachers of St. Patrick. Despite the constant complaints by the students about almost everything, it was clear that they adored the beauty of their school especially the main hall.

St. Patrick was a co-ed, one of the colonial wonders on the Island that was eventually inherited by the Catholic church after she attained her independence in 1967. Most of the elite of St. Jude including the first Prime Minister were alumni of that once gallant academic institution. There were rumors that in the early 1970s and 1980s, the wealthy old boys and girls of St. Patrick used their influence and bribed their children’s way in. It was the pride of any parent who attended St. Patrick to have their own child admitted to the same prestigious high school at that time.

Back then, the school was so competitive that once a student joined it, they were not only guaranteed of making it to university but also qualified for powerful course like medicine, engineering and of course law. However, that glory was in the past. While the architectural beauty still managed to linger for decades and defied all odds, academics and general discipline of the school had greatly dropped. The only area where the school remained consistent and commanded respect island wide was in music, dance and drama. The school had been the winner of the Annual National Music Festival for the past three consecutive years.

St. Patrick High School’s decline started in 2005, shortly after the government adopted the Universal Secondary Education. Under this, access to and provision of compulsory secondary education was prioritized in the Island of St. Jude. As a result, there was a move by the government to take over the administration and operations of traditional secondary schools that were formerly ran by the Anglican church and the Roman Catholic church.

As expected, that move faced strong opposition from the church, they argued that a change, from private to public ownership would compromise the quality of those so called ‘first world schools’. The Church fought hard through their powerful former students’ associations to detour the plot. Bribes were offered in some instances, threats made openly during church services, in board meetings, at weddings ceremonies and even during funerals.

However, the determination to retain the majority seats in parliament in the next general elections by the political party that was in power at the time superseded the few greedy and weak politicians within the party. Henceforth, a bill was quickly crafted and passed into law with only a few months leading to the general elections. This move was appreciated by the electorate which predominantly consisted of the lower and middle class. It was not shocking that in the general elections, the affairs of the state were entrusted to the government in power by the majority of the citizens for yet another five years.

To appease the disgruntled church, a shaky deal was struck between the government and the council of churches. In that deal, it was agreed that prominent high schools affiliated to the Anglican church and the Catholic church would be jointly run by the state and the church. Unfortunately, that arrangement was short lived. There was so much mistrust between the church and the state and two years later, the church gave in to the pressure. Henceforth, St. Patrick High School became the first state run Catholic public school on the Island. As time went by, it became evident that the church was right, the standard of the once powerful schools was compromised just as predicted.

Consequently, the universal free education policy, saw an explosion in the population of students and it became increasingly difficult for the teachers to maintain discipline among other things. The school also faced annual budget constraints since it entirely depended on the government for funding. Following the defeat, the church made substantial budget cuts to the schools to frustrate the policy and thus proved that their initial resistance was justified. Furthermore, unlike before when students were required to pay fees, under the free universal education, they only paid for uniforms and a very small amount known as a maintenance fee.

The maintenance fee was supposed to be affordable to all families across the Island. However, despite the affordability of the fee, some students never effected payment at all. The administration of St. Patrick always wondered whether the defaulters genuinely did not have the money or they simply refused to pay because there was no penalty for none payment. Another setback when the school’s status changed from private to public, was that the salary scales of teachers and the support staff had to be re-adjusted in line with the government’s pay grades.

This move, in return, demoralized the staff. The universal free education was received with mixed feelings and became a political debate. Its proponents argued that with the universal education, the government had achieved its objective of free education for all children at least up to high school. According to those in favor, the policy had seen an increment in the enrollment rate of children across the Island. The opponents quickly shot back pointing out that not all those who joined graduated. They further contended that the high rate of drop out acted as a check to the high enrollment.

Although it was evident that public schools had some profound issues, for families like Melita’s, it gave hope that at least their children got the education they needed to secure a brighter future. St. Patrick High School had experienced and committed teachers, professional men and women who inspired confidence in education system. They understood the implication of a failed system and worked tirelessly to avert even the inevitable.

Such esteemed teachers never gave up on any student and for as long as a student showed the determination to succeed, they went the extra mile and registered the desired academic improvement. Although the school was sponsored by the government, the influence of the Catholic church still prevailed in the day-to-day functions of the institution. St. Patrick Church equipped with a covenant, home to the Benedictine nuns was only quarter a mile from the school. The nuns who had renounced worldly desires and devoted themselves to spiritual work and charity could be heard reciting the rosary every morning during the six o’clock mass.

There was always the presence of nuns and sisters around; some of whom were even teachers at St. Patrick High School. Students were usually encouraged to attend mass whenever they could. As a school affiliated to the faith, St. Patrick observed the Catholic Holy days and officially celebrated mass to commemorate them. Holy days like the Solemnity of Mary, Solemnity of Joseph, Ascension Day, Christmas and Feast of St. Patrick Day were religiously observed by the school. Those and more were marked events in the school calendar.

Compared to other public high schools on the Island, St. Patrick High School provided a good academic environment. It had all facilities of a modern school. Well-equipped library, up to date science laboratory, a complete home economics department, art studio, music, and sport facilities.

Basically, it had the foundation for any child to succeed. All it took was a stable family with parents who played their part in the holistic education of the child. Parents who worked closely with the school and gave no room for students to manipulate the protocols put in place. Despite the shortfalls of St. Patrick High as a public school, there were many former students who made it to colleges in and out of the country. To pass time or attain academic excellence was a choice a student made the minute they set foot in the school.

Chapter 2

Malita walked out of the school compound and made her way through the main gate into the crowded street. On that particular day, she was one of the last students to leave. It was almost five in the evening and the sun was basically putting up its final show for the day before it gracefully set. The sky was unusually clear and rather beautiful; Shame that such a pleasant scenery has only an hour or so left before it will be consumed by darkness, she thought. She fastened her school bag suspended at her back and walked quickly toward the pedestrian crossing, hoping to catch up with those crossing before the traffic lights turned green.

Pay attention when crossing the road, it’s important to look left and right then left again before you cross. Try to be extra careful. Okay? She remembered the principal’s warning and frowned at how monotonous those words had become.

One, two, three. She counted her steps in a desperate bid to encourage herself to move faster and catch up.

Malita estimated that about twelve average steps would enable her to arrive on time and join the rest. Naturally, she was not a born athlete to say but counting steps and occasionally hopping along isolated paths were some of her sport related hobbies. She usually did that to manage her time and cut out unnecessary distractions while on the road. Unfortunately, this time, her estimates were not so accurate; on the ninth step, the red lights came into effect and she was left with no option but to stare at the traffic gliding away slowly toward Millennium Park.

Millennium Street was one of the busiest roads in downtown Silversands; there was always some sort of traffic jam throughout the day with the peaks in the mornings, lunch time and evening hours. Besides the jammed vehicles, both sides of the road were crowded, as people moved up and down; shoppers and vendors co-existed peacefully. It was also an area known as a renowned hang out for idlers who passed time in the city square.

The famous national colors of green, orange and black blended with the Rastafarian one to add glamour and life to the street, giving it a beautiful Caribbean flair. Locals and tourists could be seen soaking in the last rays of the sun and delighting on coconut water, sugar cane and other tropical fruits sold along the sidewalks on carts. The city was always busier than usual on Friday evenings; everyone seemed to be up and about the place but at the same time some were in a rush to leave.

Could it be that there is some kind of madness in the city that people just cannot stand for more than five days? Malita contemplated, not realizing that she was not far from the truth. She could not speak for anyone for sure; however, she also felt the stress of the week and badly needed the weekend to recuperate.

As she stood by the roadside and watched the cars barely moving due to the traffic, she noticed a beautiful Audi. There was something unusual about its number plate. The color, she quickly recognized. It was different from the typical car plates Malita was accustomed to. She recalled. The red colored number plates are for taxis and buses, white for private cars and gray for government vehicles. She had no idea what that unusual color was for. The Audi’s plate was blue, it was a temporal license number plate mostly used by car dealers.

Unaware of what the blue plate meant, she concentrated on what she comprehended, the familiarity of the car. Malita was not generally interested in cars and knew nothing about them apart from the fact that they eased movements. In fact, she could barely differentiate one model from the other even though the difference was obvious—however, in that particular case, the father of the self-proclaimed richest girl in her class owned a similar car. And the spoilt brat just cannot stop preaching to anyone who cared to listen about the comfort and luxury of it.

Malita couldn’t understand how Tiffany did it, always talking shamelessly about how rich they were. It was so nagging that besides her clique of wannabes, everyone else in the class constantly tried their best to avoid her at all times.

With Malita’s lack of interest in vehicles, what eventually sustained her interest in that particular one was the people inside it. She stared at them keenly as the car came to a standstill less than a meter from the pedestrian crossing. The vehicles were moving bumper to bumper by then as a result of heavy traffic. The driver, a husband and father of two sat casually and repeatedly ran his fingers over the steering wheel. He was in the process of purchasing the Audi and was given a temporal license by the car dealer to test drive and get a feel of what he was about to acquire.

He smiled occasionally mostly to himself and kept his eyes fixed on the road. His dreadlocks were neatly secured in a pony tail. At his side was his wife. She appeared exhausted but still looked relaxed, resting heavily on her seat that was slightly adjusted, tilting backward. She appeared to be enjoying the comfort of the car but not necessarily the company besides her. It was very clear that she was unbothered by the commotion outside the car.

For Malita, the feeling of having a comfortable drive home was long forgotten, and she could not stop but wonder if that lady took that for granted. You really never know how lucky you are until you lose something you once took for granted. She remembered those famous words of her late father and repeatedly blinked back tears.

The windows of the car were not tinted and gave her access to look inside. Malita could clearly see the lady’s face since she was seated at the left-hand side of the car where she stood. She predicted the lady could be more or less her own mother’s age.

She was not particularly beautiful. Some of her significant facial features were not in harmony with each other, her nose took up most of the space on her face. Her forehead and jaw bones seemed too strong for a woman. But all in all, she looked good. She had the kind of face that could pass without too much notice or critic. She wore heavy make-up to enhance her features but unfortunately it gave her a rather artificial look.

With the age of plastic surgery, natural beauty is not so much appreciated since altercations can easily be made to some parts of the body.

As she continued to stare into the car, Malita recalled what her music teacher said two weeks ago during one of their music rehearsals.

Suddenly the lady who at first seemed detached for the driver leaned closer and spoke right into his ear. He burst out laughing and shook his head. He then eased his foot on the brakes and allowed the car to move slowly closer to the pedestrian crossing. He then stopped as he helplessly watched the lights turned to amber, a signal to stop.

Malita suspected they were playing loud music in the car and did not hear each other clearly. Does the confidence of a woman depend on her relationship with her husband? It seems women who are loved and cherished by the men in their lives, be it fathers, husbands, brothers even boyfriends, have more self-esteem. She reflected on the thought for some time as she painfully thought of her own mother. She quickly dismissed her unfounded assumptions. Malita rubbished the idea as she began counting all the successful single women she knew. However, single does not mean that they do not have men in their lives. So, my argument could be correct. She challenged her own thoughts as she fumbled with her school bag again.

Malita Tendle was generally a reserved girl who kept much to herself; many of her classmates considered her very picky when it came to the choice of who to hang out with. To some of them, she was perceived as complicated, a boring bookworm who sadly was unconscious of how beautiful she was. Indeed, their perception was not farfetched, Malita was basically a lonely person who preferred to be surrounded by reliable and focused students. Those who understood the reason they came to school in the first place.

She therefore kept a few friends whom she associated with from time to time. To the adults, especially her teachers, that kind of personality for a child her age of course struck them as odd. Malita was therefore considered too mature for her age; too sensitive and sensible for a teenager. Children her age were expected to be carefree and less serious in life. It was believed that life at that age was all about taking chances and not dwelling so much on consequences of one’s actions.

However, those who made an effort and took time to know Malita were glad they did. Although she acted with caution, she was naturally caring and never hesitated to help whenever she could. Malita was genuinely kind and sincere; a character trait which was recognized by everyone who happened to have an encounter with her, including those who at first perceived her as complicated. And it was those attributes coupled with her intelligence that captured the attention of her class teacher, Mrs. Miller.

Malita was a beautiful young girl and the fact that she