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A Special Memory


“Pass me the red marker, would you?” I asked, squinting at the corner of the poster. “I think the ‘Stop and Look’ sign needs to stand out more.”


Jerry slid it over with a grin. “Only if you promise not to chew the cap off this time.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small smile tugged at my lips before I let out a small laugh. Across from us, Amos chuckled as he carefully traced the outline of a traffic light. The three of us were sitting cross-legged on the tiled floor of the community centre’s art room, our materials spread around us in a colourful chaos.


We had been working on our road safety poster all morning, and it was finally coming together. We tried last year and was so close, coming in at second place. The bold slogans, bright colours and clever layout made me think we actually had a shot at winning the competition. I could almost hear the applause in my ears.



The three of us had been best friends since the first day of primary school, and honestly, I did not know how I had managed to keep them. Truth was, I had a terrible temper - I snapped easily, flared up when things did not go the way I wanted, and spoke before I thought.


Most of my classmates knew I was a firecracker and group work was usually a nightmare for them and for me. I hated the way glances were thrown nervously in my direction, but Amos and Jerry never treated me like I was a ticking time bomb. Just thinking of the times they joked with me, stood up to me, and stuck around was enough to send a gentle wave of gratitude rippling through me.

As Jerry leaned over to fix a smudge on the corner of the poster and Amos adjusted the placement of a traffic sign we had drawn, I stood back, marvelling at the masterpiece, my chest swelling with pride.



Jerry reached for a cup of paint water to wash his brush and in that split second, his elbow nudged the cup too far, and it toppled. A dark swirl of paint-laced water spread across the corner of our poster, bleeding into the space we had kept clean for the slogan, the pristine white background becoming a murky grey.


“What did you just do?” I choked, drawing in a sharp breath.


“I—I’m so sorry!” Jerry cried, scrambling to grab tissue paper but he only made matters worse as he dabbed desperately, every blot leaving a spreading blur in its place. My stomach dropped as our hours of effort unravelled in an instant.


"Don't panic! We can still sa -" Amos cut in, his voice steadier than he felt, trying to hold things together, but it was futile. My pulse was pounding faster by the second and by the time he held it up with trembling hands, it was clear that the poster was beyond saving. The ink had run wild, and the colours had melted in each other, turning everything into a blur of bruised colours. Our poster looks like someone had left watercolours in the rain. It was ruined. An uncontrollable sick, burning heat seared through my chest. I was no longer listening and my vision blurred red with fury. We would no longer be able to win the competition. In a fit of rage and before I knew what I was doing, I stood up, pushed him aside and ripped the poster clean in half.


“What’s wrong with you, Jerry? You can’t do anything right!” I bellowed at the cowering figure. He shrank back, eyes wide, as the remains of our project fluttered to the floor like wounded birds .


An uncomfortable silence descended and the air grew thick with unsaid things.


Amos moved quietly to Jerry’s side and gently lifted him up. Tears welled in his eyes, tracing cold trails down his cheeks. They picked up the pieces, the brushes, and the markers. Then Amos turned to me, his voice low but firm, cutting through the stillness. "No. You're the one who can't do anything right." His words slammed into me and in that moment, I knew I had messed up. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. Every mean and angry thought evaporated and all I was left with was an overwhelming sense of regret.


They refused to look at me, and even if they had, I could not meet their eyes. I had done it this time. The weight of my actions settled on my shoulders, heavy and unrelenting.

As I reached for my pencil case to pack up, something caught my eye - a frayed and faded rainbow coloured friendship band tied loosely to the zip. Jerry had tied it there after we learnt to make one during International Friendship Day last year. He said we might not be international friends, but our friendship was one that was worth celebrating. I was so touched by what he said then that I made one for him and Amos in return, promising to be best friends.

The friendship band had stayed on my pencil case for so long, surviving rough use and my careless tossing around. At that moment, it looked more fragile than ever - just like our friendship.


We were suppposed to be best friends forever.


Slowly, I put the pencil case down. “I ... I am sorry. Let me fix it… I will redo the poster myself if I have to…” I mumbled, barely able to lift my eyes from the floor. Time crawled. My mouth was dry. My heart beat so loudly I was sure they could hear it.


"I am the idiot who cannot do anything right."


Jerry and Amos exchanged a glance — not sharp, not soft — just the kind people share when they are deciding something unspoken. Neither of them said a word.


Then, after a pause that felt like a lifetime, Amos opened the marker box. Jerry picked up a fresh sheet of paper, though his movements were slow, hesitant. They sat back down in silence, the new paper resting between them like a fragile truce.


They had not forgiven me. Not yet. But they had not walked away either.


In that quiet, that was enough. We worked quickly and found ways to incorporate parts of our torn poster. The final poster was simpler but it was made with love. Nonetheless, we were all jittery when we handed in the poster which looked like a Frankenstein of salvaged pieces.



A few days later, we gathered in the art room, and to our surprise and bewilderment, the judges were thrilled, praising our creativity and calling the collage a Kurt Schwitters. I had no idea who that was - it sounded like a brand of German sausages - but I felt like I was floating, drifting in a dream. We had won.


We exchanged glances, trying not to laugh, and when we found out that our ‘flawed yet flawless’ poster would be displayed outside the community centre, we let out a scream of disbelief and delight, loud enough to turn a few heads in the corridor.


After the prize presentation ceremony, we made a beeline for the nearest McDonald’s to celebrate. There was an enormous elephant in the room. Despite our unexpected win, the tension of what happened in that room had not entirely disappeared, but I had come with a plan. As we tucked into our sundaes, I reached into my bag and pulled out three new carefully woven friendship bands.


They glanced at me, then at the bands. Without a word, they smiled and slipped them on.

A wave of relief washed over me, loosening the knot in my chest. The air felt easier to breathe, as if I had been holding something in for too long.


That day became more than just a memory of a competition. It marked a turning point. I had nearly let anger tear something precious apart. I had come so close to losing the very friends who meant the most to me. I had learnt that even when things get tough, what truly mattered was my connection with my friends, and I had been blessed with the two of them. As the sun dipped, casting long shadows across our sundae and friendship bands, I knew that moment was something that I would remember for a very long time.



Original composition

“No… why did you do that? We could have saved it!” Amos bellowed. I stared at the flurry of paper floating around in dismay. What had I done? I felt my heart skip a beat and my stomach drop as I watched our hard work disappearing into the little slivers of paper fluttering to the floor. It was all my fault. This was how it all started…


It was a Saturday morning. My best friends, Amos and Jerry, and I were at the nearby community centre working on a project. We were taking part in the annual road safety poster design competition. We worked hard, combining our efforts and best ideas to create something that would blow the judges’ socks off.


As we added the final touches to the poster, Jerry accidentally spilled a cup of paint water across the corner of the poster. Instantly, the wet paint spread across the paper and the pristine white background became a murky grey. I stared at the poster in horror. I felt my pulse pounding faster by the second and my anger boiling over. In a fit of rage, I tore the poster up and yelled, “What’s wrong with you, Jerry? You can’t do anything right!”


Jerry was taken aback by my reaction as he stammered his apology repeatedly. I refused to listen and proceeded to swipe everything off the table. All I could think of was how all our efforts had gone down the drain. I breathed heavily as I held myself back from hitting Jerry.


Suddenly, Amos turned and grabbed my collar. He yelled at me to calm down. He snapped, “Enough is enough!”


Then, Amos pointed out that the poster could have been saved if not for my rash actions. He also blamed me for letting my anger get the better of me. In that instant, I felt every mean and angry thought disappear. All I was left with was a deep sense of regret. I looked around and saw the shredded paper, spilt paint and Jerry with his tear-stained face. My breath caught in throat as the weight of what I had done sank in.


I turned away, ashamed. I stood frozen in my tracks. I could walk away, leave the mess behind and pretend that nothing had happened. If I did that, none of us would get into trouble with our teachers because it was not homework after all. However, I might lose my friendship with Amos and Jerry because they might never forgive me for my tantrum. On the other hand, I could stay, admit I was wrong and try to make things right. That would mean

that they might forgive me and all might be well again. Yet that would mean I had to face the embarrassment of apologising and I would likely have to recreate the poster all by myself.


As I reached for my pencil case to pack up, something caught my eye - a frayed and faded rainbow coloured friendship band tied loosely to the zip. Jerry had tied it there after we learnt to make one during International Friendship Day last year. He said we might not be international friends, but our friendship was one that was worth celebrating. I was so touched by what he said then that I made one for him and Amos in return, promising to be

best friends forever. The friendship band had stayed on my pencil case for so long, surviving rough use and my careless tossing around. At that moment, it looked more fragile than ever - just like our friendship.


I realised in that moment that there was only one thing I could do. Slowly, I put my pencil case down and turned to face Jerry and Amos. “I am sorry… You were right… it was all my fault, I ruined everything. Let me fix it… I will redo the poster myself if I have to…” I mumbled. Time slowed to a crawl at that moment. I could feel my heart pounding against my rib cage. My mouth had gones dry. Jerry and Amos exchanged glances, as if they were having a silent conversation. Jerry’s hand reached to grab another scrap of paper, then he sighed.


“We can still try again. Together,” Jerry said. Amos nodded. Then he jokingly reminded me not to tear it up again.


When we heard that, we glanced at each other and burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

I gave a sheepish smile and together, we started to clear the mess. We worked quickly and found ways to incorporate some parts of our torn poster. I even managed to turn the water-stained area into a special design for a new idea. The final poster was simpler but it was made with love.


As I zipped up my pencil case and saw the friendship band still intact, I realised something - just like the band, our friendship might have been old and worn out, but it was not broken.

That day became a special memory not because of the poster-making competition alone, but also because I almost lost my friends and managed to salvage it. I had learnt that even when things get tough, what truly mattered was my connection with my friends that we could mend with love, teamwork and empathy. It was an experience that I would remember for a very long time.


The original composition was a model given by my student's teacher. It was a joy to read, and I love the metaphor of the friendship band. I felt that it would be a waste to not maximise its potential. Reworking a composition is often more challenging than writing a new essay from scratch because it requires the writer to navigate within the confines of an existing structure, tone, and set of events, all while integrating new elements that must feel organic rather than forced. Unlike starting afresh, where ideas can flow freely and be built from the ground up, revising demands delicate stitching—adjusting character arcs, deepening emotional beats, and tightening narrative logic without disrupting the original flow. I had to incorporate foreshadowing, a gradual emotional build-up, realistic reactions, and a more cohesive resolution, and all of that meant reassessing not just single sentences but entire scenes to maintain consistency in voice and pacing. Every new detail—such as the friendship bands, the protagonist’s temper, or the judges’ reaction—had to echo back to earlier moments, making the process more like reconstructive surgery than simple editing. Let's just say that working on this took far longer than I expected but balancing these layers while preserving the heart of the story is rewarding. As usual, emboldened text so you can keep track of the emotional changes and development. What do you think the highlighted text is for? And also, what other questions/themes do you think this composition would fit into?


One of the most striking improvements is the way the protagonist’s temper is foreshadowed early on, allowing readers to better understand and anticipate his eventual outburst. In the original version, the character’s anger seemed to emerge suddenly, with little prior indication of his volatile nature. As a result, his furious reaction to the spilled paint and the tearing of the poster came across as exaggerated and somewhat unearned.




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