Creative Sparks presents stories about what people go through when they embark on something new

The words still hung in the air for “Stereotypical Barbie” Barbara Roberts, even though her colleague Diana Brooklyn said them yesterday. It had been Barbara’s first week at her new job in the Real World.

After leaving behind Ken and all the other Barbies in Barbieland, yesterday was supposed to be perfect, happy and lighthearted. It was only a week before Christmas, after all.

Barbara stared at her face in the mirror.

“Well, Diana said that because she hasn’t seen the best of me,” she reassured herself, as she applied the darkest foundation she could find in the shop.

She had already dyed her hair black, in hopes of looking like her darker-skinned colleague. Barbara was certain that Diana couldn’t hate her any more if they looked the same – she was also certain the Christmas cookies she brought for all her colleagues would make it impossible for anyone to hate her, right?

A crisp breeze cut through Barbara’s thick layer of make-up as she stepped out of the taxi and headed towards a skyscraper with billboards boasting her company’s latest bestsellers: The REAL Black History and What It Takes To Be Strange: A LGBTQ+ Memoir below a proud banner shouting, “Taylor & Taylor – Where EVERYONE Gets Represented”.

Barbara took a deep breath as she strode into the publishing house. “Vlogger Barbie says that a positive attitude changes everything, right? Barbie, you got this!”

Waving exuberantly to everyone, she passed out her cookies in vibrant red and green packaging. “Happy holidays, Jonah! Enjoy these cookies, Michelle. Here’s a small Christmas gift, Mateo.”

“What’s up with the weird make-up? Er ... happy holidays to you too, Barbie!”

“Thanks, Barbara ... looking interesting today!”

“Merry Christmas to you too ... Barb?”

“Roberts, how dare you mock me like this?”

Diana’s rage shot across the room, and Barbara’s heart bled all over her outfit in torrents of failure. “Why? Why doesn’t she like me even now?”

Thoughts ran like tears as Barbara fought against breaking down in the middle of the office. Through her blurry vision, she saw Diana stomp towards her office, mouthing swear words.

No one seemed bothered by the drama, though. Barbara glimpsed at the indifferent workers typing away in their cubicles. Was this all too common in the Real World?

Trudging to Diana’s office, Barbara hoped to find out what went wrong when she overheard the CEO’s voice.

“If you want to stay in this company, Miss Brooklyn, I am afraid you must work much harder at improving your attitude,” Mr Taylor stated.

In the hallway, Barbara decided it might be better to wipe away her make-up before stepping in.

Diana responded: “With all due respect, sir, I have sold far more books than my colleagues. You may refer to the data here.”

“As if I haven’t read the report – ah yes, Miss Roberts, just who I wanted to see,” the CEO said as Barbara timidly slipped through the creaking door.

“I just want to say that you have been doing an excellent job. In just a few days! Phenomenal. In fact, I want you to teach Miss Brooklyn about professionalism. Her performance is,” he paused, casting a glance over to Barbara’s glaring colleague, “substandard”.

Barbara, incredulous, blurted out: “Miss Brooklyn is an exceptionally experienced salesperson, and I have much to learn from her. Why do you even question her?”

Mr Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “She told an important client that they were racist – and ruined a very lucrative relationship we had. She was loud and angry, which was unacceptable.”

“And you claim Taylor & Taylor supports diversity,” Barbara said. “I believe you owe her an apology and a well-deserved acknowledgement.”

Her confident gaze locked into the man’s eyes which turned bloodshot.

“And you think women are so important, so ‘empowered’, huh?” he spat. “You are both so naive. Get out! Don’t ever think about coming into my building again.”

His hurricane of indignation tossed them out of the office with loud gusts of cuss words.

As the two former colleagues walked slowly onto the street, snowflakes fell onto Barbara’s nose, melting upon meeting the warmth of her skin. She was a human. She was imperfect. She could correct her mistakes.

“Diana, I’m sorry about my make-up today. I had no idea that’s what you face from the CEO,” Barbara said softly.

“Barbie, thank you for that, and it’s all right. You’re not like the others,” Diana responded, rubbing the back of her neck before reaching for Barbara’s hand.

The snow swirled around them as the pair stood outside a shop, staring at a glowing Christmas tree through the floor-length window.

No parties, no lavish gifts, no Kens, could irradiate her life like Diana’s words.

“Merry Christmas, Diana,” Barbara whispered.

Only the shimmering star of the majestic tree seemed to remain, a light that would linger forever in the heart of Barbara Roberts, a Barbie, a human, and a woman.

By Amelie Chin, Sha Tin College

Sitting cross-legged on the bedspread, I stare at the impossible task that lies before me.

You would never anticipate that the hardest part of going abroad for university would be the daunting task of deciding which of your worldly possessions to bring in your tiny suitcase, which of these items will transport you into the next four years of life, the next chapter of your story.

If I could, I’d bring everything – pack up my entire room and ship it off with me over to America. But deep down, I know sacrifices must be made.

I sigh at the suitcases, duffel bags and mounds of clothes sprawled haphazardly across the floor. My eyes search for an escape from the chaotic mess of my room, eventually landing on the light pink walls I desperately begged my dad to paint as a kid.

An assortment of objects plaster each corner of my walls with memories of the past – old artwork, rusting medals, Polaroids with friends, and trinkets from long-ago trips. One particular Polaroid catches my eye: one of my friends and I doing a group cheer, all broad smiles and gleaming eyes as we stand on the school stage.

It was the last day of school, a day of immense pride and emotions, as we danced and sang and performed on stage, giving our all for the school’s annual dance competition. It was a culmination of weeks of non-stop rehearsals, bruised knees and laughter: a labour of love.

A pang of sadness washes over me. It’s hard to believe that I’ll be leaving some of my best friends, people I’ve known since the start. But I know I’ll survive on a raft of my own in the big, wide ocean. Time is the true test of friendship. Some people you’ll never see again; some people will drift away, while some remain loyal friends until the end of time.

Now distracted from packing, I give into the waves of nostalgia, prying open the lid of a dusty box full of my most prized possessions.

At the top sits an old stuffed cat toy, soft orange fur faded into beige, the flower lei around her neck disintegrating. Nihi. Once upon a time, my sister and I created stories and magical universes with Nihi, making handmade clothes, zip lines and rides for her.

Nihi was always the queen of the stuffed animals, the most treasured one of all, yet now she lies dusty and abandoned in the corner of the room. Is this what inevitably happens to all things of the past: forgotten and left behind?

It’s impossible to imagine life without my sister, my best friend since the beginning of time. We’re only two years apart, and since the day she was born, there’s barely been a day we’ve been apart. She pretends that she’ll be fine without me, but I know it’s not true.

Leaving loved ones is like ripping off a Band-Aid or prying apart two flat Lego pieces stuck together – trying to separate the inseparable.

Digging further into the box, I discover old keychains, handwritten messages and letters from my sister, relics from long-ago birthdays. I laugh as I read a crumpled card my sister gave me for my 13th birthday.

“Dear Omelet, happy birthday! You’re 13 now, and you’re a teenager, and you’re so old! Have fun in your last year before high school and eat lots of cake.”

At the time, 13 seemed like an enormous turning point, a moment when I would become mature, wise and smart. Yet now, as a 17-year-old on the verge of adulthood, I wonder how 13 ever seemed like such a big deal.

Truth be told, I fear what lies ahead. I fear having to learn to become independent, the pressure of having to grow up, the expectation to act like an adult when really, I feel like the same naive 13-year-old, perpetually trapped in the body of a teenager. Questions constantly flurry through my brain: will I be able to adapt to living abroad? Am I studying the right subject in university? Is this path one that I’ll truly enjoy?

But even as I sit here, full of worries and a sense of nostalgia for the past decade of my life, excitement still bubbles through.

Wherever I drift, I know I’m ready to face it, revelling and relishing and enjoying every second of my new experiences. I may be more than 7,000 miles away from home, but I’ll turn wherever I end up into a second home full of new friends, new family, and new sights. University brings new experiences and opportunities, like autumn leaves blowing and crunching under the feet as the new year starts. Before I know it, I’ll be learning to drive, hanging out late at night with friends, figuring out the mysteries of cooking, and surviving lectures on energy drinks – and I can’t wait.

My future dorm will be plastered with the memories of the past – not as a painful scar, but as a nostalgic reminder. I’m not leaving behind the past, but forming a new beginning, adding beautiful photos and mementos to my wall of memories.

And so, I sit myself back down on the floor with new-found resolve and shove the most important memories into my suitcase – Polaroids, Nihi, birthday cards and all.