How many ears do humans need before they listen to the cries of Nature?

A myriad of colourful corals that used to pepper the ocean bed like sprinkles on a cake had now turned a pale pallor. The Bermuda Trench, home to the Kingdom of the Seahorses, was no longer the same.

For centuries, Seahorsemen, creatures born with a human head and seahorse body, have been peacekeepers between the world of humans and the kingdom of the seahorses, Alvaria. It was so until these born protectors were forced to take sides.

"Another acre of the reef is lost," the King of Alvaria lamented to his protectors. "Once a burst of colours... now a sea of death."

"Look!" a seahorse exclaimed in horror as it wrapped its tail around a plastic bottle. Another seahorse grabbed a straw floating above. A wave of unease washed over them as they looked at one another in silence, knowing their kingdom was threatened.

The following day, the sun's rays that shone brightly into Alvaria to welcome a new dawn were gone. Suddenly, the day turned to night. "An impending storm," a seahorse muttered.

"No waves. The water is calm. It's something else," another seahorse whispered. The seahorses were immediately hushed as they kept their senses on high alert. One looked to see the bright sky shrouded by a dark substance. What's that?

The sticky substance was leaking from a monster with propellers that whirred. The humans have crossed Alvaria's territory. It could only mean war.

"Head for shelter. Now!" The leader of the seahorsemen hollered, and immediately, every seahorse returned home.

The leader of the seahorsemen stood in front of all of his species and heaved a deep breath. He momentarily lowered his head, looked up again and, with a steely look, nodded. The rest of his kind knew what to do, like a drill. The trade-off must be done.

A faint melodious tune could be heard. The angelic voices of the seahorsemen reverberated throughout Alvaria and travelled up to where the whirring monster was. The haunting song crescendoed to a climax, and one by one, the trance-like humans crept towards the edge of the ship and jumped into the ocean's depths while the seahorses hiding below covered their ears and cried rivers of tears.

As the humans sank, bubbles swirled around them. They soon vanished and became one with the ocean. The colours of the corals returned, and the haunting voices of the seahorsemen slowly faded. Before long, the seahorses swam out of the homes. It was not a victory that they could cheer on.

The song of the seahorsemen was bewitching. And in the Bermuda Trench, it will always be.

With trembling legs, George hoisted himself out of the cage, closely followed behind by his herd of hamsters. Though the musty and sickly- sweet odour of the room made the hamsters gag and wrinkle their noses, it was a breath of fresh air compared to the cramped and unkept conditions of the cage.

For the first time in months, George peered out of the window. There, he was greeted by the sight of the blue sky, illuminated by the morning sun. Spring had sprung over the course of his imprisonment. The once bare patch of grass outside of the window was now covered in dandelions.

If George looked hard enough, they almost resembled a fluffy white hamster playing in the spring. His heart gave a pang. Mark. His best friend. He had promised to be with him on the first day of spring. Spring had sprung, yet Mark was not there to spend it with him. Mark sniffled, hot tears flowing down his cheeks.

Their capturer would not get away with this. He was doing this for Mark.

The seconds trickled by like fine grains of sand. George’s heart thrummed wildly inside his chest.

Thump…Thump…Thump…

George stiffened, ears perking up. A series of mechanical clicks, followed by the unmistakable creak of a door being opened. He tightened his grip on the tarp.

“Now!”

With a newfound fury, George, along with his fellow hamsters, pounced on their unsuspecting capturer, bringing down the tarp with them. With a muffled yell and a thump, their capturer fell to the ground.

“Mmph! What’s going on, let me go! I…” Their capturer trailed off midsentence, eyes as wide as saucers upon catching sight of the hamsters. He thrashed around in vain, powerless against the captives-turned-capturers.

Casting one last look at their cage and bedraggled capturer, George and the hamsters trudged out of the house. They had one last thing to do.

Striking a match, the hamsters watched as the flame flickered to life. With a flick of his wrist, George tossed the burning match into the house. The effect was instantaneous. In a matter of seconds, the house burst into flames, burning their past and everything with it. The hamsters watched as plumes of billowing smoke rose into the air, clouding the sky with a thick black haze. They were finally free.

George breathed in, taking in the cool air. In front of him was a sight to behold: dozens of hamsters spread out across the field of flowers, some frolicking, some simply enjoying their newfound freedom. A burst of white caught his attention. A single dandelion, swaying in the wind. George grinned, features alight with joy. Mark would have been proud of him.

“Set A Kaya Toast with butter, Teh Siew Dai”

“Having here or to go?”

It was a typical morning at Ha Kun coffeeshop. The smell of roasted coffee beans and the aroma of fresh kaya saturated the air. For Seng, it was yet another mundane morning as he was tasked to help at the family-run coffeeshop during the school holidays. He could imagine himself as an assistant in a Hainanese coffeeshop in the early 70s, except that he was not wearing white sleeveless singlets and wooden clogs like how Grandpa did. The coffeeshop where he worked was not much different from the traditional ones - the open kitchen laid with cups preloaded with condensed milk, canisters of eggs awaiting order and a vat of kaya lined on the far end. The only visible distinction from the past was perhaps the atmosphere. Gone were the days where coffeeshop was filled with the hustle and bustle of patrons enjoying their traditional coffee and kaya toast on marble-topped tables. Business had been going downhill since the demise of Grandpa – the kaya master. No one could replicate the taste of the kaya he prepared.

Bending down to reach for the kaya vat, Seng was momentarily stunned.

“Come closer!” a voice echoed.

He could not make up where the voice had emerged from.

“Inch forward!” enunciated another.

This time, Seng was certain the sound had emanated from the vat!

Closing into the object, Seng felt himself being swept into a spiral of kaya, as though his body being engulfed into the incredible Saltstraumen maelstrom, swallowing him whole. Like a science-fiction movie, Seng felt himself being teleported to another universe. Images of Grandpa and his long-lost secret kaya recipe flashed through his mind. Seng was uncertain what happened next. When he regained consciousness, he found himself in the same position, staring intently into the vat of kaya. Instinctively, Seng returned to the kitchen and in a flash, he dished out innovative kaya dishes like Charred Kaya Chicken, Poached Kaya Salmon, Sauteed Kaya Asparagus, Caramelized Kaya Cheesecake and many more.

Before long, Seng made headlines. “Kaya got your tongue?" "Can't kaya enough of Seng?"

Seng’s inexplicable awe-inspiring culinary skill and sophisticated spin on kaya cuisine helped him create astonishing kaya-related dishes and empowered him to clinch the most coveted cookery title to become a chef of the highest calibre. Seng could not believe his newfound superpower. The once humble Ha Kun coffeeshop was never the same again. The vat of kaya had helped Seng bring back the glorious days of Grandpa’s legacy.

Donning himself in white sleeveless singlets and wooden clogs, Seng never looked back.

It was the witching hour. The bespangled sky brimmed with constellations and the few vehicle headlights on the highway pierced through the twilight, lighting up the town dimly.

“Look, we have lost all public favour since she messed that stunt up. Do you want to further besmirch our reputation?” My father demanded answers from everyone – my mother, the choreographers, me.

I stood rooted in the majestic hallway and waited for my mother to deliver the next volley of words. Surely she would weigh in on my performance and contribute to the oppressive atmosphere.

Abruptly, the house was greeted with welcome silence. My mother said nothing and hugged her knees helplessly on the couch. Her delicate face glistened with tears under the moonlight.

Two days later

Tightening my grip on the grass, I curled into a foetal position as dandelions brushed against me. This field of dandelions was my utopia – a hillock out of sight where flowers bloomed and birds trilled convivially, as though welcoming all into their resplendent oasis of shrubs and flowers.

I had always thought of my flying as a blessing. The ability to chase after birds. Soar as high as the clouds. The feeling of freedom, as though nothing could ever hurt you. A blessing that gradually turned into a curse.

I seized a small puffy dandelion next to me and sent it flying across the hill.

Just like I used to.

When I floated as a child, it felt light. Airy. As though I was one with the sky.

As I grew up, people discovered my ability. Some were horrified and called me a wretched behemoth. Others were awestruck. My parents had the most practical reception of all – they found a way to profit from my talent. We made bucketloads from every act I performed, and the number of fans I had ascended exponentially.

I was a teen now, and flying had become a chore. I scrambled from one performance to another, flying to agenda rather than by desire. My body glided lightly in the air yet felt cumbersome and enervated.

My demeanour lit up. I clutched another dandelion and blew it gently into the air. I watched it crusade through the air, as though its destiny was to forever be windborne.

The worry of disappointing the public and wrecking my curated reputation was perpetually gnawing at me. Yet perhaps if such a tiny flower could float with such ease and grace, I could too.

I want to be like a dandelion. Free.

I belong in the sky, not on stage.

Later, I approached my parents in the bedroom. I didn’t know it then, but that moment, my words, their reactions – they would rock my world.

The song of the seahorsemen was bewitching. It starts as a sliver at the back of your mind. You know something is brewing, but you can’t tell what. Then you feel the pull, tugging sharper at your chest.

The music has you enchanted as you reach the shore. The water glistens like a thousand diamonds flashing on and off. Scales flick everywhere in the colours of the rainbow, as fish flit away from the shallows. The golden sand warms you like tiny stars, flickering, ever so mesmerising the beautiful seascape.

Then you blink and it's gone in the flash of a bright light. Darkness engulfs you in the storm of pain. It’s not yours but it is.

Choking black smoke wreaths around you. As if strangling your throat from the inside. You’re there, but not. As if tucked away. You look around, but you can’t see a thing. It’s just fog and smoke and soot. Then it’s shadows and the darkness beyond.

You’ve lost track of time. You’ve lost track of who you are. It’s just you, in this place, in the darkness. Then you can see, but the light’s not what it was before. The murky light seeps through the cloud and you finally see the truth. Oh! It’s Palawan Beach. But there’s something odd about it. It’s not quite as similar. Debris is scattered across the beach. The sand is plastic, it’s not golden, not even yellow, but white with words like “Giant” and “Cold Storage”. You look towards the water and your stomach flips with a sickening lurch. It’s grey with seaweed trashed with styrofoam and microplastics floating on top like beads. Fishing nets are tangled with fish and birds, half on the beach and half in the water. You run up and try to get them out, your hands tugging sharply on the ropes, but your fingers drift right through them, as if you’re not there.

The light is ripped away from you again, but this time, it’s a storm of water. Rainbow lights rain down on you, the searing burn rips across your arm. You scream, but you don’t, and then it’s gone. You’re at the same spot where you were seconds ago, but the beach is different. It’s choking, scattered with dead creatures of all kinds. Beasts once mighty now lie limp on its rubbish grave. Just like before, but worse. Worse to the point at the end of the earth.

Then you realise something. First a ripple, then a wave, then a storm. Past, present, future. What have you learnt? Well, you have the seahorsemen to thank for that.

Its music notes ring in the air as the music fades into deathly silence.

A dead queen. A lost princess. A stolen egg. One unborn child to save a people.

Fear flashed in my eyes as I was dragged beneath a sea of mischievous, glittering waves. I had been searching for buried treasure when I came across a small, glowing orb that seemed to be calling to me. A bubble formed around my head as I hit the shimmering waters, and I slowly turned my head to catch a glimpse of my captors. I nearly let out a scream as I saw them. Instead of legs, they had glistening ocean blue tails wrapped elegantly around thin strands of seaweed. Pale blue eyes pierced me with their gaze, a tattoo of a seahorse maiden etched into their skin. They opened their mouths and spoke in ghostly wails as they whisked me deeper into the depths of the sea.

They stopped suddenly and parted, making way for a golden figure swimming towards me. His regal eyes were almost an amber color, close to the copper-gold of his scales. They surveyed me carefully, and his mouth let out a sound similar to the wails, only more highpitched. He glimpsed the orb I had still clutched in my hands and instantly snatched it from me, snarling in anger. "It was you! A lowly human dares to steal our final royal egg - our Prince!? Have your kind no sympathy? Was it not enough to kill my Queen and kidnap our last Princess?" The anger in his voice twisted in anguish, then hardened into steel again. "Guards, kill IT." He spat the last word out as if it were a piece of rotten fish. The guard pulled out a silver spear, aiming it towards my heart.

Just as the spear was poised to strike, the egg started to crack. The creature inside gave a final kick, bursting out of the shell. It scanned its surroundings with amber eyes, its golden tail instinctively curling around a tangle of seaweed. It saw me, cooed, and quickly rushed forward to touch each of my legs. As if on cue, my legs glittered gold and curled gracefully into what resembled a sea horse's tail. The king's eyes widened in realization as he saw the royal scales, and the tattoo emerging upon my skin.

The king's voice trembled and, like a man dreaming, whispered, "My daughter, you have been returned to us... the hope of our kind"

With eyes brimming with shining tears, the king picked up the newborn prince, and reached for my hand. Joyous harmonies rang out from the celebrating guards, drowning out the bewilderment that filled my mind.

The song of the seahorsemen was bewitching.

The thick rope net contained only a few wriggly fish. For many days, the fisherman’s luck had been abysmal. It was rather ironic because they had moved to the tall island mountain for the ’better fishing opportunities’ that the vast seas promised to provide.

Every day was the same. Each morning, the fisherman’s family would hike out to a lake with their nets and fishing rods, and each evening they trudged back, defeated and with barely any fish to feed themselves. It was the most curious thing. There would be countless fish in a body of water when they decided to fish there, but by the time they had tossed the net into the lake, there were no fish to be seen.

The mountain was quiet, peaceful. Crisp midnight air drifted in circles around the rocky coast, inviting the trees to sway with them. Stars hid behind grey wisps of clouds, blinking and flickering intriguingly. There was a full moon that night. The cottage, sat under its glow, still and quiet. A shrill note pierced the peaceful silence. And then another. The fisherman’s daughter was aroused by the unusual sounds. A song. The song of the seahorsemen was bewitching; she was seized with an urge to draw closer to the sounds, feeling curiously like it held promises for her. She crept out of bed and stole down the mountain to the sea.

Standing at the coastline, the fisherman’s daughter heard words woven into the song. We know your struggles. We are reluctant to share the mountain and the water. But you are one of us. You hear our songs. They can have their fish if you join us in the sea. Join them? Leave her family? No, of course not. The fisherman’s daughter had already begun to make her way back up through the bushes and trees, when she realised: if she stayed, she would condemn her family to a fruitless expedition with one more mouth to feed. If she went, she would never see them again. But they would have fish.

I want them to be happy. I want them to live well. I should go... I should stay… No, I should go. Her thoughts bounced around and around her mind.

The seahorsemen had already begun to dive back into the ocean, one by one.

“Wait!” the word burst from her lips. “I’ll go.” She stepped closer and closer to the sea. Tears pooled in her eyes as the water swept her up and carried her away. She was gone. From that night on, whenever the full moon came around, the fisherman’s family would hear snatches of a song sung by a familiar voice…

Mother Mosquito was elated. Junior had just been born. “Oh! How innocent you are! Yet, with tears in her eyes, she exclaimed under her breath, ’’If only you knew how the world treated us. ”It would only be extremely unfortunate if Junior Mosquito had to undergo what all his species had experienced.

Life was sheltered for him as Mother was always hovering around him. Junior wanted to venture out on his own. He was sick and tired of his overprotective mum. The dangers did not bother him as he was oblivious to what was lurking outside the jungle. Never did he think at any moment that his life could be at risk. Walking on thin ice was not in his mother’s list as she was much wiser.

As Junior grew and became bigger, he sought independence. One day, just before dawn broke out, he buzzed out quietly and journeyed out of his safe heaven. Flapping his wings, high up in the air, made him feel mighty and strong. He travelled from North to South and East to West. Everything seemed so huge and different from the jungle.

High rise buildings, myriad of trees and magnificent scenic views surrounded him. At noon, he could see throngs of people moving in and out of buildings and streets. It seemed chaotic from above.

Amazed, Junior bravely descended to be amongst the crowd. All of a sudden, the scene was mind-boggling. People clapped around him and shooed him away with their long hands. Hearing them say,” There he is!” made him feel like a celebrity. He could not contain his excitement but he had to ascend and nudge so as to escape coming in between their palms. The world was much more exciting and adventurous in the city. As time passed by, he ascended and headed back home as he knew his mother would be anxiously buzzing around looking for him.

As the jungle grew closer, he saw his mother flying around in frenzy. He upped his speed and flew straight to her. With tears in her beady eyes, she buzzed, “Where have you been! I have been worried sick!” ‘’I….I… wandered out of the jungle as curiosity had piqued my interest to find out what was on the other side.’’ Junior was about to continue when Mother embraced Junior with all her might. With a tone louder than usual, she warned Junior never to do that again! Junior did not utter a word and just nodded. Deep down, he was mesmerized by the scene that he had witnessed which seemed more fun than the jungle.

Softly, he muttered into her ear, ‘’ Mummy, humans were clapping for me and repeatedly saying, “ There he is’’. They recognized me!”

“Oh my flying child, if only you knew.”

A roar echoed through the crowd. A hamster as white as snow stood on a pile of books. He held a gleaming needle in his paw, high above his head. His mismatched eyes darted around, one grey, one gold. This was King Huge, ruler of the Pet Store Hamsters.

“The store owner,” he paused, grabbing a mouthful of kibble from a nearby dog bowl and munching loudly before continuing, “Do you know what she did?” The crowd chanted “Tell us!” in unison. King Huge cleared his throat and said, “She replaced us…with GERBILS! Now we are stuck here, in this storeroom cage!”

The crowd shouted in anger and hatred. King Huge nodded his head, pacing across the books. “She said customers complained we are uncivilised!” King Huge stopped pacing and spoke, his voice growing louder with every word, “Today, this very day, we wipe out the gerbils and...” pausing for dramatic effect, “Take revenge on the owner!” The crowd roared again and raised their weapons into the air.

The plan was to attack the gerbils. King Huge kicked the cage door open and made a signal for his colony to follow him. Fifty-seven chubby hamsters scurried through the shadows until they reached the shop window. Humans passed by the window and stared adoringly at the gerbils. “We used to have that glory. Those gerbils are not worthy!” King Huge grunted. The hamsters started to climb the textured wall. By the time they reached the top, the hamsters were exhausted.

King Huge knocked on the glass. A snotty gerbil walked over and asked, “What do you want?”

“We want our territory back.” King Huge sneered. He kicked the glass and it shattered onto the poor gerbil. The gerbil tried to shield himself from the shards but was knocked down. The hamsters proudly walked over him and attacked the other gerbils. It was complete chaos. Hamsters grunted and gerbils squeaked. Fur flew everywhere.

Kids passing by the window laughed and giggled as they watched the fight. They started scooping up gerbils and hamsters to purchase. The owner stared in shock at the sight of the crowd of customers pouring through the doors. Only King Huge and a few others remained. King Huge glared at the pet shop owner and fiercely whispered “you are next!”

At that moment, a little girl picked up King Huge and said to her mother, “I want this big hamster, he’s so cute!” her mother nodded and led her to the cashier, King Huge struggling and screaming in the girl’s hands.

The remaining animals stayed in the shop window. The owner realized the battle attracted many customers to her shop. Hamsters and gerbils have lived together ever since.

“My child, you will soar through the vast open skies, past meandering rivers and blossoming fields,” Mother would whisper to Maverick while he was ensconced in her warmth, “You will admire precipitous mountains against the expansive sky and the millions of constellations in it.”

As Maverick opened his eyes, he was momentarily blinded by the piercing rays of the sun. His spirits, however, lifted after being greeted by a clear blue sky which hung an arc of prismatic hues.

Then, everything fell apart. Why do they always avoid my eyes? Why do tears glint in their eyes as they look at me? What is wrong with me?

While his siblings were standing at the edge of the nest, preparing to fall into the embrace of the waltzing winds, his parents would offer him words of encouragement and reassuring smiles. And every time, he would muster up a smile.

Other birds would circle above the nest like mischievous pixies gloating at him. “An eagle who can’t fly.” “Worthless.” “An embarrassment.” Maverick cringed inwardly as his insecurities started to seep out again, like water flowing from the Niagara Falls. He clenched his claws as taunts started to flood his mind.

It was time. Time for the children of all birds to spread their wings and take flight, drawing buoyant hues on the canvas of sunset.

Flying is my destiny. I want to fly, but can I?

Opportunity is a bird that never perches. The wind was whipping leaves, disrupting the cicada’s kindling symphony, he could easily lift off.

But why do I have to risk so much to fly? I could just stay in the nest, safe, with my parents.

But the kaleidoscope called life is out there. And I am the child of an eagle.

Perching on the edge of the nest, he took a deep breath, and took a leap of faith-

Everything was a blur as Maverick plummeted downwards, the wind whipping in his face.

He revelled in the sovereignty of it for a few seconds before starting to flap his wings as hard as he could-

It was to no avail. He was still falling head-first towards the ground. It was all over; he squeezed his eyes shut. I should not have jumped.

However, the crash never came; instead, he was slowly but surely pulling out of the fall. He could now fly, towards the silver lining of the horizon, towards verdant woodlands, towards his own future.

The blissful, crisp air of spring filled the air as early flowers pushed through the earth, welcoming the silhouette of a majestic bird with a defective wing as it glided through the fickle clouds……

The child finally flew.