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For the past few days, Kina had awoken with a snap of his eyelids at six in the morning like clockwork. For a few seconds he would lie utterly still, as the feeling returned to bones that had fallen into slumber with him, expecting to see out the grainy film of window when he turned onto his left with a drowsy wriggle under the warm covers and to hear the birdsong of the canaries that had made their nest on the cherry tree outside his room. Instead, he would find himself staring at a blank white wall, bleached of colour and creativity, cold to both sight and touch - the window past his feet, looking out into the concrete wall of the neighbouring dormitory building. 

Today was no different, although he had already spent a week tossing in vain hopes he would settle in with time.

Outside, the sky was dark still. The LED lights of the digital clock by his head flashed [i]5:09[/i]. It was so quiet, Kina could hear his own pulse in his ears. Or perhaps that was anxiety for the day of orientation on the docket. 

He hoisted himself into a sitting position, crossing his legs on a bed tucked against the wall of his dormitory. His eyes were bleary, his vision pixellated as he blinked the webs of sleep away. His sleep hadn't been very restful. The mini-refrigerator - one of his first purchases in Hollywood, from a bargain sale - had whirred and chugged into the early hours of the morning, and then even more after that, a noisy roommate. With impeccable timing, the beaten-up little box gave another exhausted sputter from its spot beneath the window, beside the compact reading nook Kina had fashioned for himself the first day he had arrived with pathwork quilts and pillows that had been flattened by years and bottoms none too gentle, the colours washed out. His mother had knitted a few, his brothers had made forts sturdier than brick with them all. They were as much of his family and home he had been able to pack with him here in a suitcase.

Swinging his legs over the bed, Kina brushed his bare toes against the cold tiled floor, absurdly like testing the community pool for a chill before leaping in, and got to his feet. In the darkness of the room - lit only by the distant glow of streetlamps and courtyard spotlights - Kina turned to face the bare wall, feeling the gloom settle over him like a dense blanket. It was five, and all Kina could feel was trepidation for the day ahead. 

[i]"We'll have to do something about that."[/i] The quiet murmur reverberated in Kina's head. That had been his mother's catchphrase for any problem. When Kina had scraped his knee at five and needed a Band-Aid and a kiss for charm's sake; when he had come home from his first day at primary school with a blackened eye. No issue was ever too large for his mother to handle that Kina could not carry back to his doorstep for his mother to promptly declare the mantra - whether in a whisper or a firm statement - and set about fixing. 

[color=f7941d]"We'll do something about this,"[/color] Kina muttered to himself, his voice small in the cold and hollow room, hesitant as he tried the words. As though in encouragement, his heart rate slowed from its sprinter's pace, and the terror which had his knuckles and fingers locked in stiff calm reluctantly loosened its grip. 

Moving with newfound purpose, Kina jostled his drawer open, rummaging for a new change before freshening up in the bathroom. When he emerged from the washroom again, he was wearing jeans faded from wear, and a white cotton singlet beneath a soft plaid button-up left hanging open. His bedhead had settled down from its unruly high, but the brown locks looked nonetheless ruffled all the same. Standing there, surveying the blank wall over his bed, his silhouette from the window might have looked very strange.

It took almost an hour of sorting and a steady supply of blue-tac and deft fingers before Kina leaned back from his kneel on the mattress, an empty box cradled in his hands that had once held his unalbumed photoset, now spread out in a montage before him. Warm and cool, subdued and vibrant, they formed a collage of organised chaos. From doe-eyed cats on the precipice of an afternoon nap, to a beaming boy with a smile to rival the sun behind him, to a water droplet hanging onto the tip of a leaf for dear life, the photos laid out on display illicited a tireless smile from Kina. They were works to be proud of, to be sure, moments captured just as the lighting was right. But each photo stored a memory and wending tale that lay coiled behind the instant caught, in the twitch of his finger against the button, immortalised on film. Glossy, most of them were exposed and naked to the air. But four were framed. And as Kina walked out the room with his sling bag and camera, he knew that he would sleep better that night.

~~

After a quick breakfast, Kina made his way to the gymnasium. The school was beginning to fill with students, and inside there was a clear line of division. Keeping his eyes averted, Kina did a quick panning sweep of the hall. A cavernous border lay between young adults dressed to the nines, some donning sunglasses indoors, wearing outfits and accessories that to Kina felt excessive. Slipping into a seat to the back, he glanced around, spotting some familiar faces from the dormitories he had caught glimpses of in the week before surrounding him, but isolated still from his ilk. He did not think it possible to feel even more alienated in the university than he already did.

The headmaster gave a speech, welcoming the 'poor kids' to Hollywood University in the new initiative, first of its kind. The corners of Kina's lips were pulled downwards at the term the headmaster had coined, as cheers erupted on one side, and laughter on the other. It did not sound kindly, but a taunt disguised in chuckles. Kina gnawed restlessly on his lip. [color=fdc68a][i]Let us prove we aren't less than you, even if we have less,[/i][/color] came the quiet, desperate thought. Another part of him - the one that recognised how deeply prejudice could run, and deaf to reason it could be - uttered not a word. Hopes that were not voiced could not crystallise into being before him. There could be no pain or disappointment when a blow came swinging to dash them to smithereens. And so with lips locked, Kina leaned back into his chair, resigning himself to his seat to listen to the principal's speech, even as a couple of students trickled their way out of the gymnasium.