Holidays and outings are something we all anticipate with great excitement. Regardless of age, there will always be that eagerness to go on a journey and experience new worlds. Fortunately, I have been very lucky to go to various places, where people have never been to and may never go in their lives. These places have a special status in my heart and they create memories that I will always look back upon. My trip to Iraq was one of those places.

We went to a multitude of places in Iraq, such as Baghdad, Karbala, and Samarra, however, I will be focusing on Najaf Al-Ashraf, southwest of Baghdad, the capital of Iraq.

In Najaf, an incredibly famous personality is buried, whom millions of people per year come to visit. It is worth noting, that Prophet Adam and Noah are also said to be buried here according to Islamic tradition. His name was Ali ibn Abi Talib, the first convert to Islam (after the Prophet Muhammad) and he is widely recognised as the 4th political caliph of Islam after the Prophet passed away, and he was the first Imam of the Shia sect of Islam (Imam is a title we use to show respect). He was the first cousin and son-in-law of the Prophet Muhammad. Nobody could defeat him in one-on-one battles, he was one of the fiercest and bravest warriors. He was martyred after being struck by a poisonous sword to the head while praying by one of his enemies.

He wasn’t just an expert on the battlefield, he also gave lectures on the pulpit and these 240 sermons were compiled into a book called “Nahj Al-Balagha” which translates to ‘The Peak of Eloquence’.

Given Ali ibn Abi Talib’s level of piousness, spirituality, proximity to God and the Prophet of Islam, the Shia Muslims hold him in the utmost regard. Due to his piety and spiritual perfection, God has honoured him with a special ability to act as a medium between the common person and God to seek alleviation of trials and tribulations in their lives and fulfilment of legitimate desires. This is one of the many benefits Muslims receive for the visitation to his shrine. It’s important to note, Muslims do not visit to worship Ali ibn Abi Talib, but to take lessons from his life so that we can be better humans and Muslims.

As we walked towards the perimeter of the shrine, all visitors were obliged to remove their shoes, as it is considered disrespectful if you enter with shoes on. We put our shoes in the locker, and went through security. We read a special supplication called “إِذن الدخول” meaning “permission to enter.” I pondered on this for a moment; why not just walk in? I discussed this with my father, and he explained that it is like going to someone’s house as a guest: you would not turn up outside someone’s house and just barge in through the door. There is etiquette that needs to be adhered to, like ringing a bell, greeting the host, and being invited in. Listening and reflecting why one had to read this, using this example made it so clear on the importance of this out of respect even though he is no longer living. I saw it as a sign of respect and honour for Imam Ali.

After reading the entry supplication, we kissed the door to our side, and walked in.

After getting past, I was at once welcomed by a massive shrine decorated with gold across it. You can’t help but notice one large central dome which stands out of a square-shaped ornate structure at the two sides of which are two minarets. Upon seeing such opulence on the exterior, I could not help but wonder how the inside would be adorned.

While I slowly and purposefully entered inside, I was truly mesmerised by the millions of mirrored glass glistening with mosaic inlaid. I’ve visited castles before, but never have I ever seen splendour of this magnitude and beauty. This place truly felt like it was built for the King of Kings. As I continued to look around, I noticed marble covering the floor and a gigantic radiating chandelier hanging over the grave of Imam Ali.

In this shrine, people come with all their wishes and desires, seeking love, connection, and intercession. Tens of millions ask through him to ask God to fulfil their wishes, in the hope that they will be accepted. Knowing this, gave me an immense feeling of peace that I was in a place where all my legitimate desires have the power to be fulfilled. I truly felt blessed to be here.

Finally, I got some time to myself. My dad told me as we were walking in, that anything you can’t disclose to anyone, you can say to him. Our belief is that these holy personalities were closer to God than we will ever be, due to their level of spiritual perfection, meaning that your prayers will be more likely to be accepted.

We found a spot in the inner part of the shrine next to the grave, my dad, my brother, and I thought to ourselves about what we could say.

It’s a custom that when you go on pilgrimage to pay respects to these personalities, you pray for others, that they can go and that they can have their wishes fulfilled too. So, I asked for everyone who asked me to pray for them, and everyone who didn’t ask me because they were too embarrassed or for other reasons.

I felt positive and powerful when his title came into my mind that he is known as the Lion of God, through this I felt a tingling and magical feeling, which made me forget about all life’s worries.

Sitting by the Shrine of Imam Ali, the feeling I got was out of this world. It felt like home, the most peaceful place, where I could open my heart and thoughts and say whatever bothers me, despite being surrounded by hundreds of strangers. I felt strong, happy, confident, and lighter sharing my inner most thoughts.

After visiting this lovely country, it makes me feel upset that people think horribly about Iraq. There were barely any instances where things felt suspicious. Everyone was very welcoming. Parts of the country were unsafe in the past, but things have changed significantly.

In Iraq, I made new friends and created new memories that I will be able to look back upon for years to come. When I reflect on my journeys in Iraq, I think about how misunderstood it is by the Western world. I would love for the Scottish people to visit Iraq to experience the love, the peace and the generosity of the people, so that they change their perception of what Iraq is like, because of the way the mass media have portrayed it to be, a country riddled with war and terror. I yearn to return soon, and hope that all stereotypes about this spectacular country will be cleared in time.

“Get up! Get up! Get up!” we all chanted as the minibus slowly crawled up the steep road. We had been travelling for almost 2 hours and it was getting pretty late. Everybody was exhausted. I’d only been to my cousin’s sítio once before, when I was really little. It was like a place of dreams for a curious toddler from what I could remember. A big house in the Brazilian countryside with a swimming pool, full of exotic plants and animals. There were bunk beds and old video games like Super Mario Bros from the 80s. A large plaster wall ran all around the home, protecting it from any danger, it was my little castle. There were so many happy memories to relive. The minibus gave out one last tired puff and began to retreat from the hill, and turned a corner to find another route. Eventually, we arrived and were greeted by the alluring scent of feijoada, one of the best foods on earth if you ask me. Rice, pork, oranges, black beans, farofa (toasted cassava flour/farinha de mandioca) and greens waiting to fill everyone up. The sound of Brazilian music rang in my ears while I gobbled down my meal. If it weren’t so dark, I wouldn’t have realised that it was almost 10 o’clock at night. Once we were all well fed and had cleaned our dishes, the exhaustion hit like a brick. Droopy eyed and sleepy, my mum, my brother and I trudged over to one of the many rooms in the house. There were lots of bugs and mosquitos scurrying around outside, so we made sure to put on insect-repellant before we went to bed. I threw my bags over the top bunk and drifted off.

The next morning, I was up early. School had messed up my body clock and I couldn’t sleep in if I tried. I quietly slipped on my flipflops and went out to see if anybody was awake. I hadn’t seen anyone but there was breakfast on the table, so I grabbed a bread roll and went out to explore. There were loads of fruit trees all around the sítio (like starfruit, mango, tangerine, and so on) so naturally, I tried to climb them, and failed. A lot of them had bits of loose wood all around them, so it was difficult to find your footing. Although I couldn’t get up the trees, I could still look up them. It was incredible how many little birds were roosting in the trees. There seemed to be at least one of each colour. I took a small portion of bread and placed it upon the tallest branch I could reach. Tiny chirps made their way to my mind, it felt so peaceful to hear the animals, the calmness of the countryside, the sound of my footsteps and no one else’s. There was a soft sloshing of running water nearby, investigating was of course, the best option. A pipe, just the size of my hand, was gushing out some murky water. It was from when the pool was cleaned earlier that morning. I wasn’t alone after all. The hot sun beamed down onto my skin as I walked along the poolside. Two small lovebirds were singing their funny melodies to each other on the roof of the house. They were gorgeous, green and red with yellow bellies. “Bom dia gente!” came from the open kitchen. I ran over to say good morning back and was surprised to see most of my family there already. They must have woken up while I was gone. Anyway, my littlest cousins were sitting drinking chocolate milk and eating bread with fruit. My cousin’s dog, Joe, practically leapt into my arms, wagging his little tail. He was a tiny west highland terrier with soft white fur. I’d say he looked pretty good for the ripe age of 13. After I had greeted everyone, I took a banana and walked off with Joe in my arms. 

We had reached the back wall when I saw something jump from a tree. I couldn’t see where it had gone so I put Joe down and climbed up a ledge on the wall for a better view. There it was, a pair of curious yellow eyes staring back at me. It’s a miko! I never thought that such a small fluffy thing would want to go near people. Luckily, I hadn’t eaten the banana yet, so I opened it a bit and sat it on top of the wall to see what the miko would do. Instead of going over to the fruit, the monkey opened its mouth and let out a squeal like a super high pitched sports whistle. Suddenly, another appeared. Then another, and another. There were about five of them all scurrying along the wall to investigate their friend’s call. I picked the banana back up to try and lure them a little closer. Two particularly brave ones, one of which was the first one to spot the fruit, edged closer. They were the cutest things ever! Soft, dark fur with the fluffiest little faces, I could’ve cuddled them forever. I didn’t realise I was still holding the banana until I felt something hit my back, and then again. The brave pair of monkeys had jumped onto me. I could hardly believe it. I placed the banana back on the wall and they all lunged towards it as if it were some kind of miko-magnet. 

The next couple of days, I continued to feed the mikos. If we hadn’t taken that other turn, I wouldn’t have been able to see them at all. (Although I did see them at my Tia Irene’s house and climbed trees with the mikos there after.) I wish I could have seen them for longer.

I awoke to the rising sun. The warm breeze entering from the window left a smile on my face. The light cascaded across the rooms wall, dancing around as the trees gently swayed from outside. I reluctantly stepped out of bed, shuddering as my feet met stone-cold floor. Waking up was the worst part of the day, here in Mallorca. Or so I thought. As soon as I entered the kitchen, I was reminded that today was the day we were scheduled to go cliff-jumping. Obviously many people would be thrilled to have the opportunity to do so, but truthfully, I have always been afraid of heights. I have also been too ashamed to admit this, and so my family was yet to know about my uncanny fear.

 After lounging by the pool and playing cards on the villa’s patio, it was finally time to travel to the cliff. I was baffled by the fact that people found such a life-threatening activity fun. I was without a doubt being dramatic, although, in my defence, I was absolutely terrified. I slowly entered the car, wondering if I could turn back. But as we neared the village in which the cliff was located, it only then dawned upon me that it was definitely too late. I had to face my fears.

The feeling of fulfilment after doing something brave and adventurous, albeit risky, and being able to gloat about it to others in hope of them being impressed, is validating, which is why I first agreed to the proposal. Now, in hindsight, it was a rash decision. This experience has taught me that I simply must use my head more. I only went along with the idea as my younger brother, the golden child, who was also quite the adrenaline-junkie, immediately praised the suggestion, and I, being the older, competitive sibling I am, didn’t want him to be seen as the braver one, especially since he was younger.

My bitter thoughts were cut short as the car came to a stop. We had surprisingly already arrived in the village, and I hadn’t even noticed when the beautiful streets of Pollença morphed into the barren fields of Mallorca’s countryside. We exited the car; the heat of the sun’s rays tingled on my skin, which wasn’t prepared for such warmth. The temperature was insufferable as we walked along the wooded trail which led us to our destination. My stomach churned and I was so nervous I found myself shaking, but I put on a brave face so as to not worry the others. We were hidden from the sun under the canopy of leaves above us, giving our surroundings an eerie feeling as we slowly trekked along the path.

After a few minutes of squabbling with my brother in a desperate attempt to take my mind off of what was yet to come, I saw an opening of light in the distance. I felt sick, knowing this indicated our arrival to the cliff, and each step became heavier and heavier than the last. We placed our belongings down and walked over to the edge. I couldn’t get myself to look down. The rocky ground and my aching feet made this experience all the more unbearable. I was too busy soothing my pain-stricken feet to notice my brother rushing off in the direction of the cliff, and in a heartbeat, he was gone, falling thirty-feet through the air and down into the crystalline ocean. He screamed as he merged with the water, and resurfaced in a fit of laughter. Annoyance rippled through me from noticing his carefree manner. How was he so calm? Next was my sister, then my two older brothers, and finally, it was my turn.

I peeked over the lip of the rock, the hairs on my back standing up, my eyes widening in horror. How was that jump humanly possible? That was much higher than a mere thirty- feet… My vision blurred from the pool of tears streaming down my face, whilst my ears rung from the shouts of my siblings, telling me to jump. I shut my eyes, knowing I couldn’t do it with my eyes open. I knew I was overreacting, it was just a small jump, but from experience, phobias are not something you can just flip a switch on. The simplest of things can make a grown man curl up in a corner. Its funny, actually. The fact that you can simply forget the best days of your life and remember every second of the worst, chilled me to the core. I either had to face my fears, or put up with the mean remarks from my brothers that  awaited me.

And what’s worse than jumping off a thirty-foot cliff as someone who feared heights? Being savagely bullied by your siblings. While these thoughts coursed through my head, I realised it was an obvious choice. All I had to do was jump. I opened my eyes while the bolt of adrenaline was still running through me, and found myself leaping from the ground and jumping through the air, towards the depths below. My body froze in terror and my face was drawn of blood, as in that split second I regretted my decision, before I finally loosened up and composed myself. I shut my eyes, preparing for the salty splash awaiting me. The wind swirled around me while I plummeted towards the deep abyss, the feeling of accomplishment overwhelming me; much like the water as I made contact and plunged in, ripples forming around me on the surface.

Oh, such a momentous experience was over in a second. I slowly opened my eyes, relaxing to the calm sway of the sea. Above the surface was a calm, idyllic environment which you could lay afloat in for hours on end, however, as I sank beneath the water, I was shocked by the scenery. The faint hues of majestic greens and blues of the surrounding atmosphere, the thriving aquatic life roaming the ocean bed, and the vibrant corals accommodating these unique creatures, formed a kingdom of beauty like no other. I felt like the luckiest person alive, as this sight was otherworldly. The fact was, had I let my fear overcome me, I wouldn’t have gotten to see this, which infuriated me. I was mad at myself for having such a potentially self-defeating fear, yet indescribably proud for conquering it.

 The furious waves slammed against the cliff-face as I resurfaced, hearing the applause and laughter erupting from my siblings. I sighed in relief, thankful they hadn’t seen the fear in my eyes. I swam over and joined them, and spent the rest of the day carrying-on and doing a series of splash-fights until the sun set, indicating it was time to go. I had a smile plastered on my face all night, marvelling at the fact that I had just conquered the one thing that brought me down most. I felt indestructible, like I could do anything I wanted, however great it was. This story may be underwhelming, but for me, this was a huge milestone in my life and changed me for the better. My phobia comes back from time to time, but when it does, I remember this. So, I was wrong. That was the best day of my life.

This memory I am going to share with you isn’t a common sun, sea or sand holiday, but a spiritual journey to get closer to God.

From the 21st of December 2021 to New Year, I went to Iraq for 10 days. This is the second time I had been to Iraq for pilgrimage, and I would like to share my experiences, and what happened in a city called Karbala. For some context, Muslims from all around the world come to pay their respects to the family of our beloved Prophet Muhammad and ask for their wishes to be fulfilled.

We hadn’t been to Iraq for pilgrimage in a few years, so my dad thought we ought to go if we can do so. When I was told that we are going to Iraq again, I was extremely chuffed, for the last year I had been nagging my dad repeatedly to think about taking us back. This is because the city of Karbala, ever since I visited for the first time in 2018, never left me. I regularly thought about my experiences in the shrine, the friends that I made with the people in my pilgrimage group, the kindness of the Iraqi people and the atmosphere of the city itself.
I never thought going to Iraq would happen so quickly, because earlier that year my dad had gone for two weeks to Iraq, Syria and Lebanon. I thought we would not have the money go to to Iraq the same year.

To give some more background, we travelled with a pilgrimage group called “Footsteps 2 Jannah (Heaven)”. The people who organised the group, offer the pilgrims going with them services such as workshops for both children and adults, and Islamic scholars who lead us along the way in terms of the history of the city and its significance to Islam and why we are here.

Now we fast-forward to being in Karbala (2 months later), a city in Iraq where the grandson of the Prophet Muhammad (Hussain ibn-e-Ali), his family and companions were buried after being martyred, having fought bravely against the enemies of Islam, whose aim was to destroy the message of Islam, and humanity.

Before I got to the shrine, I had a good look at the beautiful city outside of the shrine. Everywhere you go, there are bazaars (stalls) that sell all kinds of different things. They sell fresh fruits, nuts, bags, toys and every other thing you can think of is sold there for half the price of what the UK
would sell it for. You could also get delicious food and drinks exclusive to Iraq.

Iraq is a hugely different country from Scotland. In Scotland, I’m used to shops closing at 10 pm. However, in Iraq, you could walk around the city at 4 am and shops would be open at your service. When I told my friends that I’m going to Iraq, they immediately thought about the war and terror footage they saw on the news. My friend asked why I would want to visit a war-torn country that is unsafe. However, I explained the Iraq you see in the media is not the real Iraq. I clarified, that Iraq is full of kindness, and generosity and it is completely safe now. I walked around the cities of Iraq without the fear of being mugged or hurt by anyone.

When I reached the shrine after walking several minutes from my hotel, I looked at my surroundings and was astonished at the sight of the buildings that were covered in gold and silver all around the shrine and even the outside of it. I wasn’t even in the actual part of the shrine, and I could just hear the people crying profusely, asking for forgiveness from God for their past actions in life.
At this point, the only thing on my mind was to just go in and be able to sit there and contemplate about how my life has been. Just like how people let out their feelings to a therapist when they feel uneasy, that is how I felt when I was going in. I wasn’t the only person who felt like this, chances are many people felt the same way when they went into the shrine. These Imams to Muslims in simple terms are like a shortcut to get you closer to God. You can ask God through the intercession of the Imam (Muslim Leaders), for your prayers to be answered and wishes fulfilled.

As soon as I got in, I had an instant sigh of relief rush through me, that I was finally here after all the planes and long bus travels to be here in the moment. At this point, it was me and my thoughts to express to God. I had so many things I wanted to say, so many things, and I wanted to stay there forever because I felt at total peace, something that doesn’t happen often with all the stress of module tests at school and wanting to do well. I knew that I had a chance to Thank God and to think about the blessings He has bestowed on me and my family. It was also a fantastic opportunity to be able to ask God to help us through hardship and to fix things that maybe aren’t going so well. This time was not just for my benefit, but for others that knew I was here and had asked to make special prayers for them.

At the time we went, this visit meant so much to me, partly because I hadn’t been to Iraq in a long time, but also because in S1 I was struggling to make many friends. I was new to the school, and I couldn’t fit into the friend groups from the junior school. I knew it was a good opportunity to ask God to make it easier to make friends. I knew from my strong belief in God and the Imam (Leader), that my wish would be answered one way or another.

I feel like I have learnt a lot from those ten days, I feel at ease that God has let us be able to go and do the pilgrimage of these Imams, who are especially important as to where they stand in their closeness to God and the contribution they made to preserve the message of Islam 1400 years after they lived.

I feel that Karbala in a way has recharged my “spiritual battery”, because of the scholars that helped me understand why we are here. Not just to pay respects to the Imams, but they also helped me refine my understanding of Islam in general, and what acts of Islam come before anything else you do to make you a better person in how you present yourself, but also in your piety.

For the last part of my essay, I would like to conclude with my farewell to the Holy Land of Karbala. We all went together with our group to give our final respects to the Imam before going back to Scotland. Leaving Karbala is not like leaving a holiday destination, where you miss the nice weather or the sunset. It is like leaving a part of yourself behind there, always longing for the return and remembering those blessed souls that you ever hardly see. This visit to Karbala is imprinted on my heart, and I can’t wait to go back and experience this again.

I still remember the incident clear as day…

I was only 6 at the time, and I was eagerly waiting for the bell to ring so I could go outside and run about. The clock struck 12 and the bell rang through the empty halls, causing children to start pouring out of the classrooms. I shot up out my chair, grabbed my packed lunch and pushed open the classroom door. The noise was overwhelming. I gradually pushed my way through the enormous crowd of people as I looked for my friends, but it was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

Eventually we all found each other and walked outside. Instantly the blistering hot rays of Texas weather shone off my sunscreen glazed neck. I loved the heat. The air conditioning in my classroom was malfunctioning, so it was always freezing. We leisurely strolled to a seat in the shade and opened our lunches as we began to talk. We chatted for a bit as we ravenously munched down on our sandwiches and then a lively athletic boy named Pelayo asked if we would like to play tag. Of course, we were all brimming with energy after being locked in the classroom all morning and so we all jumped at the chance to run around.

After a while of running around in the heat I was exhausted and decided to stand in the shade of the climbing frame for a minute to get my breath back. While taking long, deep breaths, I glanced up and saw the chaser sprinting towards me. I frantically looked around and decided my only option for escape was the climbing frame towering above me. Panting, I hurriedly made my way over to the frame and started to clamber up the rope to the top. I looked back and my pursuer was right behind me, his outstretched hands barely missing my feet as I scrambled up to the peak. I reached the top and quickly realised I was trapped, as all the exits were blocked by the other children playing.

Panicked, I looked at the boy who was chasing me as he pulled himself up to the top of the climbing frame, stood up and started walking towards me. The only thing I could think about was not getting tug and so as I backed away, my eyes fixed on the boy as he stalked towards me, I didn’t see the railing and I slowly toppled over it.

For a moment everything slowed. It took me a second to process what was happening, as the air brushed my skin. For a fleeting second, I felt almost graceful, floating through the air. Then, my body cracked against the ground and a sharp pain jolted through my body. I tasted the blood in my mouth as a sea of faces swam above me. I felt dizzy and tried to sit up but as I did so it felt like someone had hit my arm with a hammer. I excruciatingly rolled my head to face my left arm and in horror looked upon a completely disfigured mess.

I laid there as two nurses came and cautiously lifted me and took me back into the eerily quiet school. They laid me down on a table in the medical room as one rushed to get bandages and the other rained questions I couldn’t answer down upon me. I flicked my eyes around the room at the torn wallpaper and messy floors. The nurse returned with bandages, and I howled in agony as my arm was shifted around and wrapped up. In the distance, I heard someone talking about ambulances and broken arms.

After what felt like hours of laying on the table feeling helpless, I heard sirens outside and my mum tumbled through the door, a worried expression on her face. I heard my dad talking with someone outside the door and then paramedics came in and gave me strong painkillers before uncomfortably hauling me on to a stretcher. One paramedic tried to comfort me telling me it was all going to be fine as I was loaded into the back of the waiting ambulance.

Blissfully, the medication took hold and I fell into a restless sleep as the ambulance roared through the busy streets.

I awoke in a strange room with beeping noises all around me. The air smelled unsettlingly clean and as I grudgingly opened my weary eyes, I saw people wearing doctor’s uniforms rushing in and out. I recognised that I was wearing different clothes, as I was now lying on a stiff mattress in a soft silky robe. I noticed that the salty taste of blood in my mouth was gone and as I curiously looked at my previously disfigured arm, I saw that it was strapped to a table in a big bulky cast.

Straight away, I broke out of my medicine-induced daze and started to panic and cry. A nurse bolted into the room and started to calm me down as she called someone from a phone mounted to the wall behind me. I heard her talking to someone, telling them that I was awake and that I seemed fine.

A few minutes passed, and I heard footsteps near the door and in came a doctor followed by my mum and dad, tears in their eyes. I started to shout in delight as I could not have been more overjoyed to see them. I started trying to get up, but as I did so I felt as if my arm had been stabbed with a dagger, and I let out a yelp of pain.

The doctor that had entered with my mum and dad walked over to me, crouched down and began to carefully explain to me that I had broken my arm and had to have an operation where they put pins in it. He informed me that I would have to stay at the hospital overnight. He must have seen the sadness growing in my eyes because he quickly told me it would be an exciting adventure. I perked up a bit when he told me that I would have to wear the cast for a while, but that all my friends could draw on it and sign it. I thought about how cool it would be to show my new cast to my friends and so I nervously agreed to stay.

A day and lots of X-rays and checkups later I was released from the hospital, and as I walked out I took a deep breath of fresh air and let out a sigh of relief. The following weeks at school were some of the most interesting I’ve ever had, as they were filled with classmates surrounding me, hammering me with questions and teachers pampering me. I was a celebrity.

6 years later, I am still having problems with my arm due to a rare condition I have been diagnosed with named “necrosis of the radial head”. (At the central hospital in Texas, only 8 people have been diagnosed with this condition.) This makes me severely regret not paying attention to my surroundings at the time and it constantly annoys me that all the constant pain and discomfort I feel in my arm could’ve been avoided if I hadn’t played that game of tag. This incident was my first big learning experience and since then I have become a lot warier of my surroundings and learned to take precautions, because safety is not a joke and you should always listen to warnings. However, I did get one good memory out of it all: I got to ride in an ambulance.

I love poetry. I love writing poetry, reciting poetry and listening to poetry. It is like a language of its own. It can capture the most heart-felt emotions, or extraordinary experiences in the finest of details and in the fewest of words, whilst implanting a vision of beauty in the reader’s mind.  At times, the language used may seem incomprehensible, but if conveyed with passion and emotion, it becomes easier for the reader to understand the sentiment of the poem, and so becomes more understandable. Many people who recite or write poetry have a story to tell about how their passion for poetry was first ignited, and how it developed, and so do I.

Four years ago, I was sitting in class reading a book, when suddenly, our poetry and drama teacher burst through the door. With a voice as loud as a foghorn, she announced that “there would be a grand poetry recital competition”. Back then, I was not nearly as confident and as valiant as I am today, and whilst admittedly I thought it sounded rather intriguing, I was ambivalent about whether I should take part or not. However, the choice wasn’t made by me, but rather the drama teacher who automatically nominated me for the competition! Now, I was thinking ‘Say no, just say no and you’ll be fine!’ but for some reason unknown to me, I heard myself say “Yes, I’ll do it.” All the while thinking ‘WHY DID I SAY THAT?!’ In the days that followed I was still bewildered at agreeing to this and assumed it would something I would regret, perhaps for the rest of my life. I thought all my friends would laugh and tease me and consider this an absurd interest as they were all keen on sports, and if it turned out I wasn’t good at reading poetry, I was fearful this would make me look foolish, and that perhaps I would disappoint my family and teacher if I didn’t win the competition. I also feared it may impact my confidence for the future and put me off attempting similar events. However, contrary to those fears, it actually turned out to be something that would change my life, for the better.

Later that day, I received the first piece of poetry I would recite to an audience. It would also be the first piece of poetry that I recited in my life. So when I took a glance at it for the first time, my mouth slightly dropped. All these words in Scots Tongue didn’t look like words to me. It just seemed like a jumble of letters.  Looking at the lines made me sweat with panic. ‘How am I supposed to learn this?’ I thought to myself, with pounding heart.

It was a Robert Burns poem called ‘To a Louse’. And whilst it was only an extract that was 4 verses long, it still was enough to confuse me. A lot. It took me a whole week to learn this extract which was around 30 lines long.   I have since learned poems much longer than this and in far shorter time frames, which reflects how tricky I found it, but also that learning poetry, like so many other things, is a skill that improves with practice.

The competition itself wasn’t very difficult, and not as daunting as first thought.  I recited my poem, following this the adjudicator gave some constructive criticism. I really thought it would be extremely tough, like one of those situations that makes your heart race and your palms sweaty, and has moments of extreme tension throughout, but this was not the case.  

Unfortunately, I didn’t win. So you would think, ‘He tried, and he didn’t succeed. That must be really demotivating. This must be the end of his poetry career.’

Well, you would be wrong.

You see, I am the kind of person that is persistent. I try and try until I succeed. Later in the year, my school held a poetry competition which I entered, coming first place for the class round and securing a place in the finals. I was very presumptuous and designated a spot on my fireplace for my tremendous trophy. However, after hearing some of the other performers, I began to have second thoughts about whether I would win the competition or not.The standard was so high it would have been difficult for the judges to select a winner. So when I performed my poem, and the winners were getting announced, I could almost hear my heart beating, and felt it pound inside my chest. I felt like the room was becoming hotter than a sauna. Then when they announced each place and it wasn’t my name being called, I became slightly apprehensive. As first place was called and I heard “Liam Kearney!” I was both ecstatic and shocked, as it really could have gone either way as the standard was so high.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I saw the whole audience clapping and staring at me as I went up and collected my trophy. All the while I was thinking that perhaps I had been right to be egotistical and have faith in myself; after all as it seemed to have paid off. I felt accomplished, ecstatic, but most importantly, I felt extremely proud of myself.

Recital, of course, isn’t simply about reading words off a page, and I have a strategy that helps the learning and delivery of my poems: First, I learn the words, then I learn the hand gestures and actions that I want to incorporate into my delivery, and finally, I project the tone of my voice to suit the emotion I am trying to convey: In learning the poem I have to understand what it is about so I can deliver it well and this helps my audience understand the poem better. By engaging in poetry competitions it has given me various different opportunities to recite at other events, the most recent being the Linlithgow Folk Festival, an annual event I performed at last week. I was invited to perform two recitals and a song. However, the most enjoyable piece was most definitely the song. It was called the ‘Glesga Budgie’, and it was about a colossal Glasgow budgie. The best part about it was….my aunt was dressed up as the budgie! Everyone in the audience had a good laugh! Even I found myself laughing!

Poetry has changed my life for the better. From starting out as a timid young boy who was nervous to volunteer and participate in competitions, to become what I now believe, a confident individual who thrives in his deliverance of poetry and who now tries to participate in competitions wherever and whenever possible. Poetry has taken me to many different places; I have spoken at many different events, have addressed the Haggis on numerous occasions at different Burns’ nights, and it has made my life more enjoyable. It has also allowed me to meet new people, and participate in events, such as the Robert Burns Summer School hosted at The Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, which is a truly great event.

Reciting poetry isn’t for everyone, of course; if you have stage fright, and there is a huge audience awaiting an amazing performance, you can be afraid. I have seen this a few times, where the performers see the crowd, and their cheeks go as pink as cherries, but practise makes perfect. I have practised reciting poetry a lot and I never get afraid; nervous is not a word in my dictionary.

I love poetry, and I believe that everyone should too. Famous poets have even inspired me to write my own poems. I believe that poetry will help me with my English literature skills, and give me a greater chance of improving my performing arts.  It also helps me with my writing skills.

You never know, I might even become the next great poet!