The most interesting part of being who I am is the opportunity to see different stories and experiences of people. I have witnessed so much over the years, but no one has stood out quite like Sammy.
Sammy was five when I first saw him. He played in the sandbox and would easily befriend any new kid who joined him at the park. He was a funny kindergartener—always hungry, always ready to help. But time does not wait for anyone, and in the blink of an eye, Sammy grew up. Before I knew it, he was ten.
One day, instead of going home after school, Sammy came to the park and sat beside me. He leaned against my trunk and let out a deep sigh. Then, without a word, he began to cry. I had never seen Sammy so sad, and I wished he would speak. But all I could do was stand there, letting the wind carry his unspoken thoughts. I wanted to comfort him, so I let a leaf fall gently onto his head.
As soon as the leaf landed, Sammy looked up at me and finally spoke.
“Ahh! You know, today I lost my pencil, and my best friend failed the math test.”
I was puzzled. What did losing a pencil have to do with his friend’s test? A deep silence followed before Sammy spoke again.
“It wasn’t that he didn’t know the answers… It was just that he gave me his pencil, and I didn’t realise he only had one! I feel so bad. I don’t want to go home, and I don’t know how to face him. He should have told me… or maybe I should have asked! I don’t know what to do or what to say to him.”
He wiped his tears and continued.
“He told me he would just tell his parents that he forgot to study. But I don’t want him to lie.”
I understood his worry. Saying he “forgot to study” might not sound believable—especially since his friend was good at math. Sammy sighed again.
“His parents are kind, but I’m afraid they won’t believe him. Sigh! I should have just told the teacher that I lost my pencil. I can’t believe what a mess I’ve caused for my friend.”
Sammy stood up and paced back and forth, biting his fingertips. Then, suddenly, he stopped.
“I know what I have to do,” he said with determination. “I’ll go to his house and tell his parents everything. Thank you for listening! You’re a good friend.”
Before Sammy left, I wanted to tell him not to frown, not to blame himself. But I could not speak. Even if I tried, he would not hear me—for I am but an old oak tree, a silent companion offering shade and rest.
Yet, in that moment, I felt something different.
For years, I have stood in silence, watching lives unfold. Today, for the first time, I am not just an observer—I am a friend.
— Christina K Sangma