JUUC FirstLight

  Anything the devil gives to you is never for free Even after many, many years, you still randomly remember the time you watched your father’s coffin being lowered into the earth by four men who looked like they had an eating disorder. You looked around and saw your younger siblings in tears, all six of them. Your mother had cried so much she couldn’t cry anymore, so she just stared blankly with her swollen eyeballs. Some other people who you’d never known were present and crying and you wondered whether your father even knew them at all. You would’ve thought they belonged to the community of drunks who beat up their wives every night, but they looked responsible. Well, your father did too. Then you willed yourself to cry, not because you were worried about people asking why the deceased’s first son was dry eyed as his father was being buried, but because you didn’t want to risk anybody catching any clue that it was you who ended his life. Life was tough. Too tough. You had gradua...

   I am the colour of my mother's eyes. At birth, she spat cataracts into my eyes and beckoned me to see. I grasped for shadows, blindly obedient  until my fingers grazed a spindle. I learned in that moment that this darkness is a two-faced friend, and I am its blindfolded dancer, swaying to its echoes. At 13, I sat with this darkness and christened it 'friend'. I was forced to memorize this night's fierce pulse, and to engaged it in whispers and pillow talks . Until at 18, I bade it farewell. I learnt to take giant steps and minute leaps, or so I thought. Then this darkness whispered in syrupy tunes, "Have your scars not taught you anything? Don't you know, dear child, that these cataracts are yours to own And your children's children?" Now, at 24, I am the color of my eyes. I am neither blind nor seeing. I've come to embrace these shadows as my heritage and drink from the depths of its secrets. I've learned too much from my scars to find sola...

  Do you still think of me? I'm not obsessed with you. I'm not stalking you either. I just want to see what you're up to, since we don't talk anymore.  Do you remember how we were, me and you? We had that diary where we wrote to each other, not professing love or any of that mushy stuff, just being honest.  We sat together everywhere, even in the chapel where those nosy teachers could have seen us. Not that we cared. Do you remember when I ran through my monthly allowance and you bought me snacks without me asking? Do you remember they said I'd charmed you, that you were in love with me. You paid them no mind, and neither did I. But I knew they weren't lying. Because even though you told me about the girls you liked, the girls you'd made out with, I knew it was true. You loved me. You didn't say it, but you showed it. Every single damn time. In the subtlest of ways. In the way you always held my hands, the way you came over to my class every time you wer...

My heart was full of trust and love, For those I thought were my brothers, We shared our joys and tears together and I thought our bond would last forever. But little did I know, deceit was near And those I trusted would soon bring me pain, Their smile hid knives and their words were lies, And my heart was about to realize  The pain of betrayal cut so deep,  like a knife that pierced my soul's sleep, I thought we had bond of trust and might, But it was all fake a disguise in sight. I gave them all my heart and soul and they repaid me with a bitter role Their betrayal was a wound that wouldn't heal  And I was left to pick the pieces I feel. The sadness of being wronged by those I loved, It was a weight I couldn't shake or move, It stayed on, a constant pain, and a reminder of the trust that was in vain. But still, I rise, I heal, I move on and learn not to trust again, Though it is hard to be strong for the memories of betrayal still remains and the sting of hurts will for...

  In honour and pain I fight, yet live. I paint the street with blood b'cause freedom in this city needs to flood with red. I'm black, but my life is red. The very life we live is exchanged for your safety. Slumbering and awaking, you walk the streets unstressed. I'm in my distress, and you guffaw? Ohh!! How silly!!! Bloody civilians!!! I leave my honeymoon to a battlefield full of men. I barely sleep, not knowing my fate as the signs from the sky, turn black night. Will my men live or die? What does the future predict upon tomorrow? Tomorrow will always handle itself, but my men fall by death's sword. The road is red and the my heart is grieved. The civilians basked in jollity.... .....their faces tell that the enemies have eaten the dust. Yet, in my honour and pain I'm between two choices. To celebrate or weep. You never really know the full story. ......we went in numbers but returned  ..........the story is never full.....but we're Expendables ........ fashi...

  If you’ve ever wanted to know what "practice week" really feels like, then buckle up—I’m taking you behind the scenes, through my personal experience as a proud member of JUUC Chambers. And not just any member, mind you, but a certified Team Love girlie (best team, no debates, even if the others want to argue). *Winks. Courtroom Realities: First Stop We kicked off Practice Week with a court visit. Now, books will try to prepare you, but nothing truly does. The moment I stepped into the courtroom, I felt it,that calm, solemn, almost sacred air. It was pin-drop silent. We witnessed about three cases. All were adjourned, but the first? Electrifying. One of the lawyers was so fierce and compelling, I couldn’t look away. Sadly, it ended too soon—adjourned again. Still, I felt that courtroom fire light up something in me. Of course, we documented it—pictures, reflections, the whole thing. But I didn’t know that was just the beginning. Into the Deep: Arbitration Drama Then came th...

This article was brought to you by: The Section on Future of Law.