The Rock’s Story


I am a rock.

A huge rock.

Some people call me Uluru and some people call me Ayer’s Rock
although I do not know who Ayer is and how I had become his possession.

Sometimes people call me the red rock. I think they are racists.

I stand in the middle of Ozland.
Because I am big, I am able to hold the land still, so it won’t drift away by the sea.

You know, I am a powerful rock.

But also a lonely rock.

I am surrounded by almost nothing.

Although lots of people from all over the world come down here to see me,
I know they aren’t here to accompany me.

They come to see me because I am big and I am famous.

You know, people are obsessed with big things,
anything unusually big becomes famous immediately.

In Ozland, for example, we have the famous Big Banana, the Big Merino, the Big Pineapple, the Big Golden Guitar, the Big Lobster, … and the list goes on.


However, I know I am different from all these big things,
because I am not artificial, I am natural. This is the source of my pride.

They are beautiful (perhaps), but I am beauty.

The local aboriginal people are lovely people.
They look after me, protect me and respect me.

They politely asked the tourists not to climb on me, although many of them still do.

It feels like ants climbing up one’s body, and when they reach the top of the head,
they jump once, twice, three times…until they capture a perfect jumping picture which they then share with their friends across the ocean.


There are many stories being told about me.

Those tourists, often are obessive-compulsive with picture taking, are so amazed when they heard of these stories. They look at me while listening to their tour guide speaking about me. And the next thing they would do…is holding up their cameras.

For them, these stories about me are fascinating,
but for me, witnessing their stories here every day is the most pleasing experience.

Sometimes I am happy, sometimes I am sad; sometimes angry, sometimes rested; sometimes merry, sometimes lonely.

My mood changes as the sun rises and sets.

If you can fathom the meaning of my words, then you know I am not just a rock.


One Reply to “The Rock’s Story”

  1. This is so beautifully written. I love how the rocks mood changes and you can witnesses it through the setting sun. I also love the last line. It reminds me of people and how we judge so fast by outside appearances we don’t take time to look under the skin.

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