The Single Red Line - By Sonica Neethling

Written By: Sonica Neethling

Category: Personal Essay

Competition: Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026

In her evocative personal essay, "The Single Red Line," Sonica Neethling delves into the intricacies of longing and hope. Contributing to the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026, Neethling offers an introspective exploration of desire, capturing the emotional landscape of waiting and the deep yearning for motherhood. Her essay resonates with universal themes of anticipation, love, and the tender balance between dreams and reality.

About the Work

"The Single Red Line" poetically explores the emotional rollercoaster associated with the possibility of pregnancy. Neethling masterfully captures the tension between hope and fear, weaving rich imagery and personal reflection into a narrative that speaks to the heart. The essay meditates on themes of longing and patience, drawing readers into a world where a single line on a test can hold the weight of countless dreams and aspirations.

The Single Red Line

Original Submission by Sonica Neethling

The Single Red Line

By Sonica Neethling

Two red lines have become the object of my desire. Clammy tiles stick to my bare feet and, even though the bath’s rim is cool to the touch, warm air leaks in from the window. The sun is shy but smiling as hope rises in my heart. It flutters like a nervous bird in a cage and the three predetermined minutes pass slowly.

A small plastic screen holds the potential of not one, but two red lines, inspiring excitement and fear in equal measure. My lips purse in moments of utter anguish but then I laugh in pure, imagined bliss, hope clinging to me like sticky fingerprints on an empty glass. Or a full one? Two minutes left.

I’ve become an uncertain wreck. A crumpled plastic bag to my left reads: “You pay less at Clicks”. With every trip to the pharmacy, what I save in Rands, I spend in fret and anxiety in that one, specific aisle. I have to pass the other section to get there, too. Breast pumps, diapers, formula— those products beckon my already-rampant imagination to a yellow nursery carefully erected somewhere in my mind. There’s only a minute left on the timer now.

The truth is ironic, really. I’ve discovered this fervent longing to be pregnant while on contraception. Yes, I’m on The Pill, and not actually actively trying to conceive. Somehow, a single missed tablet has left a trail of unbridled hope in its wake! The subsequent late-night Google searches and ChatGPT conversations strung each supposed symptom together, until I was left with a homemade friendship bracelet of What Ifs.

The timer erupts. My hands shake as I reach for the test stick. Perhaps if I wait a second longer, I’d be solidifying the results in some way.

One, two, three… Turn.

“It’s impossible, dear,” explained a beloved friend last week. She’s wise and an avid reader, having explained that oral contraception does a lot of things to a woman’s body. One such inevitable thing is that, well, it prevents conception. It would be impossible for me to be pregnant, yes.

Yet the sudden exhaustion was a gut punch. I’ve begun to clock into restrooms like some people stamp timesheets at work. And, while I’ve not exactly needed a bucket beside the bed, it’s like I’ve been at sea: my insides feel wobbly all the time. In fact, it must’ve been the coffee that set me off on this delusion. I manage four cups daily… easily! But two sips into cup number three, and I was battling to swallow.

The coffee shop was a quaint little place. It popped up recently around here. The front door would make a fire truck blush— that’s why I went inside in the first place. However, it was the iced latte that stuck me to a chair. There’s just something about fresh, full-cream milk, isn’t there? I might want to slow down on the cream, actually. My jeans are already bulging at the waist. Could it be with a new life?

No. Most probably, not. Instead, my stomach is padded with comfort. The comfort of a deeply satisfying marriage to a beautifully peaceful man. The kind that makes any woman delete the calorie-counter application straight after the honeymoon. Now, that’s rare, I know. Finding a husband like mine is like finding a vintage pendant marked as costume jewellery, only to discover the Queen’s been missing an accent piece for decades. I’m deeply grateful, and he knows it.

He knows. The desire for two lines on that small little screen is a shared desire. Why, then, did we opt for contraception? Raising a family is a costly thing. Sacrificial, yes, but also expensive. And we’re not exactly two Chartered Accountants living in luxury! We wanted to be wise. We wanted to wait. We wanted to plan, but we didn’t plan to want this so much, so soon.

Perhaps three years into our lovely marriage isn’t exactly “soon”. No, rather it’s wholesome, timely, and it just seems right. It seems right to me, just like these tiny cramps seem indicative of something wonderful developing inside of me. The truth remains, however, that this could simply be another month’s luteal symptoms; mere suppositions. I could be imagining things, petitioning my Maker for a gift on this side of eternity when its occasion has not yet culminated fully. It’s always the timing of things that impacts us most.

A birthday gift presented on a random Tuesday months before the day one celebrates instantly loses its magic. An engagement ring with no intent of commitment is a sparkly ornament, at most. Flowers too long after the anniversary feel lazy, like an afterthought. No, I’m no longer a child peeking at Christmas presents before the tide. I am determined to wait for the moment’s full glory: a present unwrapped at the height of expectation and excitement.

I wonder at surfers and the swell of the sea. Perhaps they can sense the rise of the water as it comes. Perhaps they anticipate the gentle lift, tasting the surge in the salt before the rush of a fresh wave breaks. When the wave eventually comes, seeming sudden even after long moments of waiting, the thrill must be all-consuming. The adrenaline spurs them into action, strengthening strained muscles with an electric shock as they leap onto their boards to ride the horizon to its very end.

Is it a swell I’m sensing? The emotions, the exhaustion, the endearment to the idea of holding a life, nourished within me, in my hands after months of incubation— it could be the signs of the time. But perhaps I’m merely a surfer obsessed with the awaiting thrill. So much so that the waiting becomes tedious to me, no longer part of the experience, but a punishment endured. I have made the breaking wave my sole desire, pouring my soul into its promise of eventual satisfaction, and leaving nothing left to sustain me as I wait.

Weren’t human beings made to wait? We wait nine months to make our first appearance on the earth, then we spend the next eighty or so years waiting, still. Naturally, the seasons of waiting shift: we wait to go to school and then to finish up our studies, to pursue our dreams and to find new ones, to meet new people and to meet The One.

But we rebel against the design, you see. We rage against delayed gratification, demanding everything be instantaneous and easy. Waiting is hard, after all. It demands quiet perseverance, maintained composure, and self-control. Patience is to waiting what sugar is to Five Roses: its sweetness lingers in the warmth, a small comfort to the initial jolt of bitterness.

Mom prefers her tea sweet. She likes it to steep well, adding two sugars as soon as the steam settles. I find it poetic, actually. She’s a strong woman, unapologetic and sometimes slightly uncalled-for, yet tender in how she loves me, and so sincere. This balance of the bittersweet is what makes her my mother. Anger always gives way to empathy and irritation subsides to understanding. It’s an acquired taste, but one I have come to cherish from my childhood, from countless nights spent together reading fantastical stories of other worlds. Like a strong-but-sweet cup of tea, our evening reading times served as a steaming balm against the harsh realities of life.

The plastic is smooth beneath my finger tips but not cold. A pregnancy test is lightweight for many reasons, but this one feels heavy. With it, I’m holding an intricately-woven tapestry in my hands, not only of my own dreams but of others’, too. My husband’s dream of fathering a sweet girl whom we’ll dress in pink and yellow frocks; my parents’ hopes of playing outside on the lawn with a grandchild; my dear sister’s plans of visiting us more frequently.

Two red lines have become the object of my desire, and so the offensive amount of white space in this little screen, leading up to a single red line, should very well shock me. It should send me into a spiral of disappointment and trepidation. It should leave me hopeless; defeated, even. Instead, a humbling thought contents me: that I am the vessel of such precious dreams.

This tapestry of long-awaited pleasure is colourful. It weaves together childhood ecstacies with hard-earned lessons in a sea of splendid memories. Patterned and textured, the encapsulated tale is one of What Has Been and of What Could Be, still. And, although I might not have woven this tapestry, I hold it. I hold it lightly. I hold it gratefully. I hold it fast as I wait. I wait eagerly for the swell of the tide, the breaking of the wave, and the exhilaration of the surf. For when that wave breaks, we’ll be shoreward-bound for certain.

About the Competition

The Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026 by Hashtag Kalakar celebrates the art of writing by inviting participants from around the globe to share their creative voices. This prestigious competition fosters a vibrant community of writers, offering a platform for both emerging and seasoned authors to express their unique perspectives and narratives.

We extend our heartfelt thanks to Sonica Neethling for sharing "The Single Red Line" with us in the Global Poetry and Creative Writing Competition 2026. Her poignant reflections on desire and waiting offer readers a profound glimpse into the human experience. We appreciate her contribution and are grateful for the opportunity to showcase her work.

About Hashtag Kalakar

Hashtag Kalakar is a creative platform dedicated to providing artists, writers, singers and other creative talents with opportunities to showcase their work and reach wider audiences through competitions, features and creative initiatives.