How Far Can a Drag Take You? (Story)

Kelvin always had big dreams. At 17, he wanted to be a designer, travel the world, and maybe even star in a movie titled The Boy Who Made It Big. But Kelvin also had a weakness: he couldn’t resist trying new things—whether it was spicy street food, the latest dance challenge, or, as it turned out, a “harmless” drag handed to him at a party.

“Come on, Kelvin. One drag won’t hurt,” his friend Jake had said with the confidence of someone who wasn’t on the honour roll. Everyone laughed, making him self-conscious. “Are you a baby?” Jake’s friend asked.

Kelvin laughed. “Fine, but if I end up on a billboard saying ‘Don’t Do Drugs’, it’s on you.”

That first drag didn’t turn him into a motivational poster, but it did turn into two, then three. Before he knew it, Kelvin was in a full-blown relationship with substances—and let’s just say it was not a healthy one.

Like lizards scrambling to hide in a dilapidated building, Kelvin would sneak into every isolated area to have some drag.

“Where have you been?” Miss Clair his professor asked him.

“I had a stomach ache. I had to excuse myself.”

“Why do your clothes smell like burnt offerings?”

Every lie only drove him further into a depressing lifestyle. His grades nosedived. His prized sewing machine, which he swore was going to launch his fashion empire, became a dusty relic in the corner of his room. Even his witty comebacks—the pride of his personality—became as sluggish as his mornings.

“Kelvin, where’s your assignment?” his professor asked one day.
“Uh… it’s taking a mental health day?” he replied weakly.

Kelvin’s life quickly became a comedy of errors, except no one was laughing anymore—not his parents, instructors and program advisor, and not Kelvin when he realised his bank account was emptier than his fridge.

“Kate, pass me the TV remote,” he commanded his sister.

“You have the strength for everything, including drugs. Go get the remote by yourself.”

Kelvin fumed and dashed after her. He beat her so carelessly that she was bruised. By the time his parents arrived, the heavens had lost calmness. Kelvin’s father vowed to send him to jail, but his mother begged for him to be sent to a correctional centre instead.

When he was bailed, his family had tossed out his belongings. His mother stood at the door, her expression unreadable, her hands trembling as she threw out some cash.

“We have disowned you. Carry your bag and go start your life elsewhere.”

Kelvin looked at his family one last time, hoping for a flicker of hesitation, a sign that they still loved him. But all he saw was disappointment and pain. Full of pride, he picked up his bag and left home without a goodbye. His mother went into her closet crying, and his father’s face was heavy. Everyone wondered what the future held in store.

Getting a family wasn’t as difficult as his parents thought. Kelvin found himself living in an uncompleted building with his peers. He often had enough gifts of drugs but had to scratch every surface for food. One fateful day, he suddenly saw some weapons which made him quiver. The earth suddenly became empty after he heard a bang on his head. “Who allowed this imbecile here?” he heard when he was finally conscious. He struggled to open his eyes, but he had been blindfolded.

“Spider, let’s give him a chance.”

“No, he can’t join us. He came from a religious background. He will soon spill the beans.”

“Then, let’s waste him.”

“No, Crocodile. His parents are nice people.”

That night, Kelvin got pushed out of the building and dumped like garbage inside a distant bush. Several months passed, and he was able to start his life with new-found friends, sharing a similar lifestyle. They spent the day begging for money from strangers and every evening on drugs.

At 26, Kelvin sat on a cracked park bench, the cold seeping through his threadbare jacket. The park was eerily quiet, the only sound was the rustle of leaves in the cold wind. Kelvin stared at the half-eaten sandwich in his hand, its stale taste lingering on his tongue. He stared at the sky, the stars blurred by the tears he refused to shed.

“So this is rock bottom, huh?” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought it would feel more like a crash, but it’s just… empty.”

Nearby, his fellow junkie was watching a program called #MyStoryLive on his device. The topic of the day was how the youth could discover their potential. Kelvin’s eyes flicked to the screen, and for the first time in months, he felt a spark—a tiny, fragile hope.

He reached for his phone, only to freeze when he saw the cheap walkie-talkie-like device in his hand. Memories flooded back: trading his smartphone for a night of escape, the lies, the shame. His fingers trembled as he dialled his sister’s number.

“Hey, sis,” he said, his voice cracking.

“Don’t ever call me again, Kelvin,” she snapped, but he could hear the pain beneath the anger.

“Please,” he begged, tears streaming down his face. “I need help. I can’t do this alone.”

There was a long pause. Then, softly, she said, “Where are you?”

Fortunately, his sister and mother showed up in their car a few hours later. Kelvin crept out of his hiding place to meet them. His mother looked at him dejected.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Just get in the car. We’ll talk when you’re ready to change.” There was silence as they drove him away.

They arrived at the rehab and Kelvin was admitted. As he walked along, he looked at the dull beige wall filled with people with a kaleidoscope of pain, hope, and resilience.

He threw himself on the bed and looked at the ceiling, then dipped his hands into his pocket maybe he could find one last wrap. “Stupid!” he screamed in disappointment.

Before long, he was invited for his first group session, which felt like an awkward family reunion with strangers. He saw those who had lost their sanity completely zoomed away in a van, making him sober. Still, he spent some days shouting, “Let me go. I can’t do this anymore.”

At a point when his body was shaking and water drooling from his face, he begged his counsellor, “I can’t do this anymore. I just need one more—just one more to get through this.”

“I can’t give you what will destroy you, Kelvin. But I can help you fight for something better,” the counsellor responded.

“I’m dying, please!”

“You are not dying but recovering. Your system has been altered, but you will be fine.”

As the days passed, he started to feel better. “I sold my sewing machine for what? A bag of chips and a bad decision?” he joked during one session.

Laughter became his secret weapon. It lightened the weight of guilt and reminded him that while he couldn’t change his past, he could rewrite his future. He was enrolled on Huggers’ Youth Mentorship to acquire the right skills for his post-therapy life. In that course, he read the article How to Outsmart Addiction within 3 Months. Meeting brilliant, inspiring people and learning new things opened his mind to opportunities. He even started sewing again during therapy downtime, turning his old rehab hoodie into a stylish jacket that made everyone in the centre jealous.

By the time he was out, his family had a reunion. Everyone was happy to see Kelvin in good shape and supported him.

“You know why we all avoided the old Kelvin?”

“We truly loved you. Your addiction was the problem. We couldn’t watch you burn our hard-earned money and drag our legacy into the mud.”

Two years later, Kelvin stood backstage at his first fashion show, adjusting the hem of a vibrant jacket he’d designed. The tagline “From rock bottom to runway” flashed on the screen behind him. His heart raced as he peeked through the curtains at the audience. There, in the front row, sat his sister and mother, their eyes glistening with pride.

After the show, his sister pulled him into a tight hug. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered, her voice cracking. Kelvin smiled, his eyes misty. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”

His mother was shedding tears of joy as the trio fell into a tight embrace. As they held each other, Kelvin realised that the journey wasn’t just about finding himself—it was about the people who loved him enough to help him rise again.

As a fashion designer, he built his investment portfolio and created an initiative helping youth overcome drug abuse. Now, Kelvin travels the country, sharing his story at schools and events. He opens every talk with: “You know, people ask me how far a drag can take you. My answer? Far enough to realise I was going the wrong way. But hey, the U-turn was worth it!”

One time, he was invited to speak at a conference sensitizing students on drug abuse: “Every choice you make leads you to a community, either positive or negative,” he said. “You will always have cheerleaders. Jake was my first cheerleader, then Papi Junior in the jungle. A drag can drag you away from your dream, but if you want a change, you can make it happen. God provides the river, but it’s up to you to reach for the water. It’s humane to be helpful, but you can’t help anyone without their consent. I wanted a change, and I went for it. If I can, you can. I believe in you.”