english,
When my mom met my dad, she thought it was just another day.
My mom couldn’t see color, well, not yet at least. She worked as a nurse in the emergency room of our town’s hospital. One day, my dad was rushed to the ER. He was involved in a car accident. He lost control and he swerved and crashed on the side of the road. When he reached the ER, my mom said, her job was to clean up as much as she could before the doctor decides what to do. When she heard from her supervisor, she ran quickly to reach the patient. She said that when she reached for the cloth and touched my father’s arm to wipe the bloodstain, a sudden surge of excitement filled her veins and as she blinked, she saw the color red for the first time. She had to stop and reflect on the whole scene before she could continue what she had to do. The redness of the blood, the blue masks the nurses were wearing, the green curtain behind them. She saw colors for the first time. Of course back then, she didn’t know what colors they were. She continued wiping off the blood and when the doctor came to stitch up the wound, she was asked to get the tools. She let go of my father’s arm and the world went back to black and white.
After that, she decided to just shrug it off. Maybe she was just hallucinating with the excitement of it all. She continued her job, cleaned up the mess, checked up on her patients, did her paperwork, logged out and went home. That night, she told me, she couldn’t sleep. The colors were too vivid to be imagined. She didn’t know what colors were back then. She’d often hear other people tell her about it. She’d read about them once.
They said, red is the color of anger or of love. It is the color when things are too warm. Or too cold, it becomes scalding. It’s when you’re with friends, chatting and bonding to the point where you feel like it’s home. But red can be steam leaking out your ears as your frustrations boil up inside you. It is when you shout from the bottom of your lungs. It is the color when you’ve gone too far, you might fall off. Blue was the color of sorrow or of serenity. It is when you are alone and no one seems to know you still exist. It is when the night is quiet and you feel calm. It is you when you feel like you’ve done everything right and it’s time to slow down and rest. It is drinking iced tea on a summer day. It is when you’re too mad but you love the person too much to be mad at them.
I asked her, how can one color mean different things and she told me that it depends on the shade, what I’m feeling and what I’m looking for. She also said that you’ll know it when you see it.
The next day, when she came back to work around seven in the morning, her colleague was already frantically looking for her. He said that the patient who came in last night, the one from the car accident, hadn’t slept at all because he was looking for her. They tried calling her phone but she couldn’t be reached. The patient also refused to take his meds or his breakfast until my mom comes and sees him. So she did.
When she got to his bed, he immediately reached for her hand. She let him hold it. “Your lips are red,” were the first words my dad ever said to my mom. Coincidentally, when my mom was busy contemplating red for the first time, he was too. But he wasn’t looking at his wounds or the blood but he was looking at the lady wiping it off. Her lips were red, her hair was brown and her eyes were too.
And that’s their story.
According to most people, you can only see the colors when you’ve met your special someone. I’ve never seen any color in my entire life except for black and white. Alright, gray. Light gray. Dark gray. Semi-dark grey. Semi-dark-but-only-a-little-bit-but-it’s-not-light gray. It’s all the same for me. I feel jealous of other people who could see real colors. They say you could only see them when your special someone is touching you, just like what happened to my mom and dad. My mom didn’t know she was wearing red lipstick. That morning, when she looked in the mirror, all she could see was her pale face and her dark lips. She chose that shade of gray because it looked good. It was dark but not too much, she said.
The magic color thing happened for my parents, aunts and uncles, and grandparents. And my big brother who tied the knot with his special someone.
My brother worked as a stock broker for several years. He dreaded each day of his life. I knew, because he told me he can’t handle life anymore. He tried finding the ‘magic’ with a bunch of girls but it never worked out. He tried forcing relationships even though there were no colors and of course, they didn’t work out. I told him to just hold on and start changing a few things in his life. But then, he shouted at me, told me how he could change anything when it’s all the same and stormed out. A few days after that, I texted him this local coffee shop that he could try. It wasn’t forced. Maybe he just needed a new blend, that’s all. That night, when he came home, he had the biggest smile on his face. He told us how the barista handed him his cappuccino, touched the tips of his fingers and he saw colors for the first time. He knew the barista saw it too because he smiled and said he liked my brother’s blue tie. My brother laughed at the way he hesitated to say “blue”.
A few months later, we headed to the court house. The couple decided on a civil union first so they could have enough time to save money for their next extravagant wedding on a beach. My brother was wearing a dark grey tie and Jay, his fiancée was wearing a light grey one (at least, in my point of view and then later Jay told me he was wearing a yellow one and my brother was wearing a dark blue one). Then, they got married.
Before leaving in his shiny black car, my brother hugged me and told me that my special someone could be anyone. I shouldn’t be scared or bothered because of the thought of not being able to find my special someone. I’m still young and I have my entire life ahead of me. I thanked him and then he left.
I have heard of people dying without ever knowing what colors looked like. Maybe for them it wasn’t meant to be but how about their special someone? Will they ever get to see colors?
I have been to museums, art exhibits, the sea, mountains, forests, roof deck of buildings, alleyways, cafes, bookstores, parks, streets, classrooms, malls. Everywhere. And I always try my best to appreciate these places the best way I could, even though I can’t.
A few days ago, I was in a museum, looking at a painting and a couple was standing beside me, I could hear one of them sighing, as if feeling what’s in the painting. The colors, the depth, the blending, everything. But I couldn’t do that. When I looked at the artwork, I felt like I was being suffocated. I couldn’t understand it. It’s choking me, eating me inside; to not see it’s completeness, hues and all since I have no one to think about while looking at the painting.
I want to be an artist. I paint, sketch, draw and design. But I long for the day I find someone who’ll see my artworks the same way that I do.
That day, when I got home, I ran to my mom and cried.
A few weeks into my last school year, we had a new student. He was introduced to us during my favorite period, Art. His name was Anton. He grew up moving from one school to another because his dad was in the army. He sat down beside me, at the right side of the room. I said hi and told him my name. He just smiled back. Our professor then called our attention, told us a few words about today’s tasks and we set off to work.
While I was thinking of what to draw, I played with my pencil in between my fingers. But the pencil decided to have a life of its own and jumped to his desk. I laughed, told him I was sorry and he handed me my pencil back. I said thanks and touched the tip of this thumb and that was it. I saw the colors of every artwork on our wall. I saw the color of my skin. I saw the
color of my shirt. I saw the color of the desk.
I saw the color of the pencil. I think it was yellow. My dad said it was the color of the sun. It is when you’re happy. It is when you’re hanging out with your friends. It is running on the beach, the sand kissing your toes while the sun rays all over you. It is when you finally get out of school in the afternoon, when you thought you’d get stuck in that math class forever. It is when you bake cookies for the first time and it was a success. It is when you feel like everything is right and nothing could go wrong.
He let go. But I grabbed his hand immediately. I looked at him and said, “Don’t you see it too?”
He raised one eyebrow and said, “See what?”
“The colors?” I asked anxiously.
He scoffed, took his hand off from mine and the world returned to black and white.
Literary: Black, White then Hue
When my mom met my dad, she thought it was just another day.
My mom couldn’t see color, well, not yet at least. She worked as a nurse in the emergency room of our town’s hospital. One day, my dad was rushed to the ER. He was involved in a car accident. He lost control and he swerved and crashed on the side of the road. When he reached the ER, my mom said, her job was to clean up as much as she could before the doctor decides what to do. When she heard from her supervisor, she ran quickly to reach the patient. She said that when she reached for the cloth and touched my father’s arm to wipe the bloodstain, a sudden surge of excitement filled her veins and as she blinked, she saw the color red for the first time. She had to stop and reflect on the whole scene before she could continue what she had to do. The redness of the blood, the blue masks the nurses were wearing, the green curtain behind them. She saw colors for the first time. Of course back then, she didn’t know what colors they were. She continued wiping off the blood and when the doctor came to stitch up the wound, she was asked to get the tools. She let go of my father’s arm and the world went back to black and white.
After that, she decided to just shrug it off. Maybe she was just hallucinating with the excitement of it all. She continued her job, cleaned up the mess, checked up on her patients, did her paperwork, logged out and went home. That night, she told me, she couldn’t sleep. The colors were too vivid to be imagined. She didn’t know what colors were back then. She’d often hear other people tell her about it. She’d read about them once.
They said, red is the color of anger or of love. It is the color when things are too warm. Or too cold, it becomes scalding. It’s when you’re with friends, chatting and bonding to the point where you feel like it’s home. But red can be steam leaking out your ears as your frustrations boil up inside you. It is when you shout from the bottom of your lungs. It is the color when you’ve gone too far, you might fall off. Blue was the color of sorrow or of serenity. It is when you are alone and no one seems to know you still exist. It is when the night is quiet and you feel calm. It is you when you feel like you’ve done everything right and it’s time to slow down and rest. It is drinking iced tea on a summer day. It is when you’re too mad but you love the person too much to be mad at them.
I asked her, how can one color mean different things and she told me that it depends on the shade, what I’m feeling and what I’m looking for. She also said that you’ll know it when you see it.
The next day, when she came back to work around seven in the morning, her colleague was already frantically looking for her. He said that the patient who came in last night, the one from the car accident, hadn’t slept at all because he was looking for her. They tried calling her phone but she couldn’t be reached. The patient also refused to take his meds or his breakfast until my mom comes and sees him. So she did.
When she got to his bed, he immediately reached for her hand. She let him hold it. “Your lips are red,” were the first words my dad ever said to my mom. Coincidentally, when my mom was busy contemplating red for the first time, he was too. But he wasn’t looking at his wounds or the blood but he was looking at the lady wiping it off. Her lips were red, her hair was brown and her eyes were too.
And that’s their story.
According to most people, you can only see the colors when you’ve met your special someone. I’ve never seen any color in my entire life except for black and white. Alright, gray. Light gray. Dark gray. Semi-dark grey. Semi-dark-but-only-a-little-bit-but-it’s-not-light gray. It’s all the same for me. I feel jealous of other people who could see real colors. They say you could only see them when your special someone is touching you, just like what happened to my mom and dad. My mom didn’t know she was wearing red lipstick. That morning, when she looked in the mirror, all she could see was her pale face and her dark lips. She chose that shade of gray because it looked good. It was dark but not too much, she said.
The magic color thing happened for my parents, aunts and uncles, and grandparents. And my big brother who tied the knot with his special someone.
My brother worked as a stock broker for several years. He dreaded each day of his life. I knew, because he told me he can’t handle life anymore. He tried finding the ‘magic’ with a bunch of girls but it never worked out. He tried forcing relationships even though there were no colors and of course, they didn’t work out. I told him to just hold on and start changing a few things in his life. But then, he shouted at me, told me how he could change anything when it’s all the same and stormed out. A few days after that, I texted him this local coffee shop that he could try. It wasn’t forced. Maybe he just needed a new blend, that’s all. That night, when he came home, he had the biggest smile on his face. He told us how the barista handed him his cappuccino, touched the tips of his fingers and he saw colors for the first time. He knew the barista saw it too because he smiled and said he liked my brother’s blue tie. My brother laughed at the way he hesitated to say “blue”.
A few months later, we headed to the court house. The couple decided on a civil union first so they could have enough time to save money for their next extravagant wedding on a beach. My brother was wearing a dark grey tie and Jay, his fiancée was wearing a light grey one (at least, in my point of view and then later Jay told me he was wearing a yellow one and my brother was wearing a dark blue one). Then, they got married.
Before leaving in his shiny black car, my brother hugged me and told me that my special someone could be anyone. I shouldn’t be scared or bothered because of the thought of not being able to find my special someone. I’m still young and I have my entire life ahead of me. I thanked him and then he left.
I have heard of people dying without ever knowing what colors looked like. Maybe for them it wasn’t meant to be but how about their special someone? Will they ever get to see colors?
I have been to museums, art exhibits, the sea, mountains, forests, roof deck of buildings, alleyways, cafes, bookstores, parks, streets, classrooms, malls. Everywhere. And I always try my best to appreciate these places the best way I could, even though I can’t.
A few days ago, I was in a museum, looking at a painting and a couple was standing beside me, I could hear one of them sighing, as if feeling what’s in the painting. The colors, the depth, the blending, everything. But I couldn’t do that. When I looked at the artwork, I felt like I was being suffocated. I couldn’t understand it. It’s choking me, eating me inside; to not see it’s completeness, hues and all since I have no one to think about while looking at the painting.
I want to be an artist. I paint, sketch, draw and design. But I long for the day I find someone who’ll see my artworks the same way that I do.
That day, when I got home, I ran to my mom and cried.
A few weeks into my last school year, we had a new student. He was introduced to us during my favorite period, Art. His name was Anton. He grew up moving from one school to another because his dad was in the army. He sat down beside me, at the right side of the room. I said hi and told him my name. He just smiled back. Our professor then called our attention, told us a few words about today’s tasks and we set off to work.
While I was thinking of what to draw, I played with my pencil in between my fingers. But the pencil decided to have a life of its own and jumped to his desk. I laughed, told him I was sorry and he handed me my pencil back. I said thanks and touched the tip of this thumb and that was it. I saw the colors of every artwork on our wall. I saw the color of my skin. I saw the
color of my shirt. I saw the color of the desk.
I saw the color of the pencil. I think it was yellow. My dad said it was the color of the sun. It is when you’re happy. It is when you’re hanging out with your friends. It is running on the beach, the sand kissing your toes while the sun rays all over you. It is when you finally get out of school in the afternoon, when you thought you’d get stuck in that math class forever. It is when you bake cookies for the first time and it was a success. It is when you feel like everything is right and nothing could go wrong.
He let go. But I grabbed his hand immediately. I looked at him and said, “Don’t you see it too?”
He raised one eyebrow and said, “See what?”
“The colors?” I asked anxiously.
He scoffed, took his hand off from mine and the world returned to black and white.
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