All I ever wanted was to see the colours of the world. I wanted to hold them and feel them around me, lifting me up high into the air, giving flight to my dreams. Dreams that sometimes appeared blood red, and sometimes, the deepest blue of the skies. At certain times, these dreams would even appear to be a myriad of colours all merging into each other and emerging from each other, much like the sunrise – with its hues of red, orange, yellow and blue.
My life however, had been a perpetual journey revolving around, and spiraling from black and white. Having lost my sight at the age of ten, all I had left with me were memories. Memories that seemed to fade away into the eternity of time. At first I had hoped. Yearned. Believed. Waited. Until ultimately, I found myself resigned to this dull, new world, where everything appeared to be nothing, and nothing could be differentiated from everything. I tried harder and harder to come to terms with my reality, till eventually I learnt to appear satisfied. I learnt to seem happy.
People all around hailed me as an inspiration to society and elevated me to an unwanted pedestal. They did not know how to befriend me, so they applauded me. They talked about my disability being my strength, words that I mouthed, but never truly said. After all, the only thing I had ever wanted was to see the colours of the world, and it vexed me that no matter how hard I tried, I never would. My disability was just that. It did not cripple me, but crippled my dreams – my life. For what is life, if not an amalgamation of dreams?
In the midst of it all, there was one event that constantly plagued me. Even when all around me was changing, this event remained static. The one thing, I would never – could never – forget. The 17th of August, 1995. It was a bright summer morning, the wind, as gentle as it could be. Four little kids rushed about in the sprawling lawns of the Greenhouse Manor. The tiny girl, dressed in a frilly blue dress, with pigtails in her hair – was me. We’d been playing catch for over an hour and had decided to wrap it up with one final, magnificent and glorious round. Spread out in a square spanning over the entire ground, the ball travelled like lightning from one set of hands to another.
The rest is a quick blur. One minute I was lunging after the ball and the next, lying face down onto the ground. Bleeding. Unconscious.
A few months later, I had shifted away to another town. To another life. I spent my time immersed in studies, trying to learn everything I could about everything I couldn’t see. I travelled. I wrote. I found love. I found success. But I never found happiness.
Today, I stand here, on those very grounds of the Greenhouse Manor. Fifteen years have passed, and a lot has changed since I last stepped in here. Behind me, Josh, Sara and Emily stand uneasily. They probably feel as lost as I do. I turn towards them and hold out my hands. A second later, I feel the carved ridges of Emily’s ring press into my palm and Josh’s frayed watch-strap brush against my wrist. I take a deep breath and put one foot forward.
The wind whistles in my ear, as I step into the warm embrace of the sun. Warm like yellow. The grass below me is cool, yet prickly. Green. I run my hands against a rustic lamppost and feel the corroded metal. Mucky…brown. Red. Blue. It’s all around me. I can feel it in my emotions. In my touch. In the sounds I hear, and the things I taste.
Next to me, Sara laughs, her voice resonating across the landscape – a wonderful mixture of deep blue and gold - and somehow, I finally understand the truth. I can see the colours of the world. All that I see, are the colours of the world.
My life however, had been a perpetual journey revolving around, and spiraling from black and white. Having lost my sight at the age of ten, all I had left with me were memories. Memories that seemed to fade away into the eternity of time. At first I had hoped. Yearned. Believed. Waited. Until ultimately, I found myself resigned to this dull, new world, where everything appeared to be nothing, and nothing could be differentiated from everything. I tried harder and harder to come to terms with my reality, till eventually I learnt to appear satisfied. I learnt to seem happy.
People all around hailed me as an inspiration to society and elevated me to an unwanted pedestal. They did not know how to befriend me, so they applauded me. They talked about my disability being my strength, words that I mouthed, but never truly said. After all, the only thing I had ever wanted was to see the colours of the world, and it vexed me that no matter how hard I tried, I never would. My disability was just that. It did not cripple me, but crippled my dreams – my life. For what is life, if not an amalgamation of dreams?
In the midst of it all, there was one event that constantly plagued me. Even when all around me was changing, this event remained static. The one thing, I would never – could never – forget. The 17th of August, 1995. It was a bright summer morning, the wind, as gentle as it could be. Four little kids rushed about in the sprawling lawns of the Greenhouse Manor. The tiny girl, dressed in a frilly blue dress, with pigtails in her hair – was me. We’d been playing catch for over an hour and had decided to wrap it up with one final, magnificent and glorious round. Spread out in a square spanning over the entire ground, the ball travelled like lightning from one set of hands to another.
The rest is a quick blur. One minute I was lunging after the ball and the next, lying face down onto the ground. Bleeding. Unconscious.
A few months later, I had shifted away to another town. To another life. I spent my time immersed in studies, trying to learn everything I could about everything I couldn’t see. I travelled. I wrote. I found love. I found success. But I never found happiness.
Today, I stand here, on those very grounds of the Greenhouse Manor. Fifteen years have passed, and a lot has changed since I last stepped in here. Behind me, Josh, Sara and Emily stand uneasily. They probably feel as lost as I do. I turn towards them and hold out my hands. A second later, I feel the carved ridges of Emily’s ring press into my palm and Josh’s frayed watch-strap brush against my wrist. I take a deep breath and put one foot forward.
The wind whistles in my ear, as I step into the warm embrace of the sun. Warm like yellow. The grass below me is cool, yet prickly. Green. I run my hands against a rustic lamppost and feel the corroded metal. Mucky…brown. Red. Blue. It’s all around me. I can feel it in my emotions. In my touch. In the sounds I hear, and the things I taste.
Next to me, Sara laughs, her voice resonating across the landscape – a wonderful mixture of deep blue and gold - and somehow, I finally understand the truth. I can see the colours of the world. All that I see, are the colours of the world.
Loved the concept!
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