"That's real stunning, that is," the man remarked. I looked up, startled.
"Sorry?" I struggled to return to reality. A man stood beside me, looking up at the large rectangular canvas before us.
"That," he said, nodding his head to the mounted canvas. "It's a true work of art. Although it's in black and white, it seems to explode in colour and life. The amount of detail in it is impressive, particularly since it is on such a large canvas. It must've taken years to complete."
"Actually," I replied, frowning slightly at the large painting. "It only took six months. I still think I could've added more to it, but it just didn't seem to be able to take anymore."
Now it was the man's turn to be startled. He turned to look at me quickly.
"You mean to say- that you?..." He gasped. I nodded and extended my hand. "This-this is amazing," he continued, grasping my hand and shaking it vigorously. "I can't believe I'd actually have a chance to meet the genius behind all this!"
"I come here most days, while the exhibition is still on," I said, laughing uneasily. Why is it that first meetings were always so awkward?
"Well, this is certainly me lucky day," the man beamed at me, and for a moment, the look in his lit eyes stopped me. But I quickly recovered when he drew out two books and a pen from his worn briefcase.
"I am such a fan of your work you can not imagine," he said, flipping through the pages of his books. "I never liked black and whites much, I always fancied something with more colour...but your works changed my views entirely."
"You're thinking far too highly of my paintings, sir," I laughed, trying to sound nonchalant, but I was trying my hardest to stop myself from blushing with pleasure. I took the pen from him and signed his books with a flourish. My hands were concentrating on balancing the books on my knee, signing the monochrome covers, trying to keep up with the man's excited chatter, and yet my mind was starting to wander far far away.
After he left, I sat down on a bench in the middle of the gallery. Throngs of people drifted in and out, examining the paintings on the walls and gasping and exclaiming. I felt comfortably invisible, just sitting there watching the passing faces, none of them familiar. I saw plenty of couples, walking hand in hand, nestled close, arms around one another. It made my heart ache. I sighed. It's been so long, I thought to myself bitterly. So, so long. I've made it so far. I've achieved so much. Yet there was just that one part of me that refused to let go of the past. How on Earth could I have fallen so helplessly in love with that one person that could never be mine? The question remained unanswered after all these years.
I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes, blocking out the bright overhanging lights of the gallery. In the darkness behind my eyelids, I slowly recalled the tender, yet painful images of my past. The dark hair. The soft, pouty lips. The pale skin. And those eyes- those brilliant eyes that sparkled oak in the sun and rippled ebony in the shade. It was the look in that man's eyes that brought back all these memories. That look of joy and laughter that brought his entire face to life. I remember spending sleepless nights just recalling the laughter I was so used to, imagining the sly grin, the curve of those lips when they broke into a soft, secretive smile. Always so mysterious, so enigmatic, the one code I could never decipher.
I should've released all these feelings long ago. I should've thrown them away with the rest of my past, bury them beneath the sands of time. Yet, over and over again, those pictures would return to me. Everything I did seem to revert to the past- when I was drinking coffee, driving back to an empty home at night, dipping my paintbrush into my black, grey and white palette.
It was because of this, because of all this love I allowed myself to shower upon a solid wall. It was because of this that I never looked at anyone else. It was in my head that as long as I'd never have my feelings returned, I'd never love anyone else again. Many a time I was overcome by the manic urge to kick myself hard. For torturing myself this way, unable to let go and forget, holding on to a past that should've long been forgotten. But it was hard attempting to break the habit, and though here I am, miles away from any familiar faces, the feelings within me seethed and bubbled, instead of cooling and stilling.
Ever since I'd left almost five years ago, I'd never wanted to return. Of course, I nver forgot to take the annual holiday back to my family, but that was simply out of the sake of regularity. I avoided certain parts of town where I know the memories would hurt me most. Which is rather ridiculous as I have not heard from any of my past acquaintances ever since I first left. It wasn't particularly hard not to, really. I did the simplest thing I could think of, the only thing I was ever good at. Fading from people's memories. Melted, evaporated, poof. Gone without a trace. Perhaps a few telltale here and there to serve as remembrance, only looked at by those who felt the way I did. But 'those' were few and very far between.
A loud cry of a child broke me out of my reverie. I looked up, returning to the harsh lights and decorated walls. A little boy lay on the floor, screaming blue murder. His mother- a small, flustered woman with red cheeks, hastily bundled him up and took him away. I sat still, unmoved. It was almost seven, yet the crowds kept coming in. Apparently I was more popular than I thought I was. It's that or these people were simply finding an excuse to escape the cold. Neither was I, actually. I wasn't at all keen to face the bitter cold of the night yet. I decided to people-watch for another half-hour, maybe walk around the gallery to look at the other exhibitions, before I went out and shopped for dinner. During this crazed holiday season, every other shop would be up till almost midnight, so I'd have no trouble finding a cozy delicatessen open somewhere round the corner. I remember how I used to be as hyped up as everyone else this time of the year, but now I can't even bother to summon up enough energy to care. It didn't matter the time of the year- it was always winter to me. Cold, numb, and bitterly cold. Like the brain-freezing slushies of summer and the first frosts of December. I remembered how I'd been so excited to see the first snowfall when I'd first came here. I'd ran out, struggling into a thin jacket that did little to protect me from the cold. All I wanted to do was make a snowman and roll in the cool white powder, but yet again memories stopped me dead in my tracks. Remembering how much we used to go on about snow...the white snow of our imaginations. It made the very white in my hands seem like live, black coals. Compared to the drought of loneliness, snowmen seemed utterly irrelevent.
Thundering of feet. Stamping and squeaking across the polished floors of the gallery. The echoes made it hard to tell which direction it was coming from. I never understood how parents could allow their kids to chase one another-or themselves, for that matter- in public areas. It's a good thing there aren't any pots or statues around, I thought. Else somebody would have pretty empty stockings this Christmas. Though it isn't quite impossible for a kid to backflip into one of the canvesses- children do have this tendency to defy gravity when the need arises. I tried to imagine the look on the poor parent's face when a warm weight fell upon me from behind, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist. The sound of panting, followed by a soft chuckle that brought all my memories back in a sweeping flood. The arms tightened around me as that sweet voice I thought I'd never hear again tickled in my ear.
"Found you".
Perhaps spring was coming sooner than I'd expected.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Chapter 3: Paradise
I didn't know what happiness was until I gazed at the scenery before me. I stood atop the hill, the sweet, soft grass tickling my bare feet, the cool breeze whistling in my ears. It ran through my hair, caressing my skin with gentle, unseen fingers.
Below me lay the most beautiful scene I had ever set my eyes upon. Heaven on Earth. That was the first thing that came into my mind when I first saw it. The lush green hill, dotted with purple and yellow wildflowers, sloped gently down to a small pond surrounded by sweet-smelling rushes. I could catch a faint glimpse of emerald ripple from where I stood. Though I couldn't see it, I know that the dragonflies were at the pond already, skimming the glimmering surface with their iridescent wings. Beyond the pool stood the forest, dim and cool and inviting. The forest was filled with bluebells at this time of year. I could see patches of bright blue in the darkness of the trees. I drew a deep breath, taking in the sweet, fresh scent of country air. This was it. This was the happiness we'd always wanted. This was the place we were looking for all this while.
We. My happiness died. Realisation dawned on me, that there was no 'we' any longer. Up till that day it had always been the two of us, searching for Paradise, two wild adventurers on a quest in search of the unknown. But not anymore. There was only 'me' left, much as I didn't want to face it.
I looked down at the green pond. I fumbled in the pocket of my coat, searching until I found what I was looking for. I drew it out carefully. It was a folded piece of paper. I opened it slowly, my fingers trembling. I fought the tears back as best I could. When I had unfolded it, there it was. Lovingly sketched, his hand around mine, this was the reason for our search, etched forever on a little scrap of drawing paper.
It was a simple sketch, really. It certainly wasn't one of his best, but it was most certainly the one that held the most meaning to me. To us. We drew it together when we were still in the city. Sitting at a small street cafe, waiting for our cheese bagels and coffee, cursing the noisy vehicles honking past us, dirty black smoke vomiting out of them.
"This is crazy," I had grumbled, fanning myself with a napkin. "Remind me again- what exactly are we doing here?"
"Calm down," He had said. His face was calm and serene, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"Calm down?" I had been incredulous, so the words came out sharper than I'd meant them to be. But the whole situation was so surreal I had done nothing but continue on. "I can't calm down!. This weather, all these cars, this choked-up feeling, it's all too overwhelming! I can't take it anymore, and all you can say is calm down?!"
He laughed at my outburst. Oh, that sweet, soft chuckle. He had always laughed at what I said, whether I'd meant it as a joke or not. But I knew that he had always taken me seriously. I knew he did then, because after I'd sulked in silence, he spoke seriously, "Maybe we should go away somewhere."
"Yeah, sure. To Paradise, right?" I rolled my eyes. That was our private joke. Whenever reality came down too hard on us, we'd play at finding Paradise- a place where it was just the two of us, away from the staring eyes, the criticism, the alienation of the city, everything.
"I'm serious." He had said, leaning forward in his seat. "We've always been playing at the idea. The idea of escaping, of leaving this place. Why shouldn't it come true? I know we can do it- both of us."
I didn't know what to answer. He never did talk much- so many words in so short a time left me uncertain. All I did was stare into his earnest eyes. Those dark, beautiful orbs that seemed to go down forever, bottomless pools. In the sun, they would turn a lovely hazel, but at the cafe, as twilight descended upon us, they seemed to sparkle, like black jet in the moonlight. So captivating. So unreal.
"Well," I managed after a while. "Don't you think that we should at least have a rough idea of how this Paradise of ours should look like?"
The look on his face disappeared, and he let out another chuckle. God, what wouldn't I give to hear that sweet laugh again?
"Then let's do it," he said. He opened his leather shoulder bag and drew out his sketchbook, then his tin of pastels. He opened the box and handed it to me with a flourish. I chose one randomly. Apple green. Our favourite color. His hand closed around mine.
"It will be...far away." he said softly, almost into my ear. His hand guided mine across the rough paper, making soft lines of green. "Away from all the cars, the rude comments-"
"And the crazy heat," I added. I picked up another pastel. Sunshine yellow. He said nothing, but I knew he agreed. He was concentrating so intensely on sketching that I knew he was trying to conjure the image up in his mind, making it clear enough to transfer it down onto the paper. I closed my eyes and concentrated too. I wanted so much to see the picture behind his closed eyelids, that scene that lay just a baby's breath away.
It was like wading in water at first. Treading through the bottomless pools of his eyes, the water solid black without even a ripple. But slowly, colors started to form the way a photograph would develop, and suddenly I not only saw the picture in his mind, but lived in it. First came the vivid green grass, followed by the multicoloured wildflowers- violets, lavender, pansies, lily of the valley, nodding and bowing in the breeze, each giving off their own unique fragrance. Their sweet scents came to be as I saw them dot the grass. Then I felt the gentle incline of the slope, felt the cool, turquoise water of the pool at my feet. Then the heady smell of bluebells from the dim, dark woods that appeared only a few shades lighter than the black waters. All this I saw so clearly, so clearly I felt as if I could stretch my hand out and touch the soft flower petals and scoop the sparkling waters into my cupped hands and raise the cool liquid to my lips.
"Well, what do you think?" his soft whisper of triumph brought me back to reality, and when I opened my eyes I instantly saw the picture on the paper. Delicate curves of colour, a soft touch of white to show the sun reflecting against the liquid mirror of the green pool. It caught me by surprise, and yet there was an odd tug of familiarity to it, as if it was a past memory I'd locked deep inside me, and through his magic touch it had been set free.
"Well?" he was looking at me, smiling with his eyes as much as with his lips. I smiled back.
"It's Paradise."
So now, here I am. Standing at the place of our dreams. Paradise. I sighed, holding the paper before me. What is it now but useless reality all over again? A dream brought to life, but lived by only one half of the dream. It was pointless to stay here. I didn't want to. Not without him. Not without him beside me- to laugh that sweet laugh at every word I said, to understand me without having me explain myself, to smile that gorgeous smile that never failed to make my heart stop.
I sat down on the grass and stared at the green pool down below. It's time to move on. Time to go in search of another Paradise. I opened the tin box of pastels, drew one out at random. Hazelnut brown. The color of the forest trees, the color of the eyes I drowned myself in. I closed my own eyes, shutting out the sunlight, the grass, the pool. A new image came to me slowly. It materialised slowly, emerging from the mist. Mixed ripples of color at first, but slowly, slowly, it became crystal clear.
With that, I began to sketch.
Below me lay the most beautiful scene I had ever set my eyes upon. Heaven on Earth. That was the first thing that came into my mind when I first saw it. The lush green hill, dotted with purple and yellow wildflowers, sloped gently down to a small pond surrounded by sweet-smelling rushes. I could catch a faint glimpse of emerald ripple from where I stood. Though I couldn't see it, I know that the dragonflies were at the pond already, skimming the glimmering surface with their iridescent wings. Beyond the pool stood the forest, dim and cool and inviting. The forest was filled with bluebells at this time of year. I could see patches of bright blue in the darkness of the trees. I drew a deep breath, taking in the sweet, fresh scent of country air. This was it. This was the happiness we'd always wanted. This was the place we were looking for all this while.
We. My happiness died. Realisation dawned on me, that there was no 'we' any longer. Up till that day it had always been the two of us, searching for Paradise, two wild adventurers on a quest in search of the unknown. But not anymore. There was only 'me' left, much as I didn't want to face it.
I looked down at the green pond. I fumbled in the pocket of my coat, searching until I found what I was looking for. I drew it out carefully. It was a folded piece of paper. I opened it slowly, my fingers trembling. I fought the tears back as best I could. When I had unfolded it, there it was. Lovingly sketched, his hand around mine, this was the reason for our search, etched forever on a little scrap of drawing paper.
It was a simple sketch, really. It certainly wasn't one of his best, but it was most certainly the one that held the most meaning to me. To us. We drew it together when we were still in the city. Sitting at a small street cafe, waiting for our cheese bagels and coffee, cursing the noisy vehicles honking past us, dirty black smoke vomiting out of them.
"This is crazy," I had grumbled, fanning myself with a napkin. "Remind me again- what exactly are we doing here?"
"Calm down," He had said. His face was calm and serene, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
"Calm down?" I had been incredulous, so the words came out sharper than I'd meant them to be. But the whole situation was so surreal I had done nothing but continue on. "I can't calm down!. This weather, all these cars, this choked-up feeling, it's all too overwhelming! I can't take it anymore, and all you can say is calm down?!"
He laughed at my outburst. Oh, that sweet, soft chuckle. He had always laughed at what I said, whether I'd meant it as a joke or not. But I knew that he had always taken me seriously. I knew he did then, because after I'd sulked in silence, he spoke seriously, "Maybe we should go away somewhere."
"Yeah, sure. To Paradise, right?" I rolled my eyes. That was our private joke. Whenever reality came down too hard on us, we'd play at finding Paradise- a place where it was just the two of us, away from the staring eyes, the criticism, the alienation of the city, everything.
"I'm serious." He had said, leaning forward in his seat. "We've always been playing at the idea. The idea of escaping, of leaving this place. Why shouldn't it come true? I know we can do it- both of us."
I didn't know what to answer. He never did talk much- so many words in so short a time left me uncertain. All I did was stare into his earnest eyes. Those dark, beautiful orbs that seemed to go down forever, bottomless pools. In the sun, they would turn a lovely hazel, but at the cafe, as twilight descended upon us, they seemed to sparkle, like black jet in the moonlight. So captivating. So unreal.
"Well," I managed after a while. "Don't you think that we should at least have a rough idea of how this Paradise of ours should look like?"
The look on his face disappeared, and he let out another chuckle. God, what wouldn't I give to hear that sweet laugh again?
"Then let's do it," he said. He opened his leather shoulder bag and drew out his sketchbook, then his tin of pastels. He opened the box and handed it to me with a flourish. I chose one randomly. Apple green. Our favourite color. His hand closed around mine.
"It will be...far away." he said softly, almost into my ear. His hand guided mine across the rough paper, making soft lines of green. "Away from all the cars, the rude comments-"
"And the crazy heat," I added. I picked up another pastel. Sunshine yellow. He said nothing, but I knew he agreed. He was concentrating so intensely on sketching that I knew he was trying to conjure the image up in his mind, making it clear enough to transfer it down onto the paper. I closed my eyes and concentrated too. I wanted so much to see the picture behind his closed eyelids, that scene that lay just a baby's breath away.
It was like wading in water at first. Treading through the bottomless pools of his eyes, the water solid black without even a ripple. But slowly, colors started to form the way a photograph would develop, and suddenly I not only saw the picture in his mind, but lived in it. First came the vivid green grass, followed by the multicoloured wildflowers- violets, lavender, pansies, lily of the valley, nodding and bowing in the breeze, each giving off their own unique fragrance. Their sweet scents came to be as I saw them dot the grass. Then I felt the gentle incline of the slope, felt the cool, turquoise water of the pool at my feet. Then the heady smell of bluebells from the dim, dark woods that appeared only a few shades lighter than the black waters. All this I saw so clearly, so clearly I felt as if I could stretch my hand out and touch the soft flower petals and scoop the sparkling waters into my cupped hands and raise the cool liquid to my lips.
"Well, what do you think?" his soft whisper of triumph brought me back to reality, and when I opened my eyes I instantly saw the picture on the paper. Delicate curves of colour, a soft touch of white to show the sun reflecting against the liquid mirror of the green pool. It caught me by surprise, and yet there was an odd tug of familiarity to it, as if it was a past memory I'd locked deep inside me, and through his magic touch it had been set free.
"Well?" he was looking at me, smiling with his eyes as much as with his lips. I smiled back.
"It's Paradise."
So now, here I am. Standing at the place of our dreams. Paradise. I sighed, holding the paper before me. What is it now but useless reality all over again? A dream brought to life, but lived by only one half of the dream. It was pointless to stay here. I didn't want to. Not without him. Not without him beside me- to laugh that sweet laugh at every word I said, to understand me without having me explain myself, to smile that gorgeous smile that never failed to make my heart stop.
I sat down on the grass and stared at the green pool down below. It's time to move on. Time to go in search of another Paradise. I opened the tin box of pastels, drew one out at random. Hazelnut brown. The color of the forest trees, the color of the eyes I drowned myself in. I closed my own eyes, shutting out the sunlight, the grass, the pool. A new image came to me slowly. It materialised slowly, emerging from the mist. Mixed ripples of color at first, but slowly, slowly, it became crystal clear.
With that, I began to sketch.
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