deciphering words, painting thoughts

IT’S ONE O’CLOCK ON MY TIMEX and i’m on the verge of dozing myself off to sleep…but i decided to articulate what’s buzzing in my mind right now…besides i won’t be able to sleep if i didn’t…

i was looking for some documents in my closet…the always clean, and organized closet (hope you’re getting the sarcasm), when i decided to go through the stuff in its upper compartment--those stuff behind a very familiar painting. it’s been hanging there, on that same spot for awhile…quiet…watching…but indifferent on everything that happens within the four walls of my pale pink-colored room (my elder sister used to sleep here)…the painting that mean a lot to me…and very significant…once upon a time. but i never failed to look at it every day as it never failed to make me remember…two people.

i always admired that painting, the simplicity of it, the water-washed colors that seem to dance on the canvas, behind a glass. it’s dusty now. that means i have to clean my room already. the painting still remains today, to have a very cryptic message. besides of that majestic mountain rock, the green and blue seas, and the multicolored skies…nothing is more controversial about it than the two birds in the painting. for what ever it is, i am pretty sure it’s a love story in there. a love story that is, sadly, unwritten…never happened…lost. but the painting remains a remembrance of what could have been, like the fantasy world it portrays. whenever i look at it, one thing flashes into my mind. the same thing...always--a perfect moment where, i stand on a bridge over a crystal-clear water, troubled by a mild rain, that makes everything seem dreamy…i could see the ripples as drops of water break its surface…everything seems like an illusion…of course it is, for it is just a mere thought. a dream that never happened…but hoped for. the green surroundings seem to sparkle…i feel happiness, including my heartbeat…i feel alive, just standing there on that bridge, holding in my arms, the same girl who gave me that painting…yeah…it’s a dream…and it’s on my wall for a very long time now…

i set aside the painting, opened the closet, and retrieved a square box. there are letters. a lot of letters. from friends. from special someones. for me. and i read them…one by one…and suddenly i felt nostalgia—that familiar bittersweet feeling everytime i go down memory lane. reading them makes me remember what i was, and who i was, five years ago…i can’t help but smile to the childish humors…the innocence…the simplicity of life back then…the optimism…and the youthful spirit that couldn’t be dampened by virtually almost anything. until i read one particular letter…it was from glad…(a letter she gave me on our retreat back in high school), a small yellow piece of paper folded in a certain way. the way it was folded was really remarkable…they were always folded that way, and usually placed on a fancy envelope…sometime, she used a piece from a folder and cut the sides in a manner that reminds me of picket fences of suburban households. one time she used a piece from a brown envelope, burned the sides, and wrote my name on the cover using white poster color. she also used construction paper, cut and folded in a very artistic way. you will ask yourself, ‘how the hell did she do that?’ on some occasions though, she had them typewritten (she said her hands were aching), or in the form of hallmark cards. her handwritten didn’t change a bit. it was and is in those simple slanting letters. i could still remember seeing that particular handwriting on a piece of paper from a test questionnaire, saying ‘i miss you’.

arts brought me and glad together. give her a colored paper and a pair of scissors, and prepare yourself to be amazed. i could still remember how she turned a bunch of seemingly useless, ugly, potato sacks into a fancy christmas tree. i always thought that the immensity of her art made up for the smallness of her hands…

i find it really curious for remembering each and one of her letters she gave me. i just saw one--the small yellow piece of paper…but everything flashed back…the way they looked, when they were given, the words in them…but, ironically, i can’t remember where they are now…i searched for them, but i couldn’t find them. they were lost. i lost them…just the way i lost myself.

i remembered that she also gave me a keychain--a piece of rectangular wood, with a sticker bearing a verse from the bible. i remember writing, on the back of it, our korean names. one day, i freaked out for thinking that i lost my bag back in high school. i am not fussed about the bag though, but the keychain, on one of its zippers. i was so protective of it…but still…i lost it…along with everything else…

i could still remember the day, when she looked me in the eyes and gave me back the books i wrote for her including my diary. it was a very fine afternoon. the sun is smiling back at us…mocking me…my heart was broken…my heart that is supposedly not to hurt anymore. i read them when i got home, back in my room, before the indifferent painting. as i read, i tried to imbibe everything i wrote for her…and it struck me. the guy who wrote those words was so in love…the corniness of it…the romance…the passion…the innocence…the hope…the faith…the belief in forever…and the promise of a true love. it felt like reading someone else’s writing. it was not me…the words are not mine. it was written by the guy on that bridge, happy, with the love of his life…i miss that guy…and the one he truly loved—the two people immortalized by the dusty painting in my very disorganized pink-colored room…