Red and Blue.
and all the colors in the rainbow.
They say things that you were born with define who you are, I didn’t think so. Babies are small fragile creatures, with hardly any hair and more than often has blue eyes. But over time those fragile bodies grow, hair started to sprout in places and those adorable blue eyes would slowly turn into something else, something dull perhaps. With that I believe the first statement false.
I was born with a condition called Achromatopsia, otherwise known as the full case of color blindness. As long as I could remember I have never seen so much as a glimpse of color, only shades, just shades. Later in life when I was frequently introduced to various people they would ask whether I had ever wished to see color, or whether I had cursed my parents for whatever it is that they have done that resulted in my ‘disability’. I would answer yes to the first, but would then add that it was just because of sheer curiosity, and no to the second because cursing the two people who brought me to the world will be useless, and anyway I have never known another way of living.
When I was five I remembered asking my mother about something that happened on my first day of school. They were talking about how roses are red and violets are blue. I have seen a rose before but didn’t know what a ‘red’ is, nor I do know what a ‘blue’ is. My mother shook it off at first, probably thinking that her young daughter is only seeking attention, just like any other young child. But at one point my teacher became concerned and urged my parents to take me to a doctor, they did so. I was then diagnosed with Achromatopsia, but even as a child I felt quite indifferent. Why, I had thought, would I wish of something I never had? After I had known about my so called ‘disability’ I only have a slight inclination of warning to see these ‘colors’, just an indifferent curiosity.
When I was in high school, almost like every other girl I received attention from a boy, a couple boys in fact, none of whom I paid attention back to. One of them – whose name escapes me – loves to give me flowers for no apparent reason. This boy, the boy with the crooked smile. This resulted to me curiously researching the flower to find out what the color means before throwing it away. This boy persisted on giving me flowers until the day I graduate, after which I never saw him again, but – infuriatingly – the flowers still came. It frustrates me to no end, because no matter how long or hard I stare, colors never burst into my eyes like I wished they would. Every three days or so my flat had a new vase filled with a bouquet of flowers. Whether it would be orchids, lilacs, iris, sunflowers, dahlias or some other type of flower, my vases are always occupied. The flower deliveryman was so used to delivering to my fat he would greet me by name and say that he would see me by whatever day he would usually come.
It would seem strange to anyone – and it certainly is to me – that I had become so used to the flowers that I fear that at one point they will stop coming. How foolish it is that a woman of twenty-three that suffers from color blindness has a fear of not getting flowers (that she couldn’t even see fully) from a man she scarcely knew. I had to laugh at the thought, but yet it is true. But as most fears usually are, they just had to come true. On the eve of my twenty-fourth birthday I sat on my living room couch, expecting a beautiful bouquet of flowers of which I would stare for hours at a time just wishing for colors to burst into my eyes. I want to see beauty in it’s finest. But the delivery never came. As I finally turned off the lights and slipped under the covers, I felt my eyes water and my cheeks wet. I didn’t even feel like I knew why. But I felt empty, empty in a world without colors.
How sad is it for a woman that suffers from color blindness to only find beauty in the things that are famous for its colors, when obviously she can’t see them. I’ve been asking that question to myself for years now, and until now find it ridiculous. I went back to the answers that I gave when I was still a teenager and thought I knew everything, not only was I curious, I was always looking for a part of me that is missing. Like a child that never met his parents, or a teenager that wants a new cell phone so badly, we all want what we couldn’t have. Even though we never had it before, we seek it desperately, that is the case for me, and I understood it fully now.
I am now twenty-eight, untroubled and alone. I was almost exactly the same as I was four years ago, where I cried myself to sleep for the first time in years, except for the minor physical changes: My long hair (I had neglected to cut it), my even paler complexion (due to the long hours at the office), my ever so tired and bloodshot eyes (also due the long hours at the office), and other minor changes that needn’t be mentioned. In my mind I had forgotten my twenty-fourth birthday, remembering only the cake and the company of my friends, and after, going to sleep with a smile on my face. But I haven’t of course, forgotten, I mean. In the back of my mind my apartment was still full to the brim with flowers in vases, new ones would come on Tuesdays and Fridays.
The buzzer to my flat sounded a couple minutes after seven and when I answered I heard something that I haven’t for years. Delivery? No one ever sent me anything. I was confused and unable to react, but I sent for the deliveryman anyway. As I hear the knocks on the door I hurried to open it, a smile on my face and wishes playing over and over in my head, praying that it would be the flower deliveryman, coming back after a ridiculous amount of time with some apology of a mistaken address. I will be angry at first but it will be overwhelmed by happiness, thanking god that the flowers are back. But truly, all I can think about is him. The boy with the crooked smile.
It’s silly really, to fall in love with someone that one does not know anything about, or even talk to. But I did, frustratingly so. He was the first and last man I have ever felt a slight attraction to, even as a teenager, when most girls would fall in love with a lot of boys, going through them like petty school subjects they wont even remember, I fell in love. At first I thought it was the flowers, how they intrigue me, maybe it was, why I loved him I mean. But as the seventh or eighth one came, I forgot why I was so furious with him; I fell in love with him.
As I walked towards my front door, I felt my grin slip off my face, reality sinking in of what would probably happen. A package from work perhaps? Or a parcel from my aunt? It just couldn’t be, couldn't it? My face was slack as I opened the door and I was unprepared of what I will see. My hands fell limply to my side as the sight of his face clouded my vision.
And as he smile that crooked smile, I realize maybe I don’t need to know what a red is, nor what a blue is, it’s irrelevant and unimportant. Not when I have that crooked smile in my life, I wouldn’t need anything else.
I was born with a condition called Achromatopsia, otherwise known as the full case of color blindness. As long as I could remember I have never seen so much as a glimpse of color, only shades, just shades. Later in life when I was frequently introduced to various people they would ask whether I had ever wished to see color, or whether I had cursed my parents for whatever it is that they have done that resulted in my ‘disability’. I would answer yes to the first, but would then add that it was just because of sheer curiosity, and no to the second because cursing the two people who brought me to the world will be useless, and anyway I have never known another way of living.
When I was five I remembered asking my mother about something that happened on my first day of school. They were talking about how roses are red and violets are blue. I have seen a rose before but didn’t know what a ‘red’ is, nor I do know what a ‘blue’ is. My mother shook it off at first, probably thinking that her young daughter is only seeking attention, just like any other young child. But at one point my teacher became concerned and urged my parents to take me to a doctor, they did so. I was then diagnosed with Achromatopsia, but even as a child I felt quite indifferent. Why, I had thought, would I wish of something I never had? After I had known about my so called ‘disability’ I only have a slight inclination of warning to see these ‘colors’, just an indifferent curiosity.
When I was in high school, almost like every other girl I received attention from a boy, a couple boys in fact, none of whom I paid attention back to. One of them – whose name escapes me – loves to give me flowers for no apparent reason. This boy, the boy with the crooked smile. This resulted to me curiously researching the flower to find out what the color means before throwing it away. This boy persisted on giving me flowers until the day I graduate, after which I never saw him again, but – infuriatingly – the flowers still came. It frustrates me to no end, because no matter how long or hard I stare, colors never burst into my eyes like I wished they would. Every three days or so my flat had a new vase filled with a bouquet of flowers. Whether it would be orchids, lilacs, iris, sunflowers, dahlias or some other type of flower, my vases are always occupied. The flower deliveryman was so used to delivering to my fat he would greet me by name and say that he would see me by whatever day he would usually come.
It would seem strange to anyone – and it certainly is to me – that I had become so used to the flowers that I fear that at one point they will stop coming. How foolish it is that a woman of twenty-three that suffers from color blindness has a fear of not getting flowers (that she couldn’t even see fully) from a man she scarcely knew. I had to laugh at the thought, but yet it is true. But as most fears usually are, they just had to come true. On the eve of my twenty-fourth birthday I sat on my living room couch, expecting a beautiful bouquet of flowers of which I would stare for hours at a time just wishing for colors to burst into my eyes. I want to see beauty in it’s finest. But the delivery never came. As I finally turned off the lights and slipped under the covers, I felt my eyes water and my cheeks wet. I didn’t even feel like I knew why. But I felt empty, empty in a world without colors.
How sad is it for a woman that suffers from color blindness to only find beauty in the things that are famous for its colors, when obviously she can’t see them. I’ve been asking that question to myself for years now, and until now find it ridiculous. I went back to the answers that I gave when I was still a teenager and thought I knew everything, not only was I curious, I was always looking for a part of me that is missing. Like a child that never met his parents, or a teenager that wants a new cell phone so badly, we all want what we couldn’t have. Even though we never had it before, we seek it desperately, that is the case for me, and I understood it fully now.
I am now twenty-eight, untroubled and alone. I was almost exactly the same as I was four years ago, where I cried myself to sleep for the first time in years, except for the minor physical changes: My long hair (I had neglected to cut it), my even paler complexion (due to the long hours at the office), my ever so tired and bloodshot eyes (also due the long hours at the office), and other minor changes that needn’t be mentioned. In my mind I had forgotten my twenty-fourth birthday, remembering only the cake and the company of my friends, and after, going to sleep with a smile on my face. But I haven’t of course, forgotten, I mean. In the back of my mind my apartment was still full to the brim with flowers in vases, new ones would come on Tuesdays and Fridays.
The buzzer to my flat sounded a couple minutes after seven and when I answered I heard something that I haven’t for years. Delivery? No one ever sent me anything. I was confused and unable to react, but I sent for the deliveryman anyway. As I hear the knocks on the door I hurried to open it, a smile on my face and wishes playing over and over in my head, praying that it would be the flower deliveryman, coming back after a ridiculous amount of time with some apology of a mistaken address. I will be angry at first but it will be overwhelmed by happiness, thanking god that the flowers are back. But truly, all I can think about is him. The boy with the crooked smile.
It’s silly really, to fall in love with someone that one does not know anything about, or even talk to. But I did, frustratingly so. He was the first and last man I have ever felt a slight attraction to, even as a teenager, when most girls would fall in love with a lot of boys, going through them like petty school subjects they wont even remember, I fell in love. At first I thought it was the flowers, how they intrigue me, maybe it was, why I loved him I mean. But as the seventh or eighth one came, I forgot why I was so furious with him; I fell in love with him.
As I walked towards my front door, I felt my grin slip off my face, reality sinking in of what would probably happen. A package from work perhaps? Or a parcel from my aunt? It just couldn’t be, couldn't it? My face was slack as I opened the door and I was unprepared of what I will see. My hands fell limply to my side as the sight of his face clouded my vision.
And as he smile that crooked smile, I realize maybe I don’t need to know what a red is, nor what a blue is, it’s irrelevant and unimportant. Not when I have that crooked smile in my life, I wouldn’t need anything else.