A Watercolor Life
The Draft
Her life was many things. The base of it was a mix of pencils, soft and messy and even tender. Yet the next layer was like charcoal; violent lines slashing across the smooth texture of the pencil. It smudged and blemished all of it, creating a dark and dull, nearly impossible to remove, void. And in desperate moments, if one looks close, you could still see the blotches of careless ink droplets. That was the portrait of her life. The flat and silky pencil strokes joined in a maelstrom of charcoal and ink. But once she packed her clothes, her books, her favorite hoodie, and her art supplies, she ripped that tarnish looking canvas apart.
She started her life again with watercolors. She mixed her tears with her hopes and expectations. Hugging her friends’ good-bye had never been so bittersweet, kissing her mother farewell had been so excruciating, and feeling the plane go up high, high, high, had never been so distressing. But all of those emotions composed the base of that masterpiece she wanted to flourish from life. And so she smiled at the stewardess and complimented her on her adorable hair-pin.
That was one why, but there were still so many to answer. And so, after she spent seventeen hours and forty three minutes travelling, she felt a stroke of color raise her spirit as she walked out of Seoul’s airport. It was sunny.
“Hwangyong-hamnida, Larythzza.”
And so was her smile.
Because that was how she decided to move on. To be the sun she always basked under. To be the one that reassures others and always has a smile or two to spare. It had been too long since she had looked at someone and smiled just because she could. In this country, where few would ever dare venture into, she felt like a small sprite.
Learning Korean wasn’t easy, she had the basics down to a T, but she still blushed and laughed whenever someone told her something she couldn’t understand. She always prayed that it wasn’t a question. It was something she worked hard on, day and night, pouring everything she had on drafts and sketches and those mundane Korean textbooks that seemed to hiss at her. Whoever knew that writing in lines and circles could be so difficult?
She barely managed to graduate, and that broke her heart. It tore her apart. It was like she spilled water on her beautifully arranged portrait and ruined it forever. She could only attend the graduation party and smile, yet knowing deep inside that her grades had been shameful, and that her Korean comprehension was that of a high school student at best. It was a small shred on that worn sheet of paper she so tenderly protected. The colors didn’t look as bright as before. She stained what was left with salt and water.
She started her life again with watercolors. She mixed her tears with her hopes and expectations. Hugging her friends’ good-bye had never been so bittersweet, kissing her mother farewell had been so excruciating, and feeling the plane go up high, high, high, had never been so distressing. But all of those emotions composed the base of that masterpiece she wanted to flourish from life. And so she smiled at the stewardess and complimented her on her adorable hair-pin.
That was one why, but there were still so many to answer. And so, after she spent seventeen hours and forty three minutes travelling, she felt a stroke of color raise her spirit as she walked out of Seoul’s airport. It was sunny.
“Hwangyong-hamnida, Larythzza.”
And so was her smile.
Because that was how she decided to move on. To be the sun she always basked under. To be the one that reassures others and always has a smile or two to spare. It had been too long since she had looked at someone and smiled just because she could. In this country, where few would ever dare venture into, she felt like a small sprite.
Learning Korean wasn’t easy, she had the basics down to a T, but she still blushed and laughed whenever someone told her something she couldn’t understand. She always prayed that it wasn’t a question. It was something she worked hard on, day and night, pouring everything she had on drafts and sketches and those mundane Korean textbooks that seemed to hiss at her. Whoever knew that writing in lines and circles could be so difficult?
She barely managed to graduate, and that broke her heart. It tore her apart. It was like she spilled water on her beautifully arranged portrait and ruined it forever. She could only attend the graduation party and smile, yet knowing deep inside that her grades had been shameful, and that her Korean comprehension was that of a high school student at best. It was a small shred on that worn sheet of paper she so tenderly protected. The colors didn’t look as bright as before. She stained what was left with salt and water.