What color is yours?
I’m sitting in the middle of my bed. Smack in the middle of my room. Close your eyes and paint with me. Let me guide you through the city with my light.
Cars honking. Cars passing by so fast. Footsteps everywhere, coming from every direction. I hear so many people talking but I can’t tell you what they are saying.
It’s like the city is your crowd and you’re on stage; you can hear everyone saying or screaming something but you can only hear one big crowd, united in one sound with no particular word or conversation. You can’t just hear one thing, too much going on.
The mix of scents and brush of air touch your skin as people pass by walking or running as if there is no more time in the world. Rushing, like the blood through our veins. Adrenaline like that which drugs cause, a natural high.
Yellows, reds, greens, whites, blacks and colors mixed all over, altogether. Rainbows, silvers, golds neutrals, darks and lights swing around us like magic being sprinkled in the air. Abracadabra!
Everyone sees everyone but no one knows anyone. Face after face, sound after sound… But where, what, why… How?
Imagine the smiles on the not so smiling faces and the hairs swaying with the wind of the polluted air in this place we call home.
It’s bright in this room, so many lights. I take steps toward the brightest light and find myself standing at the top of the tallest building here and here I am above the world, so I feel. “Take me and guide me. Fill me of your knowledge. Inject me with this mix of flavors and smells all around me. I’ve tried to escape and find the answers somewhere else but they’ve always been right here… this place…” Repeating this prayer out loud for the universe to hear. I wait for a response.
This city, that is my home and is where I am from… I am one in the billions that surround me. I am the color that I needed and the color that was missing in the crayon box. I am the author of this book and so are you, of your own.
We are the light of our city, this is our city and we make it what we want.
Chefs of our own (life) kitchen and painters of our own canvases.
Can you see my painting?
Can you see the city with MY colors?
Have I made it clear?
This is the world that we live in, the places we are from, the people that surround us. We drown and sink into our own thoughts and colors, often dark. Wondering what WE are missing that will connect us to the rest of the world but we are not missing anything but faith in ourselves. In reality the WORLD is missing a piece of US, of YOU, of our colors and flavors, OF YOU AND YOUR FLAVORS.
It is not meant to make sense to anyone but you, but me.
Art is whatever you want it to be and so is everything else. So here I go and paint the city through my eyes with all its highs and lows, it’s bright lights and gloominess, it’s changing faces and fast paces, it’s loud noises and traffic lights, high buildings and many energies. It’s anxiety causing desire to succeed and hunger for more and taste of wild and wonder. If I don’t like what I see when I open my eyes I will change my perspective and start a new draft, my new painting.