Let It Go !

It was almost sunset and I wanted to get some peace and quiet away from everyone’s annoying and needless chatter. I bought myself a sandwich and sat on a bench nearby. As I started eating my sandwich, a little girl sat next to me; and I knew from her obnoxiously loud crying that I was not going to enjoy my time in peace. She kept her head down and her hands on her lap. I put my sandwich back in my bag and looked at her. “Alright, kid. What is it?” She looked up to me then back down. I had to stop myself from rushing her but the silence was definitely getting on my nerves. She finally looked up again, sniffed then said, “There’s just this boy and…”

“And he doesn’t like you back, am I right?”

“Well, not yet but…”

“Oh well, nothing you can do then.”

“No, I’ll get him a gift tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll like it.”

“And you think he’ll like you then?”

“I hope so.”

“Why?”

“Why what!”

“Why do you hope?”

“Because I like him!”

“But why do you have hope?”

“If you’re asking whether he gave me any signs or not, I …”

“That’s not what I’m asking, and I’m quite certain my words were clear and simple.”

“I don’t get it then. Don’t we all hope for stuff?”

“I’d assume you’re correct considering how foolish everyone is.”

“Foolish! For hoping we get what we want!”

“Exactly. You get what you’re given and that is that.”

“Shouldn’t you encourage me instead? You’re a grown man, you should tell me how to deal with boys”

“Again, no. Why do you expect something other than what you’ve been given? I shouldn’t do anything in particular, so I’m positive I’m not at fault if you’re the one living by her hopes and expectations.”

“I thought you cared to help!”

“What makes you think I’m not helping? Let me tell you a story, kid; maybe that’s how you’ll learn.”

“Like a fairy tale?”

“The proper kind of a fairy tale, yes.”

***

There was once a man who lived all by himself. He had a decent house in the middle of a busy street. He lived among everyone, yet he was never truly known by anyone. He was not too old, or too young. He was nothing different, but he was not to be called common either. He was not tall, or short. He had short brown hair and brown eyes. His beard was always trimmed to his liking. His shoes were always polished. Nothing was ever out of place. He kept his posture straight, and his face sharp. He barely talked to anyone, but nothing could stop him from spreading his message.

It was not easy for a man like that to find pleasure in anything; anything but painting. As far as he was concerned, painting was the only thing worth spending his time on. He spent most of his days filling his rooms with one painting after the other. Each painting was a portrayal of his character in a way; each painting reflected a piece of his story. Those paintings were his only way of opening up. He had made sure, throughout his life, to keep his heart to himself; not out of fear that he would get hurt, but out of fear that he was to hurt anyone who dares come close. His heart was only ever revealed through his paintings.

He got into his room one day, sat on his chair and prepared to do what he does best. He picked up one brush and his color palette and drew the first stroke of paint on the canvas. His paintings varied, but they were still alike. They all had some common themes; darkness was the most reoccurring one of them all. This painting was not an exception. There was almost nothing but darkness in this one, however. One cannot really say much about it. It was part of a room, only a corner, and a girl sitting in it, staring into nothingness. She had no apparent features; she was almost faceless. She was wearing a plain shirt dress that was torn at some parts. All there was to that painting was a room and a girl indulged in its darkness. The man was not entirely satisfied with his painting though, as satisfaction was not something that comes naturally to him, so he decided he will have another attempt at it. He painted the same thing all over again, he didn’t exactly change anything about it, except that it was darker this time.

For some reason, he still was not satisfied. He painted it again and again, and every time, it only got darker. He got a new canvas, and started again. He began with the girl this time; nothing had changed about her, she was still sitting alone with her blurred features and torn clothing. As he tried to remove the brush after painting the girl, he felt it getting heavier. The canvas was shaking and the brush was stuck to it. When he finally managed to pull the brush away, he could not believe what he saw. The

canvas was empty, there was nothing on it, and the girl, she was standing right in front of him. He could not believe his eyes, but he could control his shock; just like he could always control all his feelings and lock them inside. The girl could not stand still; she was not moving around, but her discomfort was quite visible. “Why do you keep doing this to me?” the girl cried at the man. Her voice was shaking and her blurred eyes were tearing up. “Please, you have to stop it. I’m begging you.” The man took a few steps back and examined her, “You’re exactly how I’d imagined you’d be.” He talked with a sense of achievement that revolted the girl.

“How is this all you care about?” she shouted desperately, but the man did not seem to be phased by the whole situation whatsoever.

“Tell me, how did you come out?”

“I held onto the brush, you pulled me out. But listen to me please….”

“How are you alive?

“Paintings are alive, they’re real, that’s why they’re connected to emotions; you’re destined to feel our feelings when you look at us. Everything you draw comes to life, everything there exists forever.”

“Very well. Why are you here then?”

“Why? I just told you why. I’m miserable because of you. You’ve given me nothing but darkness. I’m all alone back there. Every time you draw me, I keep hoping you’d give me something new. I keep hoping I’d have friends or family. You didn’t even give me a proper face. That darkness of yours is killing me. Please, just give me some toys, paint me a friend, give me anything other than this darkness please.”

“Don’t you think I’d draw all that if I wanted to?”

“How can you be so careless? You created me, you’re responsible of providing me with a decent world; you’ve done nothing but torture me.”

“See, dear. This is where you’re mistaken. I did not torture you, you did. I never painted you differently, yet you kept hoping I would. Your hopes are the main source of your misery, so don’t blame it on me.”

“What else can I do but hope for things to get better!”

“Why should you hope in the first place. You’re not in control, I am, you’re only on the receiving end of things, so you simply just accept what I decide as your reality.”

“Have you got no heart? You created me, you’re supposed to give me a better life.”

“I’ve got a goal, dear. And that goal is to ensure my vision is fulfilled, to finish my painting however I desire.”

“You were supposed to…”

“I was never supposed to do anything. You’re the one who held on to hope.”

“I’m in pain, does that not concern you at all?”

“As I said, I’m only concerned with my goals; and I’m not willing to risk getting distracted.”

The man put the girl back into the canvas and painted what was left of darkness. He hung the painting up on a wall, turned the lights off, and walked out of the room.

***

“And the girl?

“Lived miserably ever after.”

“This is the worst fairy tale ever.”

“Well, that’s subjective. I’d say it’s the most realistic.”

“You’re the worst.”

“Compliment taken, kid”

“I’m going back home.”

“Take care.”

I picked up my sandwich and enjoyed eating it peacefully at last. It was nice being reminded, yet again, of how I was the only one enlightened enough to let go of hope.