Spectrums

There she is. She’s frowning again. She walks—quite briskly—in midday, one hand carrying the take-out chicken she bought from a nearby fastfood chain. I’m afraid that will be her only meal for the day. Again. When will she care about her health? I wish she will smile once today. She looks best when she smiles. Radiant and sincere. Her only abnormality is that deep dimple on her left cheek.

Wara—that’s what they call her. I wonder what she would call me if she knew I existed. But I know. My gray presence is not worthy of her attention. Sometimes, I wish she was translucent—like water or glass. So that when the light hits her body, I will turn into a spectrum of colors. Like the rainbow. Not like this. Insignificant, drab, sometimes even frightening.

I’m happy that the sun beats too much because I get to be more visible. That and when there are no electrical lights at night, and she has to use candlelight. Those are the only times I get a more solid form. Those are the only times I can have a better look at her and her enchanting world. It is full of colors—colors I will never see in mine. But why she chooses to apply dark makeup and wear dark clothes confuses me. It makes me sad. She could have worn flowers. She could have painted her face with the colors of the sun. I don’t understand why she loves the gloom when everything around her is light.

If she continues to be this way, she might as well live in my world. Everything here is bleak. There is no real darkness, but there is no real light either. There is only a depressing spectrum of grays. I am in between pain and comfort, grief and joy, death and life. If she were in my place, would she be happier? If I invited her to come to my world, would she have said yes? I would give anything just to be in her world. But I don’t have anything to begin with. Just one dark moment after another. This is nothing compared to the red of her lips, the browns and reds on her hair, the eternal blackness of her eyes. Her dark, sad eyes.

Wara’s voice is equally dark, equally hypnotic. She is a singer. Yes, and I dare say a really good one. She is not like the others. She becomes alive at night. She sings from one bar to the next with the band mates she dare not call friends. Yes, they’re a band. But she never stays for drinks after the gigs. Oh, she drinks all right. But not outside where she feels vulnerable—where she can’t control everything.

She drinks alone. In her closetlike room. She doesn’t care. But her loneliness grips me. I want to hide in my darkness and be free of her emptiness. But I am her. She is me. And I think I have more of me in her. Because she prefers darkness over anything else. She prefers solitude over company. She’s crying now. How on earth can I comfort her? What can I offer to ease her pain?

There is nothing of course, except this eternal darkness. So I decide to break all the laws that bind me and step out into her gloomy light. I step out and offer her my gift. I offer it to her, without hesitation. I offer it willingly because I know it will give her peace.

That’s it, Wara. Come on over. Embrace my darkness. It will set you free.