If I could repaint these walls, I would color them with the hues of every single color I’ve ever seen. They’d also be the colors I’ve never even thought to dream, that way I could paint forever, for I’d never run out of color combinations. And each color would represent another, for colors are nothing more than contrasts of others.
They’d be the color of my brothers, the strong and confident youth of my family, for they strive to make my parents, my titas, my titos, my lolas, and lolos proud. They’d be the color of my brothers’ intense sense of endurance, and their decision to move with precision as they engage in some sort of physical activity that inspires me to be healthy in my own body. They’d be the color of their spirits, for they are beautiful pieces of art that I dutifully try to replicate as their older sister.
They’d be the color of my sister, and I insist this of her, as she knows the colors of this world from the eye level of four feet above the ground. Yeah, she spies what cannot be found, and in games of “I Spy,” she’s the winner in each round. For she sees what many fail to see, for she is blessed with the vision of honesty. She’s speaks so seriously, that often I wonder if she really is the youngest sibling, for my brothers and I are far less mature, and still she shows us no sympathy.
They’d be the color of the ladies and misters, who every now and then fall in love with each other. This passionate palette of paint is full of mesmerizing stares and gazes, smiles that cut through the silence, hands held tight, gentle kisses on that doorstep before they say “goodnight,” and all those wild butterflies that make your stomach feel just right.
They’d be the color of both friends and enemies – who for far too long I’ve allowed to actually become enemies – for even though they are opposite, they are each composites of people in life. They are also really similar, for they mirror one another, but the only differences are our perspectives of them. For the greens of jealousy have cursed my color palette many times before; yet, the sacred soft pastels and bright, bubbly eye-popping primary colors help to distract and redirect me so that I may tell the stories that really need to be told.
And though it has already been foretold, I can mix these primary colors with each other, or with whites, or with browns, or with blacks, or with yellows; for it’s these classifications that are the colors that need to have their barriers removed. For friends and enemies also represent the constant struggle that you see every time you turn on your TV, or every time your turn around that street corner: soon you notice eyes darting in opposite directions, and people get lost in seas of failed assimilation, for people will not stop to help give directions, especially to those of different skin tones and cultural norms.
So yeah, maybe my walls will be repainted so that all of these traditions, rather, heritages and personal backgrounds, will be recreated and pulled to the foreground, that way they will stare you in the face as you face my freshly painted murals. That way, these ugly realities can be exposed, and who knows, maybe then, I’ll be able to add the finishing touches to the horizon, where the sun can both rise and set. It’s something you’ll have to remember to forget: life can be interpreted in more ways than one, it all just depends on which way you choose to view your sun.