ORIGIN: It’s a family tree.
Grandfather was a pathfinder. He was born a mouse and died a bat. Nobody knows where he got his inspiration from, but we got ours from a crab.
When my grandfather was still alive, I saw myself growing into an eight-legged creature. I wanted to catch all the drops of blood that fell from his mouth on a spiderweb and make him proud. But he told me not to live in the past because that’s not where inspiration should lead. I took his last words to heart and eventually grew into a crab. Because the future is already being written in ones and zeros.
I’ve been told not to bury my head in the sand. I’ve been told to grow up. I wonder if this is how casual cruelty sounds. I woke up with sand in my eyes. Maybe they didn’t see it, but I surely felt my dream coming to nothing. Maybe they don’t know that crabs bury themselves in the sand, from head to toe, when they are ready to molt, but I do. Acutely. Because I will be stuck in my reality till the end of time.
I read somewhere that parallel lines don’t meet at infinity. That’s why I wanted to walk crabwise along the shore. My heartbeat has its days numbered, but the tide refused to take over. Dreams are on a collision course from the get-go, and someone who loved me should have seen it coming. Because love means wanting the best for someone else, and it should be a guaranteed cure for farsightedness.
Do you know why I used to like crabs? It’s because they have pointy legs. I spent my naive years walking on tiptoe. I thought that if I reduced the contact area, I would increase my chances. A dream is an open wound. It bleeds, stickily begging the universe to grow a heart. Most voices become hoarse, but my wound only got louder as I strove towards my dream. I tried my best to avoid getting an infection. But eventually dirt got into my wound.
I hate milk teeth. They leave when the going gets tough. When the fairy tales have just started to gather dust on the bookshelf. I hate them because I envy them. I tried to leave too. But it didn’t work. I am not some skin that can be shed and replaced. I’m trapped in the heart of this body. And when its bones are done growing and its voice is done breaking, I will still be here. Watching life unfold in all its ruthlessness.
I want to leave my mark on somebody else. Puncture wounds heal in the bat of a wing and lately blood has lost its appeal. Crabs are red and the flamingoes that feast on them turn pink. That’s the color they are known for, what I am striving for. You might see it as a step down from my own color, but I wasn’t born to be birdcaged. The mark I leave won’t spill my secret heart, it will only show me in the best light.
Bats are all ears, but I am not a good swimmer. I dread the day the waves finally take me under. Something tells me that I won’t go out with a burst of bubbles. I will open my mouth, but I will have long forgotten how to string my own words together. There will be no lifeline for me, but other people’s noise hasn’t drowned me out yet. I have already borrowed a crab claw to tear my eardrums apart and wave goodbye to my worst fear.
I might be a bat, but I have never dreamed about blood a day in my life. I sleep surrounded by stalactites. Water dripping down is what lulls me to sleep and I have only ever dreamed about growing up. Once, I tried to drink that milky white moon. I couldn’t sink my fangs into it, but I haven’t given up. My skin dies every hour of every night and I can’t outgrow my bones, but I have finally met someone that can break that curse. Starting tonight, I will shed 238.855 miles worth of exoskeletons. I will pile them up like a stalagmite and watch my dream come true.
I couldn’t care less about the future and I have no blood ties to the past. I won’t stake my heart on false promises and milk can be bought in any corner store. I live in the present, with my fangs in somebody’s neck. But if I ever strike gold, I guess I could always stretch that perfect moment by walking crabwise.
You’ve grown into a crab, but there’s still a little bit of bat left in you.
Bats aren’t really blind, it’s just that ignorance is bliss and I was raised in the dark. I remember my mother’s warmth, not the sharp stalactites hanging from the ceiling of our cave. But there comes a day when every child grows apart from their mother’s beating heart, and even her tears aren’t a match for the big bad world. Believe me, I have the eyestalks to prove it. What my mother left behind only went skin deep, it didn’t really shape me. I have seen too much cruelty and indifference, and I can only hope I don’t stab somebody in the heart with my own someday.
If I had known that crabs shed their shells and never look back, I wouldn’t have turned myself inside out trying to be just like them. All I wanted was to cherish myself. My mother kept my milk teeth in a jewelry box because she knew that they were our zenith, our midday sun, and we would only grow apart from then on. I didn’t want to forget who I had once been. I wanted to keep each and every skeleton in a jewelry box of my own. Where they would dance, showing me the way back if I ever got lost and needed to retrace my steps. But that’s not how life works. What’s done is done.
I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve gone to bed, but I have yet to wake up a different person. I want this useless child gone. Only grown-ups stand a chance in this cruel world. I know I hung a do not disturb sign on the door, but those who love me should have known better. They should never have pinched my cheeks and said that I was sweet. Sweet. Sweet. Sweet. They should have known that even if that echo crashed against my dreams, it wouldn’t replace all this salt I have yet to cry.
I’ve never had a taste for milk. I learned the meaning of hypocrisy at an early age. My family was all smiles only on the wrong side of the door, that’s why I couldn’t wait to get my first real taste of blood. I like first impressions. They are harmless. They are meaningless. One stranger is as good as any other. Who knows, maybe I was always meant to be a solitary crab.
Left: I want to lock fingers with you.
Right: Isn’t that what deer do? I don’t want to argue with you.
Left: Who said anything about locking horns? Crabs have 5 pairs of legs and I don’t want our friendship to change. So, let’s walk hand in hand, crabwise, for as long as we can.
Right: I don’t think that will work.
Left: Will you feel more reassured if we stick to a tried-and-true method?
Right: You aren’t going to ask a bat to bite us, are you?
Left: I sure am! It isn’t my first choice, but I can live with a friendship that doesn’t grow a day older.
Left: Look! I’ve lost a tooth.
Right: I’ve heard that bats can squeeze through a hole the size of a dime.
Left: Are those the coins people used to throw into wishing wells?
Right: I don’t know. Maybe? But more importantly, why aren’t you afraid?
Left: Of bats? Why would I be? I’m ready to grow up and change the definition of all the words I know. Bats are welcome to these soon-to-be-outdated childish definitions.
Right: You won’t miss them even a little bit?
Left: No. Why would I? Crabs die if they hold onto the past and don’t shed their old shells. I will always be grateful for the make-believe world I grew up in, but we are social animals.
Right: The dictionary will always have the last word?
Left: Exactly.
Left: What’s so good about kissing somebody’s hand and swearing loyalty to them?
Right: I don’t know, I’m still saving my first kiss. Maybe someone couldn’t come up with a better way to spare themselves heartbreak?
Left: But we aren’t crabs, we can’t grow our limbs back.
Right: But we can wash our hands.
Left: Holy water may work on vampires, but what’s left of my heart is haunted by a ghost.
Left: Don’t worry, love. We aren’t crabs in a bucket.
Right: …
Left: We are not. I won’t deny that I know envy in my heart, but when have you known me to follow my heart? Don’t be afraid to show all your promise.
Right: …
Left: Do I look like a bat? Is that it? How many times should I tell you that I don’t expect you to take care of me? My life may be a succession of unsuccessful nights, but you have no obligation to keep me alive.
Right: …
What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see a box full of childhood memorabilia?
Crab: The toys I played with didn’t say much about me because they were gifts I received. That’s why when my parents told me to share them with my brother, I didn’t throw a tantrum. But my old exoskeletons are different. I’ve kept all of them. They are a diary of sorts, and when I become a father, I intend to give them to my child. Because I want him to grow up knowing the path that led to his father.
Bat: Sharing is caring, I suppose. The immovable truth is that people die when they lose more than 40% of their blood. The number of puncture wounds doesn’t change the end result.
Child: I thought this was the age of throwaway things?
What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see a red pencil?
Crab: I am not a bat. I don’t have a compass forever stuck on north. I may be red, the color of rusty blood, but I don’t care for being somebody else’s life mission. I would rather have a compass of my own.
Bat: Blood.
Child: Circles are supposed to be perfection, that’s why I always felt like my teachers were mocking me. A+ is the highest grade, but everywhere I looked there were only crooked circles in my papers. Maybe it’s just human nature.
What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see cutlery?
Crab: I’ve never danced for rain to fall, but I wouldn’t mind dancing for a whale fall. I’m dying to feast on a giant. Whale oil used to light the world, and I feel like outshining everybody else.
Bat: I prefer the word silverware because I believe that hunger should always take second place. I run on wonder, and I hope I turn to ash the day my world turns grey.
Child: I never learned to hold my cutlery properly. My father tried to tell me that knives weren’t quills and I wasn’t supposed to dip them in my heart. But I’ve never felt comfortable letting somebody else write my own story. I would rather hurt by my own hand.
What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you see stars?
Crab: I have a constellation. How many people can say that? I can become extinct knowing that my name is written in the next best thing to permanent marker.
Bat: I don’t need to see myself reflected in the night. I don’t lack self-worth.
Child: I’ve never liked that candy that pops in your mouth. I felt bad for the stars the one and only time I ate it. I know that space is dark like the mouth of a big bad wolf, but something as small as me shouldn’t outlast a light in the dark.
Little brother: What would you do if you were an owl with your wings stuck in a book?
Big brother: It depends.
Little brother: On what?
Big brother: Are we talking about a dictionary, an encyclopedia or a children’s picture book?
Little brother: An encyclopedia.
Big brother: I would gouge out one of my eyes and fill the hole until I was indistinguishable from a cyclops. Until I forgot the difference between right and wrong, and all that I had left were the facts in front of my eye.
Little brother: I don’t think it would work. Not unless you cried your heart out first.
Big brother: Do you know the difference between wisdom and knowledge?
Little brother: I sure do. Knowledge are the words and numbers I can recite by heart, with my eyes closed. Wisdom is my ability to survive in this world. I can get the first one from a book, but not the second one.
Big brother: Then, do you think a book would be of any use to an owl?
Little brother: I’ve never tried to crush a heart to pulp. I don’t know if human nature can be used to make paper. I only know that we invented words to lie to ourselves and deny what was in front of our eyes. It was a way to spare ourselves tears, that’s why you should always take what you read with a grain of salt.
Little brother: Do you want to know what I learned today?
Big brother: …
Little brother: Owls are picky, they don’t digest all of their food.
Big brother: I know, they regurgitate a tangle of teeth and bones, feathers and fur. It’s called a pellet.
Little brother: Don’t take me for a fool. I might have been born a handful of earth years after you, but my brain is light years ahead of yours.
Big brother: …
Little brother: It’s called a fairy tale. And it’s what trusting children are told by grown-ups that are already familiar with the facts of life.
Little brother: Did you know that owls are silent fliers?
Big brother: I did not.
Little brother: But that is not how I like to turn the pages of my books.
Big brother: …
Little brother: I cannot hear my bones growing, but I believe the end of ignorance should hurt. It will share a grave with my happiness one day and it deserves a song, a proper send off, don’t you think?
Big brother: …
Little brother: Not a gentle rustle of leaves because my imagination only thought about saving itself and ran away without me, but the sound of a heart being torn to shreds.