ORIGIN: We were feeling blue, the window had betrayed us. So we thought of mounting a deerhead on the wall. Something that would lift our spirits, or at the very least help us shake that dreadful color off. Deer shed their antlers, do they not?
Is that your most prized trophy? I see. Poor thing, you are all ears because nobody cares. There, there, I am here now. I might not be all ears, but I have a heart somewhere in here. Go ahead. Regale me with tales of your pride and joy.
Some people count stars in the sky. I prefer birds. I have already crossed 660 names off my bucket list. I have already seen and heard all that these 4 horizons have to offer, and now it’s time to spread my antlers. Not my wings because only deer are kings, and the items on a bucket list are meant to add points to your crown. By the time I reach the bottom of the page, I will have put the stars to shame. Every crossed-off name will be one less shooting star in the sky. More room for the birds that have snatched my heart.
Do you like my smile? Look at these yellow teeth. At these ugly ducklings in a row and their upside-down reflection. Aren’t they just perfect the way they are? I know that swans pave the way to an easier life. Don’t get me wrong, when I grow up, I intend to charm my way through life. But this is my first set of teeth. This is my time to shine, more yellow than the sun, and enjoy being myself. I’m not in a hurry. Browsing steel trap catalogs can wait until nightfall.
It’s not fair. Do you know how long it took me to knock everybody else off? The high score was finally mine. I had never been prouder of my initials. What right did they have to discontinue my machine?
It’s not the largest forest there is, but I found its heart, and I spent the night under its leaves. I will never touch the stars. But that night, even though all I could see was black, I touched hope. I synchronized my heartbeat with it. Then I woke up and went back home. Where the rhythm of my everyday life took back control. But I won’t let anybody tell me that it wasn’t real.
Out of sight, out of mind. Those roots might still be there, but you won’t be diminished. Your achievements are yours, and you won’t let anybody convince you otherwise. You are more than the sum of these genes. No father of yours, no mother of yours, will ever claim ownership of your life’s work.
Mother had a head for numbers, there wasn’t a single artistic bone in her body. But I grew up watching father’s antlers shape the clouds. My genes were poised to follow in his footsteps, but I steered clear of the clouds. Comparisons only breed hatred, and I wasn’t keen on hating my father, never mind myself. I would be lying if I said that I don’t have any regrets. But I will take those over hatred any day of the week.
Why the sudden interest in my family tree? This is the first symphony I have composed. Are you trying to bring me down from cloud nine? Sorry to disappoint you, deary, but I’m afraid that doesn’t work on me. Here, I will give you the answer you want to hear. There’s no need to keep digging. Music ran through my paternal grandmother’s veins.
My mother’s smile is all teeth. She might be nothing more than a small cog in a big machine, but she fits in and makes the best of it. I prefer to smile with my mouth closed. That way others can’t see the cogs turning in my head. My mother can keep the real world. Dreamland is where I fit in.
My father was a master of breaking promises, but I would never feel comfortable hurting trusting children that don’t know any better. What I am about to master is the art of breaking hearts because I have no qualms about hurting those that are old enough to know better.