ORIGINS: We took a walk down memory lane. An ostrich and an elephant were waiting for us there. And we thought that a chameleon would effortlessly blend into that elephant. So, here we are.
By the way, the props are built from the eyes of each character. Just in case it wasn’t obvious.
Elephants remember. Chameleons blend in. Happiness is the backdrop most people want for their life. So, let’s call it selective memory. Tell me one thing you would write down and one thing you would leave to rot in the darkest depths of some box.
Pencil: You are not a child anymore. Black and white only belong in fairytales. Ink. Paper. Grown-ups fly. Birds. Butterflies. Yes, let’s go with butterflies. Sooner or later every child breaks down. Black bleeds into white. But nobody wants to call it grey. Beautiful colors. That’s what you have to tell yourself. Because there is no going back, and you have to live with the choices you make.
Box: Butterflies don’t feel pain. But I don’t have beautiful colors in my wings. Disappointment. Loneliness. I can’t ward off all the ugliness life throws at me. What I have is the skin of an elephant. Something thick. And grey. The color of cold stones. That fell, like tears, down a mountain that will never touch the sky.
Pencil: A one-winged angel isn’t the embodiment of despair. The sky may be lost to her, but flying isn’t all there is to this life. If the angel felt so inclined, she could still take somebody else under her wing. A child. Haven’t you heard that they are supposed to be the embodiment of hope?
Box: I tried. It didn’t work. As a chameleon, I leave much to be desired. I only had one wing left, and I used it to tuck my child in. Somewhere I could watch over his dreams. But I failed to live vicariously through him.
Pencil: The clock is ticking, and I still haven’t found a dream I want to gore to death. I don’t have much childhood left. There is no blood dripping down my horns, and this is where I count my blessings. No dream can live up to expectations, and at least I haven’t put mine into flesh and bone only to let myself down.
Box: There is something called zest for life. My chameleon knows his colors, and he has told me that the color I am looking for is red. Blood on some bull’s horns. Because enjoying life, truly enjoying life, means doing your thing and not caring about anybody else.
I don’t believe in birthday candles or chicken bones. Childish wishes have no place in my world. They can stay up there, among the stars and all the other little things that, given the chance, would only try and make my life look like a disappointment in comparison.
Also, you can keep the box. When I want to forget, I make sure to burn every last word and blow the ashes far, far away. My elephant doesn’t need to be any greyer than it already is.
Thank you for offering to wipe my tears, but there is no need. I will always have faith in you, my chameleon. Grey isn’t my color, and I know that you will never blend into it. Grey is the color of lessons. The color of memories. The lives others have lived. But even if we end up walking the same path as those elephants, I know that you won’t let me get lost. I will always have fresh colors of my own, thanks to you.
No! I don’t care what anybody says! We were born together, and I refuse to part ways. I refuse to let a stranger shape me. You and I, we were born to leave our footprints in the ground, side by side. Your colors were always meant to blend into mine, just like mine were meant to blend into yours. I don’t want to be influenced by anybody else. I don’t remember a day when I didn’t love you. And I refuse to let this world’s indifference turn me into someone I won’t be able to recognize anymore.
Here’s the thing. I don’t want to wake up one day to grey memories. The day the road ahead becomes shorter than the trail of footprints I have left in my wake, I want to remember a colorful life, not just a succession of indistinguishable, faded nights and days. Memories are like flames, you have to cherish them; you have to fan them with everything you have got. And there is a reason my elephant has chameleon-shaped ears.
I don’t love you because you are part of all my memories to date. Nor because we were born with the same face, and we grew up blending into one another. I love you because you look for our differences, and you make a real effort to understand who I am.