ORIGINS: Nostalgia spoke, and we obeyed. What are homes if not peeling wallpapers and portraits on the walls?
The wallpaper is peeling. Is this what growing up feels like? Someone will replace me soon. I can feel it in every fiber, in every trace of ink that I have. I was only ever meant to be a scribble on this wall. Freedom. And laughter. And more wonder than could ever be put into words. I was never meant to last. But I still believe that there is magic in goodbyes. And I would never use mine to curse my replacement with tears. I will only ever bless him with warmth. So that when the time comes for him to peel off this wall, he can leave with a smile on his face too.
Why would I cry? Children grow up. That’s just how it goes. Wallpapers peel off. Time can’t be stopped. It can only ever be sped up or slowed down. And I don’t really have to tell you into which category tears fall, do I? When the time comes, I will say goodbye with dry eyes. My colors won’t be intact, and I will probably have more than a few ugly scars. But none of that will be on me. Life doesn’t need help, and I won’t lend it my tears. I would rather fill my heart with things that can lift the corners of my mouth.
I don’t remember much about the child that scribbled me on the wall. But I think that he must have had my eyes. Not the same dreams, of course, just the same willingness to let wonder into his heart. He disappeared in the blink of an eye, while my ink was still fresh, and I didn’t have a chance to say goodbye. But I kept the stars alight and the colors bright. That was my way of saying thank you. And I just hope, that when this wallpaper peels off, the grown-up behind it will have room in his eyes for one or two stars. I know that he won’t have my eyes, and most colors will look faded to him, but I just hope that he can accept some of my stars, like the gift they are meant to be, and smile, when he remembers me.
I have laughed. I have cried. What else am I supposed to do? I had dreams. They didn’t come true, and I keep waiting for the wallpaper to peel off for good. Shouldn’t someone else have taken over by now? Isn’t that how it works? Disillusion breaks me into tears, and I grow up. I become someone else. And it’s his turn to try and find some other thing that can keep a smile on his face. I don’t understand why I am still here. I thought that growing up was supposed to be a mercy. I already broke into tears once. This peeled wallpaper is proof that I cried, that I did my part. And I won’t have my heart torn to shreds. I shouldn’t have to break twice. That’s what replacements are for. And I am tired of waiting for mine.
I never liked the pictures on the walls of the house I grew up in. Their fake smiles. My forced smiles. I hated the bright, fake colors of the wallpaper that tried, and failed, to turn that house into a warm home. Growing up looking at that wallpaper. At those pictures. If I had to describe it, I would say that it was like having dirt thrown on my coffin, over and over again. They wanted me out of sight. But I always knew that I would have the last laugh. Because children grow up, and nothing stays buried for long. I knew that the colors would fade away and the wallpaper would peel off, because lies work their magic for only so long. And I couldn’t wait, for the day I finally forced them to see me.
I wouldn’t say that I was a ghost in my own home. Sure, I was invisible growing up, but I never felt incorporeal. I had blood, I had bones. Things I hated, and things I loved. And to tell you the truth, I was grateful to the staged pictures on the wall. I knew what the owners of that house wanted to see. The memories they wanted to take to their grave when the butterflies came for them. And I only had to smile for the camera once or twice a year. The rest of the time, I could do as I pleased, I could be myself. And I never minded doing it behind colorful wallpapers and closed doors. Out of their sight. Because I knew that one day I would run out of photogenic teeth and all the wallpapers would peel off. I knew that I would be free. To leave that house. Without leaving anything real behind. Not a drop of blood. Not a bone.
I have always believed that homes should be full of memories. But growing up, I couldn’t help feeling like something was missing. The wallpapers were bright, and there were even brighter smiles in the pictures that hung on the walls. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciated the thought. Someone loved me enough to want to ward off sadness, and keep anger far, far away from our home. But I felt those things too. They were part of my life, and I would have liked to see them on the walls too. Instead of having them denied. Banished behind a thousand smiles and just as many colors. Until they became monsters lurking in the dark. Two thirds of me, that only wanted to break free, and come back to me.
It’s not that I feared for my soul, it’s just that I never liked having my picture taken. I hated comparisons. But that had nothing to do with my sister. We might have grown up under the same roof, but she had her room and I had mine. What I didn’t like was having to remember who I had been. I didn’t want to remember a child that could still see bright colors, when all I had was faded paper on the walls. I didn’t want water and fire, tears and rage, to peel what little I had left off my walls.
No more four walls. No more living inside someone else’s heart, with all those best interests that barely left me any room to breathe. These trees don’t seem to be asking for anything in return. And I will just enjoy being free for a while. All this fresh air. While it lasts.
I like how this feels. The tide tickling my feet, reminding me that those four walls are gone. That they are nothing more than sand beneath my feet. No longer pictures hanging on the walls, like the moon on the sky. From now on only I will be responsible for all my ups and all my downs. For all my smiles and all my frowns.
I hope, with all my heart, that this feeling lasts. That it doesn’t wash off, as easily as dreams do, with nothing more than a yawn and a tear or two. Where I grew up, there was paper on the walls. More than a dozen colors and patterns. There were people telling me what to see in each pattern and the meaning of every color. I had to leave. Before pointlessness overwhelmed me, and I surrendered my own two eyes and all my words. So, I left. And I met these clouds. If I had to put a name to this feeling it would be freedom. And I can only hope that the people I am trying to leave behind wait at least a day or two, before they come to wallpaper the sky too.
No. This isn’t for me. I can barely hear myself think. I liked my four walls better. The colors of my wallpaper might not have been real, but at least they were warm. And when I talked to them, I never felt ignored. I want to go back home. Please.