ORIGINS: What can we say? We have a penchant for things that are hidden in plain sight. The sea lion and the hummingbird are there. In black and white. But we have added some red to spell them out, just in case.
I tried to tell you how I felt. I opened my heart. I screamed in your ear. But you closed your eyes and disdainfully turned your head away. You wanted someone that would listen to you, and you knew that would never be me. My heart beat too fast, too loudly for that. But you rejected me, and silence drowned everything out. Someone is still flying. Someone is still breathing. The colors are still bright. But my name drifted away. And there are no words addressed to you in this heart anymore. It beats. But my signature is nowhere in sight. And I just wish the colors reflected that. My absence.
You can keep your heart. I outgrew childish things like that a long time ago. I threw every last piece of my heart out. Every desire. Every want. Need. Hope. I cried everything out. Life refused to listen to my heartbeat, and I will never settle for crumbs. Maybe you don’t have any pride left, but I do. At the rate you beat your wings, you probably wore it out while you were still a child. But losing my voice once was more than enough for me, and I refuse to beg anything from Life ever again. That’s my line. And I am sticking to it. Because there is no going back now that I don’t have a heart anymore.
I wonder if this is what selfishness feels like. I have a heartsong, but it isn’t enough. Its echoes die inside me, painfully pale, unheard, regardless of how desperately my heart beats. Can you really blame me for seeking out sunlight? The perfect angle to bring out my colors. Until they cut. Until they blind. And no one else’s cries can be heard above my iridescence. I don’t need a beating heart when I can beat my wings. Back and forth. Like a tide. That refuses to let go of its echoes, even if it means drowning you out. Crushing your cries in white foam and watching them disappear in sunlight.
I realized a while back that my heart was always meant to be an island. Solace. A place to stay afloat and just breathe, while the tears on my skin dry in the sun. That’s why I left. If I had stayed on that beach, I would have watched; I would have listened and learned. I would have pulverized my heart only to add more salt to the sea. And eventually I would have drowned. Like you are about to do. In that bluest of skies, when your wings finally give out. Because there is no solace to be found in colors. They are just what you show to the world, and the magic only lasts for so long.
I learned from your mistakes. So, the least I can do is say thank you. Thank you for filling that beach to the brim with your cries and letting me know that nobody cares. That they just lie in the sun, with their eyes closed, letting the noise trickle down their skin. I felt bad about being surrounded by bright colors and remaining unmoved. I was about to open a hole in my chest to try and coax my heart out. But then I saw you on that beach, crying your heart out, and the guilt dissipated in an instant.
I want to put my heart in someone else’s chest too. I want to store it away, so that when I cry, tears don’t break off my heart, leaving me a little bit more incomplete with each passing day. But I don’t have wings. I don’t have a suitable replacement for my heartbeat. If I flap my flippers, I don’t hear a song. I feel like a joke. And more tears flock to my eyes.
I used to think that I would die if I ever stopped flapping my wings. That my heart would go to waste and the rot would spread from within, ruining my breathtaking colors. But I was wrong. I slowed my heartbeats to match everyone else’s, and I have been told that the life hasn’t gone out of my colors. That nothing has really changed. And maybe you should give it a try. There is no point in losing your voice. Even if someone were to hear you, that comfort still wouldn’t be enough. But if you stay quiet and keep your heart in your chest, tears won’t burn your eyes because you won’t have been rejected. Just like me, you won’t have failed.
No matter what you say, my trick is better than yours. I can balance an eyeball on the tip of my nose. Do you hear that laughter? That applause? Life may be ugly, it may hurt to see, but I know that the trick to happiness is never taking anything seriously. You can hand out hearts as if they were balloons. You can fly faster than any other bird. You can split your heart and try to spread the love. But my trick will always be better than yours. Because you will only add to the ugliness when those balloons deflate or float away.
What’s there to like? Hummingbirds just get on my nerves. I am still trying to find a reason to wake up every morning. Something that can turn my heartbeats into a song. I don’t need that bird rubbing his striking colors in my face, as if they were salt in a wound. His wings beat louder than his heart, good for him, but I don’t need to hear it. I don’t want to keep falling asleep with envy ringing in my ears. I just want to be left alone, so that I can look for a dream of my own in the darkness of sleep.
Just like down feathers, tenderness has a time and a place. But I am not a child anymore. Easily influenced. Easily damaged and broken. I am finally past the age where others can effortlessly shape me. Do you see these hummingbird wings? Colorful. Razor-sharp. I deliberately kept my distance from the clouds while I was still a child and others had a say in my life. I bided my time. I sharpened my wings on my beating heart. And now I will put them to good use. I can’t wait to cut my first cloud to pieces and spell my name with them. Call me possessive, but I have always believed that my imagination should really be mine.
I am all ears. I am holding my breath. Should I hold my heartbeats too? You have my undivided attention. What are you waiting for? For my hummingbird to flap its wings and beckon to you? Don’t you know that hummingbirds sing with their wings? For once in my life, I am trying not to be a self-centered child. I am trying to listen to someone else’s song. Please, don’t break my heart. Don’t tell me that you don’t have anything worth listening to.
Why do comparisons have to ruin everything? I grew up among flowers, with wishes floating in the air. Sweet dreams. Sweet dreams. Sweet dreams. I grew up with my heartbeats chorusing those wishes. But somewhere along the way I woke up, thirsty for more, and before I knew it, I was looking for flowers that wouldn’t pale in comparison with me. But I am an iridescent hummingbird, and now everything tastes like dust in my mouth. I miss being a self-absorbed child. I miss that sweetness. I wish there was a way to determine worth that didn’t rely on comparisons. Because I really don’t want to have to give up my iridescence, in the hope of getting rid of some of this dust.
I am waiting for sunlight, a shred of hope, but I am not waiting for the clouds to part. It’s like being underwater. Behind closed doors. I am holding my breath. And I keep looking up, waiting for the keyhole to appear. I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. I was given a name. But what is a lion without its mane? I have to believe that the sun is keeping it safe for me. On the other side of this closed door. But hope is like having a rock on my chest, keeping me in place. I don’t want to give it up. I just want to look up at the distorted sunlight falling from that keyhole and pretend that something better is waiting for me on the other side.
I am quite happy. Why do you ask? I am a sea lion, but I don’t roar. Someone told me that sea lions bark. Like dogs. But I have no reason to take those words to heart and cry an ocean. Don’t you see the ball I am balancing on the tip of my nose? It’s round and white like the moon. And I bet you will never meet a wolf that has gotten the moon to listen to its howls, like this ball listens to me.
Sea lion: No. No. No. You don’t get to make eye contact. I may not have a mane, but here and now I am the next best thing to the sun. This is my show. And you only get to look at me.
It’s not worth it. Have you seen how crowded that beach is? Have you heard how noisy it is? I would rather break the surface in the middle of the ocean and just float in peace. I can live without drying my tears in the sun. I can live with the knowledge that I haven’t fought for what I really want. My place in the sun.