ORIGINS: In the original series, look at the left eye of number 5. It looks like a white, heartless flower, and there is a random animal sticking its nose out of it. But we couldn’t leave it at that. We had to put a name to that animal. And since flowers can be wild or plastic, we went with two of each.
Thank you, but you don’t have to kiss me goodnight. You don’t have to fill my head with your fairytales. I have already tucked myself in this flower and I don’t need your help. My dream won’t be a paint-by-numbers. Not tonight. Smells are better than glue. No other memory has stuck longer in my mind. And tonight all the colors will stick to this flower while I shape the darkness that awaits me in my sleep to my heart’s content.
When I was a child, I burrowed into the heart of a fragrant flower. They said that I was a skunk and my mere presence ruined their picture-perfect field of flowers. I was afraid. I didn’t want to be ostracized. They told me that they would let me stay if I changed my smell. The truest particles of my being. They told me that I would get to keep my name, and I told myself that nothing lasts forever. I thought that the lies I told myself would be better than the truth that had brought me so much pain and I deserved a respite. I burrowed deep. But I stopped being a child a while ago, and I am still stuck in this flower. The petals haven’t fallen. It feels like they have tightened around me. And I no longer remember what I used to smell like.
I knew what was expected of a little pig like me. There was mud on the ground, but I couldn’t bring myself to wallow in it. My skin is pink. I wasn’t born free. In the wild. Like those boars with their mud-colored fur. I knew that a lie would never make me happy, and I didn’t want to drown in my own tears. But the expectations didn’t go anywhere, and I looked for something I could wallow in. Something with a color as unnatural, as deliberately selected as mine. And this is what I found. A flower that isn’t really a flower because it will never lead to anything else. Pointless colors are all it has. And even though it hurts, at least I feel at home in it. I can wallow in these pinks, without dreading the day the mud inevitably dries on my skin and the lie flakes off, leaving me raw.
Maybe I would feel differently if you had picked this flower yourself, pricking your fingers and bleeding for me, or if you had started from scratch, taming a wolf for me. But you vowed to be my loyal dog, you bought this flower for me, and knowing that love has a price isn’t the disappointment here. I already knew that money is cold. That it doesn’t have your face, nor your feelings for me, engraved on it, and you could have just as easily used it to buy something else. But it makes me feel cheap, and I would rather not have flowers and dogs defining the word love.
If you asked me, I would say that life is winter and sleep is spring. But that doesn’t mean anything to people who grow up in greenhouses, does it? I like watching my dreams bloom in the only place where reality can’t fade their colors. But maybe you like being told what to dream and where to color. And if that is the case, I can only say good for you. You make a better social animal than me.
You don’t have to tell me that, unlike most memories, smells are permanent residents. When I close my eyes, I can’t draw in the dark. It doesn’t matter how much I love you. One night I will forget your face, I will forget the sound of your voice, and if I am really lucky, at least I will still be able to spell your name correctly behind my eyelids. But smells have a key. They can come and go without my helping hand. To tell you the truth, sometimes this body feels more like their home than mine. Because now that I am all grown-up, now that all I have are passing memories, I don’t feel like protecting anything. Much less leaving a lasting impression on anyone else.
What are you talking about? Don’t make me cry. Nothing and no one is free in this life. If that were the case, I would be a wild boar. I would spend my days eating roots, while the smell of wild flowers still lingered in the air. But all I have is a pink piggy bank. Where I used to save for the dreams I hoped to be able to afford one day.
Do you know what keeps me awake late at night? You call me selfish, but selflessness is not a thing. Flowers aren’t fragrant because they want to brighten someone’s day. And there is no loyalty without the expectation of at least receiving a crumb in return. Out of love? Suppressed laughter is what keeps me from falling asleep at a decent hour because I don’t want to be cruel. Not to you. Not to anyone else. You are right. I am selfish. I know what bones can buy me, and I have eaten my fair share of them. But at least I don’t pretend love is something it will never be.
I believed myself the center of the universe, and this is the flower that grew from my navel. Who would have thought that there would be a pest in its heart?
Koala: I am sleepy. Can’t you turn the stars off? I don’t feel like dreaming tonight. I am too tired not to repeat myself, and I reserve this type of laziness for my daily life because my dreams deserve better from me.
Skunk: I was nice. I let you go first, and I waited until your smell disappeared without a trace. Now it’s my turn. Let’s see whose smell lasts longer in the universe.
Pig: I am hungry. But I am not picky. This flower will do. But if you have grown attached to it, I could always settle for something else. What’s that thing over there? A meteorite, you say? It looks like a truffle to me. And I would gladly spare this flower if you got it for me.
Dog: What place is this? Where is my leash? Maybe you don’t know how loyalty and love are supposed to work, so, I will enlighten you. There is always a sun and at least one planet. Does that make you feel small? How about the center of a galaxy and at least one star? My point is that there has to be a leash, and it’s supposed to go around my neck. I am supposed to love you. So, don’t disappoint me more than you already have. Hurry up and take me for a walk.