ORIGINS: In the original series, the second character has panda bears balancing on waves. Those waves look like birds with sharp beaks, and that is where we got the idea for these flocks of crestfallen waves.
By the way, it should be obvious, but the props are built from the eyes of each character.
Do you see these waves that are doing their best to lull me into sleep? They look like birds because I need a reminder to wake up when my dreams reach their peak, before they crash and everything ends in a splash of salty tears. But don’t mind me. You were about to fall asleep too, weren’t you? I can see the pacifier in your mouth. That raven-haired angel that only wants to keep you safe and sound. My birds want nothing more than to guard me against disappointment too, and all I can say is that I wish you luck.
The birds are trapped in the ocean. They tried, more than a dozen times, to break like waves, but they didn’t find freedom in the color white, only disappointment. The word crestfallen was invented for those birds that don’t have the strength to fly anymore. And sometimes I wonder what word the clouds will dream up for me. To describe my thoughts. Each and every one of these rivers that keep growing like venomous snakes, and always flow into the same place. Into my heart, for lack of an ocean. Into the quietest part of me. Where nothing can be heard. Not birdsongs. And certainly not hope.
The sun has a chariot pulled by radiant horses, but that is not me. I have never been able to make joy show in my face. I am more in tune with sadness, with the night and her melancholic stars. Those stars no one bothers to look up at anymore. If I had a chariot, it would be pulled by birds. The color of salt. The color of faraway stars. I know that I will never cry an ocean, because that is not who I am. I keep mine inside. Where I can turn every wave into a bird, so that they don’t break. And if I had a chariot, that’s where I would put my heart. I would entrust it to those salty birds that taste just like tears. Because I am still a child, and I need someone to promise me that my heart won’t break.
For the longest time I thought that waves were white birds with sharp beaks. That they were angry at the sky because they were trapped in the sea. That they broke, because they couldn’t fly, but they could peck the sky and splash salt all over those wounds others insist on calling stars. But then someone asked me why I was angry, and I couldn’t keep casting my own shadow over the sea. I wanted to be a bird. I wanted to be free to shape my own bones. But I was trapped. I was being raised in a sea of memories and resentments that should have dried up long before I was born. And I am still angry. Because I know that my bones would have been light enough to touch the sky, if only people didn’t keep watering the past.