"True love doesn't need proof. The eyes told what heart felt."
― Toba Beta, My Ancestor Was an Ancient Astronaut
(Tirchanus' POV)
7:00 a.m.
I wake up, lying on my back as I have beaten my alarm clock again for the hundredth time, which continues my winning streak. I press "snooze" on my clock, trying to get scared again like yesterday when I dropped my toothbrush in the toilet after it went off only to realize I didn't press the snooze button. I stared at the ceiling as I picture a thousand things I could paint on my white canvas that stands in front of me, empty and ready to live in color. Hundreds of images are popping up one by one, feeling every color, every brush stroke and every careful pattern I delicately add. Vivid images are scanning through my head; images like buildings, roads, people and tress. I feel each detail echoing in my head until one particular image strikes me: a park scenery. I know just the thing to do.
I get out of bed, stretched every limb and muscle there is in me and slowly walk to the kitchen where I made my usual breakfast: slices of ham and cheese and a sunny – side up friend egg sandwiched between two halves of an English muffin. I swear, the food sounds similar but I quickly brush off the thought of it. The smell of the muffins toasting and the egg sizzling on my non – stick frying pan covers my entire apartment with breakfast goodness but it would be a better sensory experience if the damn egg decided not to splatter oil on my skin. I twitch with every drop of burning hot vegetable oil touching my delicate skin and decide to bring out the big guns: a garbage can cover. Like a knight with his shining armor and shield, I protect myself from the splatters that come raging in like burning arrows in the nightsky. I could just be dramatic but it is never a good morning if you suffer from third degree burns from it. Careful and swiftly, I remove the egg and place it onto the toasted half of the muffin. I finish the dish by adding a slice of cheddar cheese, two smoked ham slices and to finish it all off, the other toasted half of the muffin. I marvel at its beauty and smell for a few milliseconds before I eat it slowly but surely. Clearly, I don't want to choke on my favorite breakfast dish early in the morning.
As I chomp down on the breakfast sandwich, something hits me. It has been two months since I moved in this apartment and everything just seems small; from my bathroom and kitchen with a table and two chairs positioned opposite of each other to my bed. The small, flat screen TV sits close to the small narrow hallway and positioned in a corner just so I can watch shows on it from my dining table. The walls are once yellows but are now grayish and the ceiling is in need of repairs. I never thought of fixing my apartment room with all the money I earn from selling my paintings because I always end up paying rent and buying more paint materials with little to no care about food. Everything feels so small, broken and lonely. I know that I should have known that beforehand but with all of my time spent on making paintings and selling them for an affordable price, I never got the chance to just sit down and observe the state of loneliness I am in. I thought someone else would come by and be my roommate but not even a figure visited my room so far. I never got the chance to even call my family because of how busy I am with my small painting business. It feels incomplete, I should say. It is all silent with the last chunk of the sandwich resting between my left index finger and left thumb. The sudden feeling of loneliness starts to build up on my chest but I manage to let out a deep sigh and eat the remains of the sandwich.
I get up and turn the TV on; doing just about anything to remove the painful silence the room is under. It was on some documentary about lions in the wild but I care less about it. I grab some clean clothes and a towel because of my stench reaching into my nostrils. I step into the bathroom, strip my clothes off from my body and step in to the shower. The cold water trickles down my body. I assist myself in getting wet in all places by rubbing my hands all over myself. I squirted a handful of shampoo on my hands and gently massaged my hair with it. It has been a day since I hadn't been taking a bath properly so I must make the most of it. I grab the bar of soap in front of me and proceed to rub it everywhere on my body. The cold water continues to pour down on me, washing every soap film clinging on my skin. Once I finally smell fresh and new, I step out of the shower, pat myself dry and put on some clean clothes. I walk to the sink to brush my teeth but I can't help but stare at myself.
Damn, I am 41 years old and I am living like a teen, trashing the place and smelling like crap.
I note some sagging near my eyelids and cheeks and obvious eyebags that are obtained from last night's staring into the scene outside the window: the beautiful night sky that are designed with stars and a moon with buildings being lit up by colors of blue, white, and yellows. I didn't take my eyes off of such beautiful picture, wondering what is more to be seen at night. I grunt at myself, realizing that I am aging older everyday and walk away from the mirror.
I grab hold of my blank white canvas, my paintbrush set and my paints because I am on a real mission: to find a particular scene that I keep forevermore; a particular scene that I can't bring myself to sell for money but just a memory. It may sound cheesy and boring but here's the thing: I am not living in just a city. I am in Kalimbahin, the pastel city. It is more than just the beautiful architecture and the nature, it is the colors that drive me to capture the beauty of the city, frame it and even sell it for a good price but even I can't replicate the energy and the aesthetics Kalimbahin radiates and it would be an injustice to sell something I am not happy of. There's just something the small city has that would seem bigger than what it is.
I take a deep breath and step out of the room.
I'm going to face the city again and I don't think I'll ever get tired of it.