I boarded the plane with the warmth that had travelled far enough to beat my guilt, in that moment.
I was seated beside a young boy, probably about 14 years old and we exchanged smiles but not words. I plugged my earpiece into my ears and went to my go-to playlist of solemn piano chords on Spotify and brought out a book I bought at a Sales show before I left school.
The cover was old but somehow that attracted me to it. I took a deep breath in as I flipped the first page open.
The first page and the second one had this opener-
"Born into mother's breathless arms with a story of guilt wrapped around my bloodshot eyes and hideous horns- at least dad calls them that.
He threw spears of hate into those eyes as he clung to his wife I'd just murdered, or maybe my birth did.
I was an orphan with a father who saw me as the opposite ghost he'd rather live with.
What was I expecting anyway?
I wasn't gorgeous or remarkable.
I wasn't my mum.
A pixie?
I was a scoff for the name.
Too hated to be embraced by any besides me.
Broken wings are sad,
But aggrieved wings adorned with colors that look like scars can't dare to fly.
A morning, the only glorious one I ever had as an adult, I came across a Polaroid of mum.
She was soaring high in the Ataskka forest and I made that picture my mission.
I found the forest and nature has a way of nourishing beauty without fail.
Gorgeous leaves and celestial petals...
I basked in it...
Something began to rise from me,
Was it?
Above the ground and nearing the skies, I shed a tear as I felt closer to mum and nature.
How could I have known I had this in me?
The universe never gave me a rainbow that spelt my name.
But this moment was nothing earthly words could amount to.
Mum called me Hyacinth and I'll live the rest of my days trying to blossom."
I took a deep breath after reading this while trying so hard not to cry. I could feel the tears choking my eyes to be let out but I knew I couldn't. Not now, not here. Her name was Hyacinth too and somehow I took solace in her very own journey of self discovery inspite of the guilt and hate that weighed her down earlier.
Still trying to make sense of what message to send to myself, the boy next to me asked me a question.
"Is that what a happy ending feels like?" He asked with sincere lucid green eyes.
I took a moment to think about it and I replied.
"Maybe. or maybe it's just the start of something new, like a happy beginning. But whichever, I think we all deserve one." I ended those words with a warm smile which he reciprocated and now those tears had retreated.
I closed the book, shut my eyes and once again reflected on Hyacinth's last phrase, about living the rest of her life trying to blossom.