The entire conference hall was bustling with people, all appreciating the diverse art work displayed on the walls and were discussing what the painter is trying to convey. I was one of the artists. Looking at my painting on the wall gave me a sense of pride, accomplishment and courage. I believe it to be one of my best works till date. It shows a man solemnly looking at the river. He is represented by many different colors to show the beauty of the person, his complexity and unpredictable nature. Nature in its truest form provides peace, calm and stability. But interpret it however.
I should tell you about the last time I met the man who inspired me to paint this.
It was about 10 years ago when...
I was furious and trying to calm down as I knocked on his door.
He took his time before he opened the door and smiled sheepishly. "Well, well, look who's here" said he and moved aside. I went inside and reached the hallway with him trailing behind. I turned around and faced him "Why didn't you tell me before"
"Tell you what" said he
"You know exactly what. How could you even hide something like this" I asked with despair in my voice
"Oh yeah, well what about you? You're leaving behind your dream to be a painter to do what? Be a doctor and don't tell me that is what you truly want"
"Don't use that against me, you know it was hard to go back to painting ever since my mother died"
There was an awkward silence, neither of us knew what to say. I wanted to say a million things but I couldn't get them out. He broke the silence and asked "How did you know?"
I snorted and said "Everybody knows, you haven't been particularly discreet about it. Do you have to do this especially after everything you had to go through?"
He said "Yeah, this is what I want to do, there's nothing in my life I can trace it back to. Who I am now is what I'll always be and I chose this."
I looked around the house, at all the memories that I somehow lost or tried to forget about. It was hard to miss all the medals that we won tag teaming in tennis or reminisce that weird incident where we both messed up in a recital and every single person was staring at us in shock. He was bipolar. There were times he lived as though he was on cloud nine and sometimes did not have the energy to even come out of his bed. I was there for him like a sister, coaxing him to get out of bed, being patient with him and handling his breakdowns. It took him a long time for him to get to where he is now from consistent therapy, medication and meetings with support groups. I was always there for him, until I lost my mother a couple of years ago. I just couldn't be his support anymore when my own life started to fall apart. So I left him and the city to pursue medicine.
"You'll be fine right, promise me that"
"I promise"
We talked for a while and then I left as quickly as I came. He then went ahead to join the military.
A couple years later, I heard from one of his comrades who told me that he died in the battle. That stimulated one of the darkest moments in my life. I couldn't accept the fact the person who I spent so long trying to help get better, someone I considered to be my own blood is not alive anymore. The feeling of anger, regret and guilt loomed over me. Anger that someone so pure had been murdered and the regret for not understanding him and being with him for longer haunted me. That was the turning point in my life. That day, I finally picked up my brush and started painting. Paintings depict my emotions in a way words cannot. I could never describe him in words. His actions, emotions, beliefs cannot be understood or spoken about. His only connection to reality was with nature and humanity.
An year after hearing about his death, one of the comrades gave me a letter which apparently he wrote to me during his days of deployment but did not get the chance to send it. In the letter, he mentions the guilt he felt for causing pain to me and to his family. His family never understood him, and he always had this feeling that he didn't quite belong anywhere. He couldn't stand the pain that he caused, for which he blames himself. Although I have made this point clear that he was never a burden to me and that I was never afraid of him. Apparently, that answer never satiated him. He said that serving the nation, protecting its people filled him with a sense of purpose and comfort, he never found anywhere else and it gave a means to let out his emotions without hurting anyone.
The letter justified everything and through it all I finally understood who he truly was. It gave me closure that he at last found peace. In the end I could understand what going to the military meant for him. And this gave me the encouragement to move on. As I'm standing here, in-front of this painting. I thank the person who helped me find myself again.
