Franz Lenard Torres 
The sky is blue.
I am colorblind. The concept of colors still remains a blur to my unique sense of sight. What you see as this, I see as entirely something else. I was five when Mom and Dad discovered this— on a summer night, while studying a supposedly ‘red’ apple. I cried like a toddler, a normal reaction of somebody at that age when they discover that they’re different from their peers. I was afraid, but you were there to ease all my fears away.
After I accepted the fact that I was different, I gained a sense of liberty away from the constraints of self-destruction. I gained a new hobby that same year. Formed through your love at looking at the afternoon sky. The sky is blue, you taught me. The same blue that mantels the widest of oceans and the blue I see when I look at my own eyes.
You taught me that sometimes, the wild blue yonder up there can transition into different tints. A subtle purple, a nice shade of orange or a tangerine, it can even turn pink which you also loved. I loved how you described the heavens above the both of us.
But your eyes weren’t blue or any of those colors. You said your eyes were something akin to honey, ‘Amber’ as you called it. A fancier name for light brown you said. It was entirely something different to the cerulean, azure, and the sapphire of the upper atmosphere you told me about. Mom said she gave you those eyes. I loved staring at them even though I could not fully comprehend the beauty of its shade, but I acquiesce, at the very least I can stare at your eyes.
Those eyes which held the stars and moon. The same eyes that look at me with fondness and with all the wonder the world hid seemed to hold a burden I could not illustrate through my limited and humble vocabulary. A sadness that I could not erase from the smile you masked it with. But I was late to realize this.
Until it was too late; I was too late.
“Why didn’t I know?” I wish the things you taught me hinted at the pain you were feeling so that somehow, I could have tried to do something before it was too late. I hope I was there to be a shoulder you could cry on the days your tears flowed like rain. If I only knew, I would have listened for eons, because God knows I would have rather cried, raged, be frustrated at the world with you than to see you lay there with those amber eyes closed forever.
The skies you have painted blue my entire life will now remain a monotonous and dreary ash. Grey, like a heavy cloud filled with potential precipitation waiting to burst. A sky brushed over with a grief that I think I will carry for the rest of my waking days. A sadness that I know will linger in the deepest crevices of my existence.
I am now stuck with remnants of a life full of promise. In a corner where color is absent — black and white. I will never be touched by the same brightness your colors brought to my life. Someday, I know colors might visit me again, however they will be muted and will not twinkle the same way yours did.
I hope in the life next of this the sky is the shade of indigo, royal, or even navy. A life where we get to be siblings all over again because I would love to be the one you teach about the sky’s colors, and everything under the sun all over again. In the next life, I hope life isn’t as hard as it is now because each day I need you more and more here with me.
But though this grief will remain a part of me, I will slowly learn to navigate its waves, to let the love you have shared be a guiding light through my shadows. I will always carry you with me, a blue strand forever woven into the fabric of my heart, a bittersweet reminder of the iridescence of the skies you once told me about.
illustration by Johanes Paulo Barral | The Tradesman
Suicide Prevention Awareness Month concludes today, but help remains accessible. If you know someone struggling, please don’t hesitate to contact support resources like Hopeline PH, a 24/7 suicide prevention and crisis support helpline. You are not alone.
- Globe: 0917 558 4673
- Smart: 0918 873 4673
- PLDT: (02) 8804 4673
