The dreamer in blue

WRITTEN BY JAMIE PAULINE A. SANCHEZ

On a warm Thursday morning of May 2001, her almond eyes fluttered towards the sunlight streaming in from the hospital windows. She is held close by Mama’s firm yet gentle arms, which are tirelessly rocking her into a peaceful sleep. Her room is filled with shining eyes, wide grins, and coos. The sky outside blushes a soft shade of blue. It feels thrilling as the outside world oaths her nothing but happiness.

Papa softly sings to her at night: “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray. You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.”

After many years, she will get tired of this story. Nevertheless, she grows up as a dreamer.

Time blurs into an erratic loop.

She has already encountered a few heartbreaks. She nursed a knee scrape, a broken promise of a trip to the zoo on her 7th birthday, Bowie’s death – her fluffy brown German Shepherd named after English singer-songwriter David Bowie– and many more. The sky outside buzzed, splashing a bright shade of blue with graying tips. She found herself letting noise in, just because it felt familiar. Just like the woven blanket she’d wrap herself around to watch lit shadows, or run across their backyard with a flying cape – but more often than not, she buried herself deep into the blanket as the noise has turned into an enemy.

Noise offered her a handshake and said, “Fear is my name for now.”

She learned to play violin. She learned how to paint. She twisted her ankle in ballet practice. She climbed up the attic, and foolishly cried to the stars.

She is still a dreamer.

Eventually, she grows up into a feisty youngster. She wears her hair in braids, dancing with blue electric streaks.

The blue sky has long been sullen. It is no longer waved “Hello!” by sunshine, just as Johnny Cash’s hit song finally pauses.

The noise has grown, too.

It lies behind her back when she sleeps, crawls inside her bathroom mirror, screeches at ‘open-mic nights’, slurps into her Caffé Americano, drizzles with the rain.

She continues to fight the enemy. It is now called Madness.

Is she still a dreamer?

The walls are blue, soft around tattered edges, giving off a bold sheen.

She hears the pitter-patter of rain – its trills in a steady rhythm, in sync with her heartbeat. Whispering loved ones fill the room. The guitar quietly plays the song of Papa.

The noise is still there, but it is no longer familiar. It is no more an enemy, but a stranger.

She has conquered the last face of the enemy.

Death.

Perhaps, the noise will always be there. It will always be there like a shadow, an inconspicuous dark patch among skies.

However, there is Rebirth. The beginning of an end, as it is the end of the beginning.

Her journey doesn’t end here. Oh dreamer, the world is yet to be a noiseless sky with blue hope.