A Paint Job, Layer by Layer
It has been more than years since the walls in my room got the last coat of paint.
And so on Monday, with much of Dad’s help, they got a new coat of paint.
I’ve never helped painted any wall in this house before, but as I see my aging dad toiling away, I knew I had to step in to help.
I learnt from his ways how to handle a new bucket of paint, how to hold the stick a-proper without tiring myself, how to work the smaller brushes around the nooks and crannies. Sometimes I asked him, sometimes I had to figure it out on my own.
I also learnt that that paints of yesteryears are no longer manufactured, due to chemical concerns. These days, they come somewhat watery: odourless, anti-mould and easy wash, perhaps coined by some exec in Nippon Paint’s marketing team.
But more so, I learned how I have taken my parents’ love and company for granted all these years.
As I painted the once-white walls that have now turned yellow, with a new coat of white, I can’t help but to feel a little inside as if I’m just concealing my past wrongdoings with this new shiny exterior. Yet, on the other hand, it is perhaps symbolic in a way that represents a new lease of life that I needed.
I mean, what better an explanation for the constant feathers that keep floating into my room whenever I’m at my desk next to the window. But as experience shows, my self-make-believe can be dubious at times.
These days, I think about (repairing the misunderstanding with) my gym crush a lot. I think about the steamy first encounter and then fucking up the second one by accident due to my nerves but does it mean anything? I think about getting back up on my feet a lot. To ease whatever load I am shamed of casting upon my parents who have been quietly supporting me for years. I think about the song Paint It, Black by Utada as I layer each stroke on the previous, despite not knowing what the lyrics mean and despite that I’m painting white over my black.
I think about getting a proper haircut in time for October, a month I hold dear. I think about the good times life has brought me, despite the bad. Life as a playlist of ups and downs - as a stranger on the forum told me, but all it matters is the present. I think also about the volunteers on MayoClinic genuinely helping me in my case, despite us never met and being miles apart.
And I think it is better for my room to have this new coat of white, which wouldn’t have existed, or appreciated, from the yellow beneath.
