The Grass Is Always Green(er) on My Side

Prologue

Merryan had always been a good girl. There wasn’t an instance she remembered in which she upset anybody. Even the tiniest hint of a conflict made her stomach shrink and her bowels incontrollable. One mistake and she would chastise herself in the cruelest way. Being liked was being happy.

This spring, Monday the third, she woke up completely blind of color. Funny thing, there was no terror, no panic, just a bland acceptance of a well-deserved reality. She took a leave from work to adjust to her new life. And it made her peaceful. No doctors, no medicine, no cures. She had to adapt, overcome, not react.

Dear Diary,

First day. By 10 am, I have concluded that there is no sunshine in grey, no need to face the Sun directly. No social media to check, I deleted it fast forward. I have decided that only the best TV shows should be watched, those with the best reviews, art movies with something to be learned from. No more than one episode per day, too much screen time damages reality.

Meaning of life. No need to duty-answer messages and calls, today I greet everybody with a smile on my face. The world in black-and-white isn’t so bad after all. It’s about being at peace with it. Now that I cannot see colors, I have no other expectation than to survive. Nobody knows. Strangely, as I brush my teeth with my electric toothbrush, I see my red hair tie on the side of the sink. Boy, I do enjoy days of madness.

Second day, Tuesday the fourth of this spring. It seems obvious that the first thing to do is grab coffee and buy red lipstick. No more modest clothes, I am fit enough for modern ones. How unusual it is to see a black-and-white-and-red world. Well, black-and-white was easy, but a red-dotted world is harder to envision. The red man pedestrian signal is there, ordering me to halt and wait. My spectacle case is red, but the table under black.

Meaning in life. I have always wanted to write, but that would not be safe and I started late, or didn’t I? The first lines are the hardest. I shut down my laptop and there it is, Dostoevsky’s large yellow book spine with its engraved letters, The Idiot. How honored I am for this book to be the first to reappear in gray world. Reading pages that convey meaning, the psychological truth still valid more than 150 years after. True bliss. Wonderful. Good night.

Third day, Wednesday the fifth of this spring. My three-colored world seemed unusual, to put it mildly. Yes, the red and the yellow were there last night, but the orange came later this morning, when I looked at, well, the oranges in my fruit basket. I feel like I am in a kitschy cartoon, I am not used to such vivid colors. My plain world is now partially colored. Singular experiences are dreamlike, is this Colorland?

Meaning to life. My studio apartment does need some improvement; I always fancied beige for a living space. It stems from childhood. All those trinkets my parents owned. They would never throw away things. And everything was colored and mismatched. Not now, anymore. The furniture shop did have a dark blue lamp which I could easily admire, and I bought it along with a matching set of violet pillows. Oh, what a day to see colors.

Fourth Day. Thursday the sixth of this spring. No meaningful contact with any human form. Life is amazing when your phone is in airplane mode. Writing in my favorite bookshop while sipping the best tea of my life. Jazz music in the background. Evening. How wonderful it is to read in a crowded park when silence is the only noise in your head. Today is about mindset. Inspirational quotes, the primitive art of following your gut never fails.

Meaning with life. Yoga classes to synch the body with the mind. I can almost see the full palette of colors. Not all the mixes are done. How extraordinary to have grey spots in your life picture, that T-shirt on that little boy, the blades of grass all melting with the ground. How chilling… yet I go to sleep in my pink gown undisturbed.

Fifth Day. Friday the seventh of this spring. And now I follow the rain with my eyes, I have always enjoyed the fresh smell. It feels like a high-quality cleanser of thoughts. I am in exceptional mood when it rains but feel elated when I take a walk in the post-rained weather. It is refreshingly cool to feel that humid breeze in a spring walk. A “he” smiles and I smile back. Cheerful. I look at the blue sky then at the green grass and I rejoice that I had the power to get all my colors back.

Meaning above life. The unbroken will, the discipline. The peace and the quality time. I stroll aimlessly with the purpose of tranquility. Everything is temporary. I write and I rejoice the art. I stretch and I inhale. I exhale and pause, close my eyes and relax. The habit of no longer caring is not true, but rather the custom of living at my own pace, in my own colors. My limited experience with noncolors became lifelong tradition of gratitude.

“Hello, milk and sugar with your coffee?” one barista asked.

I don’t nod; I just smile and disagree. I walked away, not fearful to say no. Yesterday had missing shades, today I see all colors, tomorrow is uncertain.

Epilogue

Merryan had never been a good girl since the seventh of one spring. There were many occurrences in which she didn’t bother to check if she had annoyed anybody. She was just herself, unbothered. Even the greatest of conflicts could not disturb her body or mind. To be in error is to be human, and to acknowledge it is salvation from pure suffering. Being yourself means being serene.