Spiral Rainbow

I was born in a place where they wet your forehead with animal delicacy and a dripping handcup to grant you a word to be known by from that day on. My word was, and still is, Melisa. Over the years that followed, I tried to make variations to it. Amongst the prettier ones were Melizah, Melisabeth, and Dulce. This last one was ambitious. It contained just two of the original letters, and sounded nothing like it. The prize (the image of a spiral rainbow of sweetness whenever it was said or heard) was obviously worth it.

I am grateful none of my trials ever stuck for long.

Unlike those trials, which came from and went in any given direction, my mood swung in an almost predictable curve from east to west, like a dense metal pendulum, or a mile-long swing hanging from a branch, that appeared as close when I was east as it did when I was west. That brief moment when time seemed to stop and my heart would skip a beat on purpose and my legs, only limited by my shoes, seemed to be suspended in a closely-knit cloud of air, at either one extreme, was, even at that short age, processed by my mind as the most graphical reason I was alive.

Sadness and happiness were extremes of the same hardcore emotion. Tears and laughter were the wings of a butterfly- symmetrical manifestations of life with equal functions, each with a push-pull effect on the other.

Many structures in my mind have changed, but that particular one remains untouched. In fact, whenever I have clumsily attempted to rephrase it, I’ve found it hard to rest before translating it back into the most archaic of my language possibilities.

I am now 19. There are days when I feel I have jumped over the line that divides maturity from the good things in life. Today is not one of those days, as even I can diagnose immaturity just from reading how I wrote it. 

Still, there are days when that line seems as far away as I intend to keep it, and that means far.

I was 7 when I discovered knowledge might be the most expensive of accessories- it gave you the guilt uncalled for to balance out the fun in an otherwise pleasing act of immaturity, and took away the curiosity given to things and thoughts if they had already taken place in your life.

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  1. One my personal trials was “Tracy” hahaha.. I´m glad that never stuck. I don’t even like it now but at the time, I was a seven year old and that sounded like a supercool and a modern eighties name. I wanted to be like the girls on TV with teased bangs and a perm, yeah you remember the big shoulder pads and white keds, right? Good times…


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