Color-blind (English Ver.)

Sorry, sometimes I can’t understand all your poetic sentences. Your remarks, which contain many suppositions with connotative meanings, are typical of a writer’s habits.

I will listen, not because I have to. I’ll listen until you’re done and won’t interrupt with questions. I’m just afraid of ruining the mood if I pause your happy-sounding speech. But I’m also afraid you ask if I understand. Sorry if at that time, I just presented a smile or laugh.

That evening, you told me. Your feelings may be like the atmosphere of twilight. Orange-yellow then starting to red. Sometimes you are filled with happiness, but a little later, maybe you become disappointed or angry.

At that time, I didn’t understand. Even now I don’t understand. But in my eyes, yellow-orange-red looks the same.

I never knew all the color analogies you told me about. Even if I hear or read, I can’t feel the same. So that’s when I told you.

“I am color blind.”

You’re staring at me. Speechless. I tried to smile and continued.

“I’m sorry if all this time I just smiled or laughed. All the colors you show, actually look the same in my eyes. Turned into black and white and gray.”

You came closer to me, then leaned on my shoulder while saying sorry. You said sorry for always showing things with color. Then you start saying those words one by one.

“That, green tumbler.” Then you take the red tumbler. I thought you did it on purpose because you just laughed.

“Would the blue shirt or the orange one?” You said orange but took a blue shirt.

I should have known a long time ago. Sorry. I made you look like a very annoying, nosy person. But it turns out I’m the bad one.

I hear your voice begin to jiggle. You’re still leaning on my right shoulder. We sat on the rocky shoreline, watching the ripples of the waves with the grey-scale twilight getting darker.

I’m kinda sorry, to tell the truth. Makes you sad. You told me so happily. Just as I can’t see other colors, it seems I can’t see the right circumstances to tell a story either.

I put my head on top of your head that rests on my shoulder. I said, “You’re not the bad one. Precisely, I’m the bad one, interrupting your happy expression with this story. I’m used to grey-scale views. The world that I have lived in has never been colorful. But thanks to your habit of teaching me various colors without realizing it, it has made me begin to be able to distinguish the light levels of each color. And made me realize that what I saw was just the colors that were around and I could only see.”

I’m starting to have a hard time stringing words together. But this is my last sentence for you.

“Your presence in my world, with all your actions, thoughts, and stories that you bring, gives color to my life; You’re the only color I know.”

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Sorry for my bad English.

This story was written by myself, and translated from the original (Indonesian language).

Warm regards,

Yayan Dwi Krisdiantoro