jaded

i was pretty sure i painted the verdant plains right on place.

my wife was positioned at the porch breastfeeding our newborn baby while overlooking our two sons playing with me in the garden. father and mother were discussing their plans of buying a new car and a new dslr camera for my sister abby who just started to venture in photography after setting up her new convenience store business.

each stroke painted sceneries of hope, visions of the future, and images of success. i was so drawn to the fascination of filling the spaces with green paint that i overheard my father’s sermon over the spills on the newly waxed wooden floor. the tone of his voice commanded me to look around and see the sporadic splashes of green paint on the white washed walls of our new apartment. paint drips entered the crevices on the floor and traced its irregular patterns creating a river-network of veins that started to cover a floor area of the apartment.

if not because of my father’s interruption, i would not feel the weight of the stiffened muscles on my neck and the contractions of my back and leg muscles. i was almost done painting my third cabinet when i realized the amount of emerald i’ve spilled over the floor. i never realized that i could make another one fourths of a bucket of paint with it to completely fill the crevices and cracks of the cabinet with hopes, visions and images of the future.

there’s no use ranting over spilled paint. despite the pessimistic air of my father's words, i managed to cover the cabinets with green pastures before the paint dried.