Searching for Blue

Searching for Blue The air-conditioned wind broke apart as it scraped the surface of my skin. I looked out the window where the bright, white sunshine covered the black road. Through the car window, I saw a vast sheet of deep-blue covering the Earth. It was still, yet it flowed in its own manner. This was my most vivid recollection of my childhood; the single happiest memory from when I was a kid. At the time, my innocence made everything around me a vibrant green. Although my family settled in an impoverished neighborhood, nature always had this green life: a vivid life force only which my memory can recall. Over the years, this green began to lose its color, transforming into a lifeless grey. It was during this time when my father began sipping on his lifelong poison— alcohol. As his addiction progressively got worse, more rageful episodes occurred. His beatings quickly became part of a regular routine in my life. During the beatings, all he said to me was, “This is all your fault. My smoking, my drinking, my misery, everything! It's all your fault.” Eventually, green no longer seemed vibrant, just a dull grey. My life became consumed by this color. Eventually, I became accustomed to this new color; yet little did I understand, this destructive grey would follow and lurk over my shoulder till my death bed. I grew comfortable with this color, even if I knew it carried a scythe ready to reap my soul.

Nonetheless, I did my best to bring back this old green color I knew and loved. From academics to extracurricular competitions, I attempted to recreate this color in my family life. With all my dedication and grit, I managed to be recognized on a national level for my academic success in mathematics. Damn, they even gave me a trophy and an assembly for my success. During the assembly, my mother was the only supporter there in the audience. Afterwards, I went home and to celebrate by going out to dinner. I asked my father, “Dad, do you want to come and eat with us?” My father just ignored me and sat there in silence. Now that I think about it, my father was never there to say, “I’m proud of you.” So, my mother and I ate dinner together, just the two of us, like always.

Months progressed: I saw grey, everywhere. It bedeviled my mental health. Grey took an insidious form— a long cloaked figure that steadily tried to reap my soul. Slowly and surely, this color stood in the corner and creaked the floor boards, cascading its lifeless cloud. And remember, I saw grey everywhere. I wanted an escape! I WANTED OUT! I was sick of looking at this fucking color and I wanted to be free from it. The only solution that I could think of resulted in ending every connection that I had on this Earth: suicide.

In my room, a ceiling fan hung over my head. The fan furiously swung back and forth with the weight of my body. Each movement tightened the rope, which was levitating me off the ground. The rope tightened its grip and clamped my skin. SMACK! My body fell to the ground, taking the ceiling fan and a piece of the ceiling with it. My father rushed to my room when the crash shook the household. He physically abused me once more. I was not surprised; however, as I became numb with my own internal pain, the beating did nothing to me. I was suffering in a world alone, and no one could help me.

A few months had passed, yet nothing really changed. Until, I was surprised one day by the sudden appearance of my father, followed by my principal, at my weekly PE class.. He told me that he had gotten off work early and was taking me home. At first, I felt puzzled and confused. When I returned home, I was surprised by my mother and most of my relatives 一some of whom I had never seen in my life before. Again, I became extremely confused, yet I just went along with it. They treated me unlike anything I have ever experienced. But, all I thought about was tomorrow’s math test. So, I told my parents that I needed to study for my math test. They looked at each other and said, “Are you sure?” I responded, “Yeah, I have to study for my math test.” My mother told me, “I don’t think you need to study for your test.” Surprised by my mother’s response, I asked my parents, “What’s going on? Why are you acting so strange?” They both peered at each other with worried looks. “Maybe it’s time for bed. You have that test tomorrow, right? So, you should go study for your test and go to bed after.” I still felt suspicious about how they were reacting towards me. Regardless, I went to my room and did what I needed to do. Shortly after, I went to bed —like always.

The next morning, I woke up from a very restful slumber. My eyes slightly opened as the white sunlight manifested in the corners of my room. I squinted at the clock. It read 12 o’clock! I sprinted to the living room. “12 O’clock! Mom, I’m late for school. My test starts in 15 mins —I have to go!” My mother turned and said, “You‘re not going to school today.” “Wh...What? Mom, what are you… why are you acting so weird?” I exclaimed. My mother sat me down as my father entered the living room. My father clasped my mother’s hands as she spoke. “Son, umm… you have, uh, you have...” I looked at her with curiosity when her lips quivered. “You have can-cancer.” I froze for a bit. I replied, “I-I have cancer? ...I have cancer.” My mother hysterically cried and nodded her head furiously as the tears streamed down her soft cheeks. After all the abuse I’ve been through, I saw this as an opportunity —a way out. Yet, little did I understand the fierce battle that I would soon endure.

Shortly after, I was admitted to Ronald Reagan UCLA medical center for Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. According to my doctor, I had a 50/50 prognosis. I can easily explain the medical process or how the treatment works, yet I can never fully express to you exactly how detrimental it was to my health, not physically but mentally. Anyways, the tall grey building marked its place: a place of hope to others. To me, it was a frozen, grey forest with no greenery. Everyone had their smirk, but everyone looked lifeless. Fake smiles, fake hope and faith, no sense of life. Everyone slumped across the waxed floor with their IVs and colorless gowns. The padded feet smacked the floor when someone flatlined. Just a typical day in the hospital.

Over the months, I made one special friend. Because of him, I did not feel as though I had cancer, and neither did he. Honestly, he was my best friend. We coped through our pain by listening to music. We both stood in our armor and fought against our insidious cancer. We remain true like brothers. Our friendship was what kept me alive in the hospital, not the treatment.Despite my 50/50 prognosis, I seemingly overcame the reality of death on multiple occasions —some cases were worse than others nonetheless. Yet, my friend did not live after I was discharged from the hospital. He had a 90/10 prognosis… h-he had a better chance to live than I did. I breathed, but I was not alive. I wandered in the grey forest and tried to escape. I walked without direction as my best friend was buried in the ground. I looked up to the gloomy, grey sky— cracked with a slight blue. As I hysterically cried, I yelled, “Why God? Why did you take him? It should've been me! It fucking should’ve been me!” There was no response from the sky. No response from God. No response.

Look at me, I may have survived cancer, but the cancer has never left me. I am no longer ill from the leukemia; however, I’ve been robbed of my humanity. I’m breathing, yet I no longer can distinguish death from reality. I dream so that I may feel reality— once again shining through that car window. Never call a cancer survivor a hero. We are seen as a different breed of “humans” who are revered in pity and fear. Look at me, I am no hero, I did not willingly ask to battle this monster. I was forced to fight for my life, while my friend —my brother— lies dead in the ground. You may assume that I am hopeless. Well, you are wrong. I no longer wander in the grey forest looking for the green which evaporated from my childhood. I do miss green, but I am looking for blue. The same blue that I saw glimmering on the sea as a child. The reality is that you cannot resurrect the past when you are in the present. Even if you manage to do so, it will never be exactly the same. So, you must either leave the forest and find closure or live in purgatory. Trust me, purgatory is pure suffering. You cannot continue wandering in the forest and remain sane. For these reasons, I am searching for blue. Blue, the color of darkness and light. Blue, the water that can either save you or drown you. Blue, the ambiguity between sorrow and courage. Blue, the solemn beauty which lives within everyone. Beauty lives within everyone —blue.

#facingmentalhealth