“The ignorance of the world often makes people believe that life should be black and white – that you must choose sides – and so the world of colourful gradients goes unadmired.”

― A.J. Darkholme

M O N O C H R O M E – H O P E -was when I tried everything that I could do and still did not get my dreams fulfilled, and I gave up? I should bother to keep on trying or lose it all, just because I did not find a solution? How was going to change what was not possible in a lifetime just with another try? I should let go of what I thought life was supposed to be and just embrace where I was and how special it was. Life was not a straight line where I turned on and off dreams and fears. Monochrome hope was for those that couldn’t leave behind the past that dragged them back where comfortable feelings kept them company on empty nights. How could I live a life so naive leaving my faith in the arms of an illusion, which disappeared when the day showed her first raises, and I forgot what I dreamed about all night long? Unless I would not turn the wheel of fortune with both hands and kept it tight until I felt the veins stretching and my muscles sore, I should not pretend that hope would save me. I needed strength, motivation, and a dose of craziness to step on the path of life like in a taming lion arena. I had to leave myself to be scared, fearing my journey, and drained of all my powers. I had to leave myself to feel sorrow, pain, and loss before I embraced the beauty of this life. Why? Because my life wouldn’t be full of miracles if I would not leave myself to feel it, appreciate it, and enjoy it. Black ink on a piece of white paper was just a page in a book, my life was not faded, and monochrome was full of colors. The spark was hard to get when the rain poured and everything was lost in hope, but painting with bare hands, dipping fingers in colors, and splashing a vibe of life around me could make it worth living it. I had to let myself paint a rainbow over the life I had because the beauty couldn’t stay in hope but from the courage of changing my life with bare hands.

“Its not easy taking your own advice, accepting what you don’t like hearing, & seeing the grey amongst the black & white.”

― April Mae Monterrosa

M O N O C H R O M E – T I M E – was when I set up the alarm in the nighttime to not miss the next day? Why I needed time to recover, mourn for loved ones, and wait for feelings to fade? What kind of life was this one when everything was scheduled and planned and there was nothing left for free play? If I knew when to eat, to sleep, and take the trash out, why did I even say that I was living the time of my life? I was stiff and rigid, and I moved daily like the clock index, one step at a time. Clocking in and out for the day without living space to squeeze a smile in between, I was dragging my feet like the minute hand following the hour hand, one second after another. Everything kept the rhythm like a heartbeat engaged in training, and I forgot to relax and enjoy my life. I was living a dull life between dusk and dawn like a robot because there was not enough time to follow my heart, and I was a slave in a tic-tac world. Running late or staying over-time, I left my dreams to survive only for the short nights overwhelmed by fears. I lived with the fear that I would not have time in life to see my child long enough with dirty faces and small sticky hands, becoming a too-fast young adult. I feared that my far-away parents will not have enough time to see my sad eyes and tired face before they will leave for peaceful places. I feared that one day my family would not be strong enough to remain together and all the hard work and dreams would fade like fog. I feared that my body would not stay strong enough and weak hands would not be able to hug loved ones. I feared that in those days I would stop turning and too late I would realize that in those times when I run and tried so hard, I lost precious time, I lost myself.

“Our personal past is only available to us now through black-and-white film, it’s a medium for communication with the dead, including our dead selves, the way we used to be, which is why we’re drawn to it.”

― Frank Lentricchia

M O N O C H R O M E – J O U R N E Y – was when I gave up or continued in opposite directions on my path? What choice was the one that would make me disoriented, the one I thought of, or the one I felt about? To go to the left where there was nothing right, or to the right where there was nothing left? From where could I take my coordinates and fuel to fill up the tank of life? This life transformed me into an addict that needed a new challenge and new points on the map to reach goals and to force me to take one step forward and not gave up. The journey in my life would always be my choice, even when the road was under construction or not paved with hope. Only one direction I could follow at the time even though was the one that would lead me to destruction. I kept my head in a cloud of dust while shifting up the gears, I stomped the gas pedal and hurried to speed up and leave behind what hurt me. I did not dare to stay in the middle of the road when speeding cars were passing by because I feared for my life. I did not take unknown roads and I followed the maps that were safe and would take me to the destination. I measured the distance, I was responsible to keep the engine running and I hold on tight to the steering wheel, keeping the straight road ahead of me. But what were the chances to discover new places if I would never get lost? How could I know what risk and adrenaline are if I would never find the courage to try to get out of my comfort zone? How could I discover what was on the other side, following the double white lines from the road and never crossing the boundaries? One night with a flat tire in the middle of the meadow could be lightened up by thousands of stars or fireflies, but that was not possible from my comfortable sofa. One extra day on the road could reveal the transformation that happened only for the ones that had patience. I hurried to reach my destination when I should enjoy the journey. It was not a race where the start and the finish line were the only ones that mattered. This life was not a monochrome road on a flat surface but was the journey I took with the sky above, the warmth of the sun, and the fragrance of the flowers that lay along the road. Rushing I could not feel these moments. I couldn’t pass at high speed through life, because in the end what was left would be the journey, not the destination, and not even the distance.

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