A Point of View
The city loved to flirt with the night, letting her go slowly. Nothing was in the rush, even the sunrise. The cable stones would reflect back the shadows of everything left behind. The linear perspective of the dimensional world during the day was abandoned by the continuous geometric deformation during the night. She liked observing the city at night. The two-dimensional world of viewing the city was easier for her. She lived in the world of Dyslexia. The deformation of viewing things was her talent. No one could see nature like her and she was clueless about that. How would have she known? She was a creature of her own brain.
Sundays were the days she loved the most. That day her dyslexia was creative. Invaded by the smell of her mother’s baking early in the morning, her father would spontaneously begin his storytelling. In her mind, he was the “newsmen”. He knew everything that happened the day before, or so she thought.
What is in the news this morning dad? She would ask curiously with her eyes half closed, still not fully awake. Her father would create this characters, and go on and on during breakfast, narrating all that happened around the neighborhood. With his characteristic of exaggeration, he would tell her that the neighbor got married and how the wedding dress was blue instead of white, or his friend’s dog got groomed by a real barber. That soon, it was going to be a shortage of eggs in the house since mom burned the first set of cookies, or that there was a new book coming out in market teaching French for exceptional cats…
She never asked how all this news made it to her father during the sleep. His creative mind of storytelling fed her imagination. Her father told the stories the way she saw them. Making sense of the world around, a system was needed that would simplify the complexity in her mind. The Sundays “news” was neither repetitive nor redundant, it was their mutual understanding of what really meant “seeing”. She knew, her father saw things around strangely different. The concept of the “news” narrative was rebellious and creative. The abstract was perfectly understood only between them.
Father and daughter were inhabitants of their structural dimensional world. Often they were confronted with spontaneous changes of objects appearing differently. The ignorance of not knowing the other’s vision was their luck. They had a way of seeing the world where the others lacked to vision. Their world was dyslexic perfect and was morphed into that by birth. Nature played its role to connect father and daughter by their vision.
In her mind, time transformed everything but change in her vision was the only thing that stayed the same. There were so many things that she loved that maybe would not make sense to the others. She was no stranger to distortion. She wasn’t sure if it was her brain that played the trick or the sunset. Either way, she was happy to witness the reflection on her own vision. After all, only she could see her world. Time only taught her how to love it.
FATJONA R. LUBONJA (2017) THE DAYS THAT LEFT WITHOUT PERMISSION ©