Blazing tulips

I woke up with a painful nostalgia for tulips, with every muscle in my body aching to feel them. Haven’t seen those live in a million years. Being sick of the artificial ones that surround me. This calls for revolution – I will get my tulips and the government will pay for my longings. Everyone here deserves to see and smell a real symbol of spring. If anyone cares, dares to imagine how freedom actually feels.
It’s pouring with rain, the kind which I used to love. Gigantic, hot and silky drops, with bitter sweet taste and light wind as a musical background – the masterpiece of a summer day. I swallow them along with the salty waterfalls coming from my eyes – a strong cocktail for amateur alcoholics. Tears of admiration and nerves – I don’t want anyone to get hurt…almost. Can you see me in the crowd, Angel? I can see you with my heart. The actress with halo and horns, the liar from flesh and bones. Well you are about to see something spectacular and rather impulsive. I am shaking, my limbs tremble, but not from cold. There is light mist – steam coming from the burning asphalt. My feet are bare and free, I feel dizzy and excited. You from all of the bewildered public will understand. I think you might even clap (sarcastically), or maybe baffled – to see me performing such a dramatic act in front of the world. In our small insignificant village. A country of sin they call us, but yet they desperately desire to be in our place – where the sun chose to spreads its rays first, among the endless rice valleys and sacred temples. Watch me, Angel, but do not follow my steps. Do not try to save me, I am saving my soul today.
My eyes are closed and my mouth is opened. I gasp for air and faint…or dream, or start talking.
Up until fairly recently I was quite proud to call myself barely political. All that universe of corruption and dirt was as far from my reality as the cheeky jokes with which our gym teacher impairs the ears of the innocent forever. You might think that being 7 is quite easy. Your parents provide for you more or less, you play for the most part of your day, along with studying and then sleep safe and sound after a nice bed time story and a warm kiss from your mother. What if you are in an orphanage? Is it easy to be 7 now? You get to eat something from time to time – at least 7 times a week, fight for your rights to sleep in a bed and not on the floor while the older bullies are trying to make out on it…warmth and kindness can be found with piles in the stories you read and in the dreams you have. But still you have roof over your head, which is still something. Lastly would it make a huge difference if I told you I am 7 and living on the streets since I remember? They wanted to make me a soldier, put guns in my hands…made me kill to survive, made me feel dead, when alive! And now 70 years later – would you pity for me less? Now that I have burned my candle for the most part and I had the choice of how – with a lighter or a bigger flame.
What if I was your average burger eating, swearing at the soap series, fashion minded, weight cautious American? Would you label my life as easier than those mentioned above? And less valuable…less meaningful – less worth living? What if I was a prisoner, sentenced to death for killing the whole zoo, full of species who are almost distinct? I am such a horrible person, right? In fact I enjoyed that – torturing slowly hundred beautiful creatures. Would you allow my daughter to see me and say for the last time good bye? Would you stop her from saying ‘’I love you’’, while screaming and pleading for my freedom. I know I would. If she actually existed.
All of the above my Angel is fiction – you know how I like to exaggerate. You know me, well – an 18-year old aspiring actress, extremely beautiful (as they say) with ice cold grey eyes. Successful, ambitious, strong. Sounds promising and easy. And now looking behind the curtains: a mother of 1 living and 2 killed babies (there is a 1 child policy) with fathers unknown. Living in a small village and performing along with the very few crazy to stay here, actors from the old generation. Did I mention I am blind since I was 7? That’s how tulips disappeared from my reality.
The world is protesting today – for equality, for freedom of speech, for a better future. I am protesting along, let me be a copycat. Let me protest for the fact that no one asks anything the man who never talks and who lives with 12 dogs next to the restaurant’s rubbish bin. He always moans, and groans and seems grumpy, maybe that is why no one cares. If he was polite as the lady with long, braided moustache, everyone would look at him with interest and gossip intensively when he passes by – as they do with her.
Angel, how much would my words be worth if I don’t justify them? If I threw them at random directions and they just hang there for a while, seconds before hitting the ground with the transparent meaningless that I hate. The same used by those above me and my people. Who do not care for the difference between the 7-year olds, they will all receive the same indifferent and unfair treatment when they grow up. Some might be favoured by destiny, because they are nice to look at, others – because they speak nicely or are talented – but what if you are not one of them? Will you feel as if the heavy bricks of our time are only on your shoulders, not on the general public? Would you protest silently, or be active and start major riots and revolutions? Ah, I know, it is easy to be brave on paper, rather on performance. But I am an actress, my job is to convince you, to make you part of my dramatic play.

As I finished my inspirational or should I say insane speech the rain stopped. Someone from the city council’s window was looking down and I could feel that my enthusiastic public comprising of homeless dogs and cats were long gone before the last sentence. That someone from the window shouted that I was disturbing the working process and in that moment I’ve lighted the match in my hand. I want to burn down the system. To correct the mistakes – beginning with myself. I feel confident now, warm. It is not because of the setting sun’s heat, it’s the flames that are under my control. I don’t care if the small office person above notices my act. The people from my village will – they are wide awake and lust after tulips. The wind will bring me to my lovely tulips and who knows. How would you react if I told you, Angel, you should become a president? I am sure you would save the people from misery and despair. Just give them what they want – tulips and regulate from time to time the amount they get for themselves. What if happiness should not be too overwhelming? What if tulips didn’t exist?