I cannot believe it took me this long to notice the art in this world. When I first arrived, I was convinced nothing could hold the same beauty as my home planet. I was convinced that this planet was simply a subject to our science, another something to study and add to our books. I was sent here with the intention to find out how it works, to somehow integrate myself into human life. To love and hurt and feel and know how these strange and mysterious creatures work, for they are so similar in looks to us, and yet so far in spirit. I came here believing that this planet was an ecosystem. A habitat. Nothing more.
But I had deceived myself. I am beginning to believe that this planet is a work of art.
It seems ridiculous in the loud moments, when everything around me is going to fast, and the hues clash against one another. When the world is rough on my mind, and I feel as if everything is breaking over me, as water breaks over rocks. When the air is suddenly sucked out of my lungs, and the ground sways beneath me, I can easily think that Earth is lesser than my planet.
But other moments, it is not so easy to see it that way. Early morning, for example, when the sun is rising so slowly that you can see the rays creeping across the ground. That is art. Or when you step into a glen, and the world around you is suddenly tainted green and the everything else fades, except for peace and quiet. Or when it’s raining out, and for some reason, the water seems to slow everything to a crawl, and emotion is thick in the air. Or when you’re standing in a gas station store late at night, and suddenly the mortality of the world comes crashing in on you. Tragic art, but art nonetheless.
And so, I have learned that this earth may be far more complex and beautiful than we had ever hoped.
But despite all that I am learning, I still miss home. I miss it most in the little moments. Like right before I fall asleep, and I’m stuck in the half-realm between dream and reality. That is when I miss the soft pink presence of my planet the most. Or right when I wake up, only to be met by the harsh glaring light of this planet. And I miss the quiet. It is never quiet on this planet. Everything feels the need to be rushing all the time. The days are so short, as are the nights. No one has time to “just talk” here. There’s always something new to see, to achieve, to reach, to create. It’s tiring. I miss the peace. I miss the quiet.
But there was a moment yesterday that made me miss it the most I have since I left. I came out of the gas station with my host family, only to see the sky lit up in the most brilliant display of color that I have ever seen. It was almost - not exactly - but almost the same color as my planet. A brilliant swirling painting of purple and pinks, accented with deep blues. The clear clouds hung in suspense over our heads, turning the previously blue sky into a masterpiece. Every single bit of the color reminded me of home, and I began to feel my heart leap in my chest. It was trying to return. I longed to go to the sky, more than I’ve ever longed for anything before. I stared up at the clouds, counting every second like it would be my last. I didn’t even dare to breathe for a long time, as if even a breath of wind would scatter the color. I stared and stared, until the mother began calling to me from the car, and I had to run to get in.
I still miss home, but I can see the beauty that lies below the surface of this too-bright planet. I will write again, who knows when.
Until next time,