I was but a young boy like any other. Born from a humble home of a carpenter, my jovial father, a gentle yet strict mother, a diligent older brother and a sweet sister. As a child I knew not nor cared of the complex intricacies that concerned my elders, all I cared was fun and play.
I was a dullard at school, my intelligence lacking, always chastised by my teachers to my mother’s dismay. My father would smile and laugh, “it can’t be helped, not all people are gifted”, he would say, coaxing my mother’s grumbling complaints.
I was fine, content with how I am then with no desire to improve. Until one afternoon, as I went to an errand for my father’s sake. By destiny’s script I encountered, the girl who would make my heart flutter. On the way back home I sat by the plaza, relieving my sore feet for I walked too long under the sun’s glare. By chance, one glance at the fountain, I laid my eyes on a maiden at rest.
She sat at her leisure, her hands clasped over a small book on her lap. The daylight cast they’re rays downward, shimmering rainbows on the water that showered at her back, like an angel’s halo. Dark hair that glistened tinged with brown sat atop a delicate face, eyes bright yet dreamy gazing at a flock of birds pecking nearby. Fair and unblemished, a hint of a smile her pink lips curved, all of these tucked into a yellow sundress.
Was it love at first sight? Or was I mesmerized by her beauty? The youth that I was then could not comprehend what feelings he held, only that his heart was enamored. Moments later as I shyly stole glances, she left. I felt regret, for not being bold enough to speak.
From then on, my mind would wander, thinking of her. My family would notice me going into a daze, often needing to repeatedly call me out of my stupor. I waved off their concern, telling them I was fine, I was certainly not sick, unless you call infatuation an illness.
I would return to the plaza now and then to loiter, hoping for yet another glimpse of her, sadly my efforts were in vain for I never saw her again. I took in sketching as a hobby, so that in way I can recall through pencil and paper her image that I saw that day.
A few months later, by chance encounter I met her! One evening on the way home from school, across the road I saw her, now donning an exquisite uniform of what I recognized from a prestigious school nearby.
She exuded elegance and class, as I watched her bade her friends farewell and enter the limousine with her chauffeur’s aide. I shook as I watched her leave, but I could not muster the courage to even greet yet again. Disheartened, I went home gloomy, though I missed my chance, I know now she lived within reach so I have another chance to meet.
My elated feelings were noticed by my parent’s as they told me I would smile and change my expression in a daze during dinner. When asked, I was happy enough to reply that I had found the girl I loved. Ah, so young I was then, teased by my siblings with the amusement of my parents, I could only feel my face go red.
The next few days, I spent what free time I had in school rushing out to look for her, far away I would watch her among her peers, then leave to return late and sweaty at most, for I did not dare to skip even one class lest my mother’s anger strike me. Now my sketches had color, with every glimpse I made it so that I could replicate her on paper.
Overtime I learned her name. Julieta, such a tender word. She was the daughter of a well-known entrepreneur, whose lineage came with noble roots. I could not help but admire her more as I learned of her, until I came upon another conundrum. I understood, she and I were too far apart. I was no pauper but nor did I come from great or remarkable bloodline. With a heavy heart, I lamented my meager identity.
Upon another dinner my family noticed my depression, still, despite their good intentions, I did not speak of my troubles. Later I was called aside after dinner, in private by my mother. She held my hands, gently as she implored me to reveal the reason of my sadness. So, I bared my heart’s woes.
She listened, no judgement until I was done. She looked at me clearly, then said, “If you truly love her, then you must grow to be more than you are now. To be a man great and impressive so that even her father would easily allow you to be by her side,” She then looked at me sternly, “it will not be easy, but if you mean what your feelings tell you, then I will help you,” she declared.
With renewed determination, my mother’s expectation, I went onto the path to grow myself, to be more than I am. I studied, behaved, learned, all with my mother’s strict tutelage. It was difficult, it was hard, but I showed my dedication and gave my all.
The seasons turned, with them I changed. To those who knew me before, they would never have imagined that I would grow into the man that I am now. Though I was never first place, I was no longer the dullard at school who made his teachers headache, I was second at best. People knew me as a gentleman with great manners and intelligence, not an unruly boy without class. The adults, to each of their own would brag that it was their influence that made me change.
My hobby became more than drawing, it had blossomed into a talent for art; I could paint, design, decorate and sculpt. I earned praise as I would compete, I did not win every challenge but people slowly knew my name and feats.
My fame gradually grew and with it my skills I never ceased to refine, for it was my greatest tool to achieve my heart’s desire. Those of high society sought my service, to have an art piece of my craft. And with my etiquette on par with their nobleness, my attitude humble yet proud, I melded well together with their class Among them was Julieta’s father, whom I received a commission to paint a portrait of his daughter.
Finally! My efforts bore fruit! It was now possible for me to come close to her. My origins maybe humble, but I have become a gentleman and artist acknowledged by many.
On the day I entered her home, walked up the stairs of their glorious mansion, my heart was giddy with excitement and anticipation. Before I conversed with her father, I met her. By the terrace facing the back garden, she sat by a table. She turned and saw me. The moment she smiled at me in greeting, my heart, mind and soul felt hot, not scalding or burning but the pleasant warmth of love. Oh how she has grown, not the young maiden by the fountain who beheld my eyes, not anymore. Before me is a woman, befitting grace and elegance.
Still yet again I could not speak to her, for all my years of preparation and grooming I was tongue-tied. I could only nod and leave to her father’s call. Never would I have known that the next words would be my despair.
He wished for a portrait, but not just his daughter alone, but with her groom to be. I cannot remember how I left, the words flowed, I vaguely agreed, why? I do not know, only that I urgently wanted to leave immediately.
I walked in a trance, ignoring the world around me. I later found myself in a bar, where I drank and drank alcohol. No matter how much I drink it will never make me forget the cruel truth. Julieta, she is now a bride to another man, not to me. The aching pain in my head rivaled the ache in my heart the next morning.
Despite my sorrow, I still persisted and once more came to her mansion, to begin my work. I met the man who would become the husband of the woman I had feelings for. He was regrettably likable, much to my dismay. I knew him, even had pleasant conversations on some occasions. He was a good man, I could not help but loathe the idea of him marrying her, but I loathed myself more for feeling such horrid emotions towards him.
I barred my heart and began painting. The thought did cross to ruin this, even cancelling the work, but even I also held pride and affection for my career, so I will do it to the end as it would be desecrating the struggles of the young boy in the past.
I was not stingy, I definitely gave it my all, my passion for her. The result was loved and praised as a master piece, yet it was a bitter sweet praise. I wished I was the man beside her. In gratitude of my service not only was I paid handsomely, I was given an invitation to their wedding. If only they knew how much it was a knife to my heart.
For days next I wallowed in my home. I was stuck in a cycle of emotions; regret for never speaking to her, sadness for my unrequited love, anger for such destiny. When the day of the appointed ceremony drew near I braced my lonesome to attend.
I saw her walk the aisle towards her partner, where they vowed to God their promise and love, a heartrending sight. For a brief moment, I had a fantasy, what if it was me? But it was merely a poisonous illusion. I wept with others, people would mistake my tears for joy. I left afterwards, strangely, I was beginning to calm. I knew the next thing that I should do.
When I arrived home, I took my tools and erected a canvas. I poured all my emotions with every stroke of the brush, my skill into every detail, my memory in each color and with them I felt lighter. Another stroke and I looked at my work.
I envisioned her, Julieta. My first love. My unrequited. Her hair sparsely decorated with simple flowers, not to gaudy, not too much. Lush green grass was her bed, as she slept peacefully, the dusk light fading on her hair. Just like now, I too will put my love for her to rest in tranquility, to be reminisce as the simple innocent infatuation that drove me to improve and grow. It will not be the end of me, it is my painting of farewell to my muse.