Canvas of Shadows

9

I've mentioned before that I was an orphan, abandoned at birth. It is the beginning of a tragic story.

My health was poor from a young age, and this adversely affected my mental well-being, creating a vicious cycle further compounded by the harsh realities of the time. Surviving those conditions was a stroke of luck in itself.

Skipping the various hardships of my childhood, it's important to note that my psychological state was fragile, leading me to think differently from others. But I never did anything wrong.

My sole refuge was in painting. It allowed me a temporary escape from reality, so whenever I wasn't working, I was painting. I had no innate talent, relying solely on practice. My skills were decent, but my work lacked a certain spark.

I once approached an art teacher who offered me a chance to study without tuition fees if I could produce a piece that truly moved him. In hindsight, this was likely a polite way of saying no.

Then, I met a kind-hearted store owner. She was genuinely nice to me, offering me a job and allowing me to paint during my shifts.

One Christmas Eve, knowing I'd be alone, she invited me to join her family for the celebrations. I declined, so she suggested I stay at her more comfortable apartment instead.

That's when it happened.

On Christmas Eve of 1998, I was in her apartment, watching the Christmas's countdown alone.

Unmoved by the festive cheer, I set up my easel, hoping to paint, but inspiration eluded me. As midnight approached, with the countdown to Christmas in full swing, I thought maybe the Christmas would bring a change for the better. Seeing snowfall from the balcony lifted my spirits slightly, so I wrapped myself in a coat and reached out to catch the snowflakes. That gesture, reaching out into the snow, was the moment everything went off course.