Painting Stars

"You are here, mother Nadia?" A dry voice resounded behind her. “Everyone was tremendously concerned about you. You left infuriated and in a state of shock.” It was Abel, her step-son. Nadia wasn't accustomed to chatting with her husband's other wife's children.  She hurriedly wiped tears from her face as Abel drew closer and sat next to her on the ground. He beamed at her. He noticed she had been crying because her eyes were red and swollen. 

“Are you okay, mother Nadia?” he asked in a state of uneasiness. “I know what happened back there shouldn’t have transpired. I know he is my father but he has no right to treat you that way, let alone any other woman. Just because you are married does not mean he can lay a finger on you.”

“I am fine, Abel.” She calmly replied. “Am I needed back home?” She asked him vacillating to start chit chat as she was not a woman of many words. 

“No not really, I was just truly concerned about you and I thought of checking up on you. My mother was a bit nervous when you just ran out of the house, so she asked me to look for you.” He paused.

 “Wow! Nadia! What is this place? Is this you, were all these paintings done by you? He asked, dazed by her art work. "It’s like some form of archeological site, you are very talented. So, you took my advice and resumed your hobby?

It's a good thing I encouraged you to pursue your interests, otherwise I would have never acknowledged you were this endowed.” 

 She blushed with embarrassment; her cheeks turned a red color. “It’s just a place I like to come and spend some time alone brother Abel, I mean, I’m not that good though,” she stammered struggling to find words out of nervousness.

 “You called me brother, so you also agree that I'm old enough to be your brother? It feels weird calling you mother. After all, I'm just a year younger than you. You are only twenty- two years old Nadia! Why do you really love my father when all he has ever given you is abhorrence and contemptuousness in return for your love and faithfulness? Nadia, I feel your pain; I know your inner most desires and I believe no woman should be unfortunate enough to live a life like yours.” He gazed at her with apprehension in his eyes. 

"Abel, let it be. What can you do about it? This is my fate. Life has destined me to be this way. Art has given me no pleasure anyways. Why do you encourage me to go on with such nonsense?" She lied. Art was her life. Although she had abandoned this skill months into her married life, revisiting it rekindled a flare of passion within her, where her ambitions seemed to have a chance at becoming a reality. 

The next day, the sad young woman sat on the ground engrossed in her hobby. She was unhurried, painting with traditionally made water paints on a large canvas; a beautiful depiction of the scenery before her large blue, bulging and curious eyes. The sun spilled her rays on the golden sand dunes heating them to the core that they seemed to continuously gleam in the horizon and beyond them stood a series of tall green mountains that appeared to be coated in white at the top; white as ice, overlapping in the distance. Her pale frail, withered hands worked with skill; hands that disclosed years of poverty, hands toughened from hard work in the fields all day in the scorching heat during farming seasons from the tender age of six to executing the heftiest hardest house chores simultaneously, daily exploited by her parents; handed to her cruel husband who exploited her as well and as she had mastered this art; she exploited herself, her skill, her talent to an essential volume to bring out the uniqueness of her painting with realistic features and traces. She would toss in a few green shades here and there, then she would smoothen them out with a grey shade using charcoal ashes and white dried root powder blistering her fingers on the semi- rough surface of the canvas in the process. She did not seem to care because the zeal within her drove her that one could see the desire in her eyes, a desire to reach her full potential, a desire for freedom, a desire to a life beyond her unfortunate hopeless abyss she was imprisoned in; entangled in degrading words spilled from the mouths of her in-laws slowly gnawing away at her self-esteem day by day so that it created this bleak view of the cold frozen icy world within this abyss seeking to suck her soul lifeless; eating away at the flare of passion for her art; a fire she struggled to keep alive within her with hopes to a purposeful life she dreamed of. This place was like an escape, a secret hideaway. Her desire was like an unquenchable thirst she desperately tried to satiate because the more she painted the more she didn’t seem pleased with her work, herself and the more she felt unpleased the more she tried until exhausting her last breath and at last she gave up and lay on the ground in total renunciation. Tears started flowing from her eyes dripping at the sides of her pale cheeks. Her whole body was trembling from an ocean of emotions within her, mixed ambiances; anger, defeat, self-resentment and most of all regret.

Even though she was laying on the ground, her knees felt weak, she felt drained emotionally and physically, she turned to look at her painting, her painting seemed to come to life. Nadia sat up crying bitterly pulling bits and chunks of her hair, crying like a child for the first time ever in her young life, lamenting why this had happened to her. If only she possessed her sister's charm and personality maybe she would have been the one to be chosen by their aunt to go live in the USA. She would have been granted a chance to a better life. She would be in her place, educated, confident, traveling to exotic places and learning of new cultures. She would be unmarried, loved and loathed by jealous folk, or maybe if she possessed Yasmin her other sister’s boldness and know-how, she could have stood up for herself. She could have stood up for her life, for her dreams. She would be in a different place in life right now but she cursed herself for being naïve, being lenient; too tender that she let people push her over, and toss her about like a play thing as if her life was not worth it. She had watched her dreams burn to ashes as her parents exploited her by placing her destiny in the hands of an old polygamist who neither loved her nor cherished her. She hated herself for possessing these looks, these good looks that made men taunt her whole life; looks that made her brutal father lay greedy eyes on her and sell her off to a ferocious man who pleasured at taunting her every minute of her life. She sat hugging her knees in desolation. Her paintings reflected her feelings; her being. To her, they were life it’s self as she got to express her inner most nature through them. The act aroused a tone of ambiances within her; beautiful emotions that gave her a sense of self-worth and there was always this unique feeling within her also painting the bleak areas of her persona with heartening sentiments. 'You are worth it! You matter! They do not define you.'  This was her daily evening routine that gave her so much fervor and an escape from her harsh and cruel life.

 All her evenings ended with here unhappily gazing at almost every past painting in sight; a painting of a horrified deer pacing about in confusion as a posse of lions encircle it, as if each deciding who would be first to catch the prey. A painting from two weeks ago. Another one on a smaller canvas was a painting of a beautiful sunset with giraffes drinking water along a river. This she interpreted as the blissful moments she felt peace as she loved watching sunsets; the giraffes on the river bank appealed to her appreciation for nature, it was a painting from a week ago. Another was painting of a large cheetah rolling on the ground on its back like a playful cat while a smaller malnourished cheetah gawked at the sad artist in terror; a painting from yesterday. This painting made her sad the most. It reflected the feelings within her. To her in the painting she was the sad artist as she captured the world for what it was. The happy cheetah and its sad counterpart; she interpreted as the powerful and wealthy deriving happiness at the expense of the less powerful and less fortunate. The oppressed believing nothing would ever change, and things would always stay the same like tradition, the same way she felt ignorant to the fact that she possessed the power to become whom and what she really wanted to be as she thought nothing would ever change and that her life would always be a monotonous one; a life of servitude.  

 At last she gazed at the painting of the mountains seeking to feed herself with encouragement; an attempt at luring a ray of courage into her bleak life. Then she interpreted the green mountain representing her future life path accelerating, changing for the better. She vowed to do better the next day. Her talent of bringing imagery to life was an art she liked to flaunt with confidence and fine art was a talent she had, God-given at its premium. She dreamed of becoming a professional artist with masses flowing into the gallery to view her audacious work and she imagined her self-smiling presenting her portraits as she was the kind to take pleasure in her expertise. She dreamed of travelling the world like her sister, Harran; she dreamed of learning how to read and write. Her unhappy evenings would turn into memorable ones as she loved watching the sun embrace her fateful evenings at the dawning of dusk; a site which was pleasant in her eyes. She would always hide her paintings at an ancient shrine made of granite rocks. This place was a place she called her own; her place where no other soul had ever dared to intrude, but this evening was different; despite sitting and painting the whole evening, she still felt the way she did when she came. She then remembered Abel's wise words from the previous evening. 

"You know what, Nadia?" He had beamed at her; the most wholesome smile ever. "I was like was like you a couple of years ago. I was reserved, I was afraid of pursuing my ambitions. I had no place to call mine in this world, I wasn't comfortable in my own skin but life taught me a lesson. A lesson that put me on the right path to my destiny. Remember that time when I was bitten by a snake and I was in hospital and how I thought I was going to die? Well, when death looks you in the eyes, that's when you realize how valuable your life is. Life is not a load to be endured but a journey to experience; a gift from the Divine meant to be exploited to its essential. As long as you don’t understand this philosophy, you will never be truly fulfilled. Nadia, there is no reason to experience any undesirable emotions and live an unwanted life because our destinies lie in our own hands. We choose whom we want to be in life because we do not get any second chances. We only live once! If that is the case, then why not make this gift the best experience imaginable? Isn't that what life is about? You can only be truly happy when you're yourself!” She had started weeping uncontrollably. He had embraced her in his warm and brawny arms. She felt safe and secure. "Sorry if I made you cry,” he continued. “You wanted to be an artist, right? Go for it! Our hobbies are our aptitudes. One day the world will be at your feet, people will line up at the gallery to view your art." 

She was fortified by these mere words; heartened so much that it altered her perception of mind. She was going to pursue her hobby as a career she would divorce her husband and leave for the world. She would leave her old life behind because art was the true path to finding herself.