As long as I remember I have glasses, thick glasses. The Olympics at some part of the world did good to me as I struggled to read the seconds, countries etc on the television screen. I was aloof to cartoons, unlike other kids. We all came to know why soon, I had weak eye sight, less gifted, maybe cursed.
Is this better or is this better? Much has not changed since then , the doctor asks the same things even today. Burning eye drops and blurred afternoons at the clinic. These are the memories of my visit to my ophthalmologist with a hunchback. As I knew then, he was a saviour to many. It was a dull affair, I guess, but indeed set my expectations of life as realistic, long and boring to a larger extent.
Ever since then glasses were part of my face. I was a novice, at least changed nine pairs by the time I hit fifteen years of age. Dad once was so pissed that I had to use my glasses with one arm for a while as he refused to buy a new one. It’s like part of my face now, like the eyes themselves. Always dirty and scratched; twisted as I slept with them always, well, almost. Maybe I wanted to have my dreams vivid.
But ironically, I realized much later in life that I am more of a visual person. I feel, I see much more than the visual itself. I wonder how glasses have changed my outlook towards the world. The blurry world around me would have been much different. I might have been more kind and more accepting of others realities perhaps. Maybe I wont see a distant danger and worry too much. It will only be clearer once it’s near me, in front of your eyes, my weak eyes. Isn’t that how we are supposed to live, with less worry?
As I painted, sketched and survived my younger days, I took all for granted, I suppose, including my glasses. One will see my brushes, all dipped inside a mug of water with mixed colors. I used to spend my Sunday mornings making paintings. As I write this, the picture of me sitting in my corner is coming back to me so clear that I even remember the laminate color of that table top. I am trying to open the drawer of that table, what was in there? It feels like memory and eyesight has no particular relation. In the sense that your visual memory need not be bad due to your poor eyesight. As they say, memory is more deeper, how something made you feel while a visual is superficial. However, the emotions that is generated by a visual need not be superficial- duh, it’s so complicated. Why do I try to draw a line?
However, over the years the glasses have become thicker, visuals deeper and abstract. Life boxed me as an architect to make a living and survive. While it feeds my soul, it does struggle to feed me and my family. Money was never enough, it never is. As an architect it’s quite important what you SEE when you look at things. While my glasses help me see things clear, with its sharpness, the things that I wanted to take from the visuals never came from the visual itself. How design and details worked. That is more to do with curiosity and eagerness to look for things.
Eye has a soul of its own. They see things you want to see. It sometimes trick you like your mind does. I have had situations where I see things which are not there and have argued about it. This may be genetic as my grand mother used to hallucinate and may be that’s exactly where I am headed too. It’s a state of high where you build your own reality and see what you want to see, good or bad, but just what you want. That must be amazing!
I am sure, my glasses at some point will fail to support me, if I stay long enough. Darkness will prevail. All good things have to come to an end, they say. I wonder about the things in that dark world. I used to have a dream where a bullet travels through air and hitting my forehead. Imagine the camera was on the bullet itself, and I get up every time it hits my forehead. As I struggle to recollect that childhood dream in its clarity, one thing sure of it is its monotone, the shades of darkness, black.
I took out my glasses before I wrote the last few words here. Twisted, scratched and dusty. I cleaned and wore it back, my glasses.