Beyond the Brushstrokes

There once was a boy named Jun. Jun was the first-born son of a wealthy family that dominated the textile business. Jun was the epitome of perfection: intelligent, witty, charming and handsome. His family adored him, his parents couldn't ask for more. His younger brother idolised him as if he were a superhero. Jun was the ideal son, brother, grandson, and nephew. He worked without breaks to reach his dream, he wanted to one day inherit the textile business. It was very important to him. After a while, he began to feel a deep connection with the industry. Jun hoped that being a part of his family legacy would bring him closer to the ones he loved. As the seasons passed Jun grew up, he began finding himself feeling different from his peers. All of his friends were falling in love with girls, and he didn't feel attracted to them. Unlike his friends he wasn't drawn to girls, he would instead find himself gazing at other guys.

Jun was confused and decided to turn to the internet where he discovered the term "gay". He researched about it and felt like he fit into the category. He decided to tell his parents and confide in them hoping for their love and support, but instead he was met with disdainful looks and an insufferable silence. His parents viewed him as if he were a repulsive creature. Feeling crushed and humiliated, Jun locked himself in the comfort of his room. As the days passed he was tortured by the upsetting whispers and arguments that echoed the halls. The world felt like his enemy, and for the first time Jun felt like an outcast. The days that followed were a blur, his family, once a sanctuary, felt suffocating. Eventually Jun was banished by his family, forced to leave the only home he knew. He was no longer the doting, perfect son and older brother. He was nothing more than a disgraceful waste of space. His family sent him large amounts of monthly allowance just for him to stay out of their sight.

Jun wallowed in his luxurious, cold, empty apartment. All he could do was weep and yearn for his family, the family that no longer welcomed him. He wanted to let go and give up. Instead he explored different hobbies and came across art. Jun started painting, and overtime it became his new family. Painting was his best friend and his only companion. He found the love he yearned for on a white canvas. Although Jun was still depressed inside, temporary fixes were made by the brush he held every day. It was as if the brush was a magic wand that cast joyful spells on his soul every time he dragged it across the canvas. 

The sun spilled into his dark room  through the blinds. He received a call from his servant, Jun's servant was sick, and he had to fend for himself. Jun looked at his empty paint bottles and back at the unfinished painting. In order to feel the joy he needed, he needed paint. Jun got up and decided to drive the car that was waiting for him. It was given to him from, a gift from his parents, who wanted him gone, and quickly. He never drove it because it tugged at his heart every time he remembered the underlying meaning of the sudden gift. He entered the car feeling the familiar grim atmosphere. He put his hands on the steering wheel and felt better than usual.

He drove on the freeway only thinking of the inner peace he would feel as he glided his brush across the canvas. As Jun merged onto the freeway the control screen flashed with an incoming call from "Father". Filled with different emotions swirling in his chest, he was hesitant to answer. What could his father possibly be calling him for after all these years? Did he want to restore their relationship, or was this another opportunity to lash out? Jun's heart raced as his hand approached the answer sign, and on the final ring he pressed it. "H-Hello?" The familiar monotone voice from the other side of the call made his body shudder with fear. "Hello. It's been a while, Jun." his father said. Jun cleared his throat, barely able to focus on the road. "Y-yes, i'm aware of that, father." Jun said as his voice trembled lightly. The conversation itself, no- his fathers voice itself, was a constant reminder of Jun's past mistakes. His fathers voice was laced with venom, each sentence like a dagger to the heart.

'You are to be married this fall, you will marry the nutrient company's first born daughter. You must keep your...Condition hidden. Make your mother and I proud. It's the least you can do after what you've done." Every word felt like betrayal... Jun couldn't utter what he truly wanted to say, he wanted to yell at his father for abandoning him, he wanted to tell him he loved them and wanted to come back home, he wanted to cry and scream. But all he could say was "Yes, Father, I understand." His father ended the call with silence, not even a small goodbye. The dam finally burst, all the pent up emotions he had been bottled up for the sake of his family's approval flooded out. With every tear that travelled down his face his vision gradually grew blurry. The road was no longer his concern, he couldn't care for the road even if he tried. He shook with devastating sobs and sniffles, gripping the wheel. All that mattered in the moment was the sound of his own despair, he drowned out the sound of the cars humming against the windows. In the midst of his breakdown in solitude he failed to notice the large truck speeding towards him.

The sound of the hospital echoed in his brain as he attempted to recall his whereabouts. Before he could gather his thoughts a darkness consumed him. During his long somnolent hours, he would be greeted by the sound of the birds singing in the morning sun, the sound of the leaves kissing the ground as the weather grew cold, the sound of the freshly fallen snow crunching with every step. The sounds circulated his mind reminding him of lost memories he couldn't quite grasp. After what felt like an eternity, his eyes began to flutter. The distant sounds he heard during his solitude were now vivid images. He sat alone in the white hospital as the nurses bustled around him, not a familiar person in sight. The cacophony of questions running through his mind threatened to overwhelm him:Who was he? Where was he? Why was he here? And most pressing of all, why couldn't he remember anything? The doctors sat him down, they pitied him, they knew something that he didn't. They buttered him up before they broke the news to him. Jun was diagnosed with dementia after a critical accident. He felt like he was supposed to feel at a loss but he didn't feel anything. Was it because he didn't remember anything?

An elderly woman entered his hospital room. She was his servant who served him. With the help he went back to where he used to live before the incident. The house was empty and cold; it was clean—too clean. He entered his bedroom and saw nothing but a bed, a desk, a closet, and a window. It felt even colder here. Despite the void that lay inside of his heart, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, something that left a gaping hole in his heart. Jun began experiencing fleeting memories as the seasons passed. He was alone and had to learn about himself using the little memory he had. Every discovery made him feel distant emotions. He was on his own and had nobody to rely on. All anyone knew was his family, his name, his age, and the accident that ravaged his memory.

After about a year and a half, June recalled his passion for painting. The memory shining on him like a warm ray of sunlight. He recalled all the joy that circulated his body when as he wielded a brush, he recalled the satisfaction and self esteem when gazing upon a finished canvas. The longing that weighed on his heart lifted as the memories processed through his mind. Eager to experience that warmth again, he sat before a blank canvas. Brush posed in his hand. He lifted his arm up feeling every emotion possible. He stroked the canvas with a periwinkle shade of purple, then again waiting for the familiar feeling he recalled in his memories. But as the days turned to weeks, turned into months the feeling grew distant and unfamiliar. The strokes felt stiff, the canvas empty, the colours no longer vibrant. The joy he longed for was lost, Jun was left in solitude feeling disconnected from the artist he once was.

This story was whispered by his only confidants, friends, and family he ever knew. The ones who silently witnessed his solitary struggles on the cold bed, the ones who beheld his radiant smile for the first time in years when he gazed at us, the faithful companions who steadfastly stood by him. We continue to glow with the colours he once dressed us in. He may no longer be here with us, but his memory carries on, beyond the brushstrokes.

- Sincerely, his brush and canvas.