The Astonishing Color of After

by Emily X.R. Pan

Once upon a time we were the standard colors of a rainbow, cheery and certain of ourselves. At some point, we all began to stumble into the in-betweens, the murky colors made dark and complicated by resentment and quiet anger.

She was a sea creature and the music was her ocean. It had always belonged to her. It was in her every breath, her every movement. She was the color of home.

Believing is a type of magic. It can make something true.

Here is my mother, with wings instead of hands, and feathers instead of hair. Here is my mother, the reddest of brilliant reds, the color of my love and my fear, all of my fiercest feelings trailing

Breathe them in. Let them settle in your lungs. Those are the colors of right now.

And then it’s gone. We’re left with the colors of after. The colors of now.

‘Once you figure out what matters, you’ll figure out how to be brave.’

What is memory? It’s not something you can physically hold, or see, or smell, or taste. It’s just nerve impulses jumping between neurons. Sometimes it’s a matter of choice.

Memories that tell a story, if you look hard enough. Because the purpose of memory, I would argue, is to remind us how to live.