I like being different. I enjoy being unique. As I go out I don a new pair of red pants hoping to make a good impression or make a new fashion statement perhaps? As I stare at my reflection in the mirror I see the red pants, yet, I fail to see the emotions they are masking and the pains that they express.
I pass by a couple sitting on a park bench. They are breaking up. For them my red pants, red, the color of love, of passion, of desire, represents nothing more than the bittersweet memories of the love they have lost. To them the color of love is mere plastic, it is fake, it has lost its meaning.
I pass by an army training camp; the way they look upon me sends a shiver up my spine. To them my red pants are the color of hatred and hostility. It represents the anguish of the people, their silent sobs and helpless cries. To them my red pants represent war, bloodshed, death and loss.
As I move on, the less fortunate, the poor, the beggars on the streets view me with a mixture of envy, anger and despair. To them my flashy, brightly colored pants represent a carefree life of luxury that they have never experienced, and probably never will, yet cannot help dreaming about. My red pants to them are their desire and lust for a life of extravagance, and frustration at knowing that they can never get it.
I enter the hospital with a bag of old clothes for charity purposes. Some of the children there are so small and weak. Life has barely begun for them and yet most are struggling to stay alive as they shed invisible tears every night. My red pants strike fear into the very cores of their hearts bringing back frightening memories and the terrifying realization that there may never be a tomorrow. Red instills into them a deep rooted anger at fate…at life…at God…
I am getting weary and decide to stop at the local café for a quick lunch. I run into a group of friends there. They joke and laugh and tease me on my choice of wardrobe. They mock my courage for daring to wear such bold colors, and I laugh along. I don’t want to fell left out. Yet my laugh sounds hollow to my own ears. I look around and see that the carefree laughs are a mask of their own fear and self doubt. They are too afraid of change, of taking risks, and therefore decide to pick on anyone who’s not. To them my red pants represent an outcast, to me it represents courage. It causes me to pity their monotonous lives.
I am standing before my mirror once again, but instead of myself I now see the soul of the world. It reflects pain and anguish and I wish I could somehow mend it. I want to make a difference, I want to cry out, I want to take a step; I want a change. I dream of a happier society where red does not represent hatred, torment, fear or frustration; but instead symbolizes courage and love.
And yet as I look at my mirror once again all emotions have been replaced by the reflection of a girl in red pants staring back at me and trying to be different, but too afraid to take the risk.
