The world is a beautiful place, or so I have been told. The crisp green grass, glittering in the warm rays of the sun. The red roses blooming ever so delicately in the gardens of nosy intrusive neighbors. Then there is the sky, a vast never-ending haven of blue, sometimes dotted with specks of puffy white clouds. That was the world in my eyes, but my eyes couldn’t see.

I don’t rely much on my sight as I do my other senses. Truthfully, I don’t rely on my sight at all. It is always better to feel the cool breeze brush across my face, better to hear the sound of children laughing in the distance. But somewhere deep within, I am scared. What if, when I open my eyes tomorrow, the world will change? What if the grass rots into an ugly shade of gray? What if the roses wither and the petals fall one by one? And what happens if blotches of black stain the pure pristine blue of the sky?

I used to keep these fears to myself, convinced of the fact that no one would understand. I spent hours curled up on my bed, drowning in pools of my own despair. She found me then, her soft words healing my unseen wounds, convincing me of the fact that the world would always remain beautiful. From then on, every time I was uncertain, I went to her. She was my only source of ventilation, of reassurance. The load I carried felt lighter and the blue sky, green grass, and red roses returned.

The masked men came the day before my birthday. She held my shaking hand and led me into an awful smelling room. Then there was a fast, sharp prick, and the world went fuzzy. I couldn’t concentrate and my words became slurred. I lost my balance and a set of hands lifted me up onto a cold metal table. I wondered if this was what it felt like to die. Strangely, just when the panic hit home, everything disappeared.

My eyes fluttered at the sound of voices whispering. At first all I could see was the blinding lights. They were like fireworks exploding in the sky, but much brighter. After a minute or so my new eyes worked its magic. My vision began to sharpen, objects forming slowly. Before long, I found myself staring at two tear-filled faces, standing amidst a world of blue sky, green grass, and red roses.

I know now that the world will always be beautiful, at least in my bedroom. The surgery was a success, and I have both my parents and my doctors to thank for it. My new eyes will guide me around this sadly imperfect world, but if the fear becomes overwhelming, I can always turn back to the safe haven of my own room. My beautiful room filled with blue sky, green grass and red roses.