It never comes up as much as it I want it to, but I have an odd relationship with colour. The only time it comes up in conversation is a coy remark about how my clothes are incredibly similar or how everything I own is drab and dreary and without much personality. To be honest, there is some truth to it, but it’s not how it seems.
Before you learn of my relationship with colour, though, let me tell you about the story with grey. You see, growing up, I believed in binaries: blacks and whites. There was a right and a wrong. There were distinct dichotomies, and there was always a strict boundary separating them. Over time, life became muddled up, and the neat edges of right and wrong disappeared. I made mistakes. I realised life and the everyday were all about the greys.
You see, greys are essential, too. It’s funny, but we wouldn’t have many colours without the greys highlighting or shading the hues from behind. The colours were what you heard; the greys were the conductor and the orchestra. So, for my immense love for colours and all things beautiful in the world, the serendipity in the every day, and every higher value humans could strive for, I decided to embrace the grey.
I learnt that greys account for errors, for change, and for uncertainty. I realised the critical role people like me played, those who didn’t stand out by choice, those who were okay with blending within the crowd, those who weren’t out to own the world or anything, but only to understand it, and through that understanding make it better, if they could at all.
We were just around, offering a helping hand here and there, trying to be fine with what we had, while we worked towards becoming better, not more. We didn’t want to be right anymore because there were no rights and wrongs, only tones. I strive to be the undertone, and in my own way, I love colour as much as the regular Joe.
Just that, through my neutral choices in what I wear, what I own, and how I live, I let the colours take center stage.