now i see when grey turns pink 🪷

now i see when grey turns pink 🪷

dedicted to my colorblind

I’m sorry for laughing when you mistook green for orange.

I finally understood that some browns probably look different from your point of view. If I ask you to paint me, you would simply pick green for my skin tone, thinking that you used a shade of orange.

Nothing was really funny, but it’s untimately interesting for someone like me who loves color theory. I wasn’t just amused — I was amazed by how two colors so different from each other unite in your eyes. I somehow felt that I was not alone with how I see the world with only one tone.

My life used to be so grey. It’s always dark, and when it’s not, it’s just white. It can be bright, but unsaturated. When the sun comes, I never really felt its shine, because to me, it looked more like just a mere colorless object rather than a light.

Somehow, there was no other way to go but down. Until I reached underneath the ground, and right there, it’s all pure darkness. Everything was set beyond zero — saturation, vibrance, tint, and warmth — they all went negative. It felt like I was blind and I couldn’t see a future anymore. There were no colors of hope. Just pitch black — the end.

I thought there’s no more way to mend my blindness. But when I saw the difference of orange and green while you innocently thought they were the same, I figured my eyes are still capable to see. And then I saw you.

Right in front of a dull wall, I knew the way to get its exact tone was to mix grey with more water until the color fades. But instead, you dipped your wet brush on red. It’s confusing how a vibrant color looked grey in your eyes, but that just explained how you sometimes thought you are choosing white but ends up with pink.

Learning how you see the world made me realize I was never blind. My eyes were just closed. I tried to sleep my grief away, wishing to never rise again, but you held my hand and it made me feel something, waking me up and gently pushing me to look at the world I was about to leave. Everything was a blur and nothing seemed to be clear, but surely I saw colors when I saw you — colors I could easily point out because they were bright and aggressivly enticing my sight.

During the nights we walk around the streets, I find myself getting excited when I see lights in different colors. No matter how many times I had already asked you of what you see and eventually memorizing them unconsciously, I still look forward to hear you say you only see blue and yellow lights while some of them were actually pink and green.

You didn’t revive me from the dead, nor saved me from wanting to die. Your presence didn’t make me feel alive by reminding me that I have someone to rely on. But your existence showed me how beautiful life is, making me want to live again and see more of the future, including the discovery of your color translations.

You didn’t mend my blindness. Instead, you gave me a reason to use my eyes again, teaching me to view the world in many colors — many perspectives — that I need not to only stay with just orange because it can be turned green. You made me see that greys can be pink, just like how my unsaturated world got filled with tints and brilliance when you brought your colors to me.

It’s ironic that you are the one who’s colorblind, yet it’s me who talks about colors and blindness. Perhaps when you came to my life, I appreciated myself more and finally acknowledged that I still excel at something. Like how I get to guide you when you ask me which color is which since that is what I’m good at.

It may seem sad that you can’t even choose which color is the right one for me, but I find it very romantic that you thought you wanted to get me a white flower only to end up giving me my favorite one — pink.

You are not just the light of my life, you are my hue. You are the blush in my cheek that evidently means I am growing softer and prettier. And with you, I know I’ll never be dull again.