Whenever I look at my closet, all I see is black and white and blue in different shades – like a deep sea that swallows all of the other colours of land in Earthrise. Black and blue, blue and grey, and ivory winter coats mixed with green on occasion like the foam and algae that wrap around your ankles when you step into the ocean. The jacket I made on its own hanger – and the feel of marine velvet underneath my fingertips. The scarf I bought in South Korea. The sweater I still need to dye.
I’ve spent the last weeks selling my old clothes and some books, instead of writing on here. It’s a way to make a bit of money and to declutter my space when I feel unproductive: two (or three) birds, one stone, and the last days of my messy room – or so I hope. They’re all in boxes, spread around my floor, or ready to be shipped to strangers who will make better use of it than I. None of the pieces I sold so far, however, has been black, or ivory, or blue. The ocean is spreading further as land recedes day by day; soon my wardrobe will be as good as essentially monochrome, and I’ll drown without complaining.
Two years ago, I wrote that my favourite colour is the colour grey, even though I always tell people it is this “one specific shade that tends towards blue”, so maybe my favourite colour is blue, after all. I guess that still stands and that I wear this colour on my sleeve, so maybe I should be wondering whether it painted the heart I keep there blue too. Full of sorrows and nostalgia and the calm feeling you get before the sun rises and everyone around is asleep. Perpetually sad but rarely enough to get angry. Light on days when the clouds in my head make room for a little bit of sun. A blue heart wouldn’t be so bad, all in all.
I walked around tall grey buildings all day under a grey sky today, all day. One of my old housemates would tell you Brussels has a way to perpetually look bleak, but I’m not sure I’d agree – only that as much as I like going there, I can never shake the feeling that I don’t belong in that place either. Like I’m allowed a quick trip here and there if I want to shop for clothes or get brunch with my friends or sleep at my uncle’s place once in a while, but that this is the extent of this welcome. Regardless, hopping on a train is easy, and I’ve been reading The Alchemist on the ride today while my mom was fast sleeping in the seat facing mine.
An hour is good and goes fast when there’s a book in one’s hand.
I usually don’t go shopping just because there are sales, partly because I tend to engage in impulsive purchases that don’t obey any schedule but that I, however, rarely regret. Mostly because I do not adhere to buying things because everything’s been designed to make you want something new at all times, so I only make purchases if I need them or believe the piece I buy will become a seamless extension of my being for the upcoming decades – granted they last long enough. It is winter, and I could use it as an excuse to buy another coat, but I’m over trying to justify any purchase I make because they rarely are frivolous, and only happen about three times a year. I’ll check out the seams and the feel of the grain of the fabric underneath my fingers, and come back three days later if I still think of that item then.
More blue in my wardrobe coming soon.
Whenever I look at my bathroom counter top, all I see is a mess of skincare products and a toilet bag full of bows I can’t wear anymore because my hair is too short, makeup brushes, and colourful pencils. I buy mostly blue and pink makeup – purple on occasion, which I will wear mostly in June, but not much more since it makes my skin red and my eyes puffy. A baby blue highlighter, pink eyeshadows so light they could be white. Glitters I didn’t feel like wearing too much these past months. Three different shades of eyeliners: black, and white, and, you guessed it, blue.
I wear it on my sleeve and it frames my eyes and it splashes all over my face whenever I cry. Blue tastes like salt whether I am sad or happy and it covers my lips when the temperatures drop and my nose gets pinker. Whenever I look at myself in the mirror, all I see is a deep sea that covers me from head to toe, black and white and blue, but it isn’t the cause of why i constantly feel like I’m drowning.
I started this blog post, and I didn’t know what to say. It isn’t quite that I was lacking inspiration, more so that my ramblings sometimes feel clearer in my head than they do on paper. I’ve been browsing Youtube for the past three weeks, running, and selling my old clothes and some books, but I have, objectively, had the time. I just never know how to end this, and lack the words that came so easy when I was a over a decade younger. There is really no point to what I told you, no thesis and no logical way to understand it, but over are the days of measuring myself through what I do(n’t) accomplish. A few senseless words might be better than none at all.
I’ll call this a clumsy love letter to the colour blue, maybe.
andstillwedream 