~ Prologue ~

S he was 5, or 6 at most, when her mom looked at her in the eyes and told her she was weird. Being so young, she couldn't really define the real meaning of being "weird" but since her mom said it then it must be a good thing, no? She never got it, never had the courage to actually ask if being weird is a problem.

Her brain was way too structured for a kid. All she wanted was being normal like others but she never did. Colors paint her mind; To every single person she met, she defines them with colors.

This is a chunk story about her, her life as part of the society.

~ Chapter I ~

First their colors, then their faces, last their names; That's how I see people for as long as I can remember. I was very young when I first decided to like or dislike people based on colors they're carrying. It is not really hard to get, you just need to feel them; In my case, see them.

They call it prejudice, others call it superstition - I, well I call it an intuition, visible intuition to be precise.

Avoid dark grey, dark brown, yellow brown, intense red and you will be fine. Those people are nothing but trouble.

Here is a little tip from me; Avoid dark grey, dark brown, yellow brown, intense red and you will be fine. Those people are nothing but trouble. Though if you are good enough in sensing people, red can be a very sexual color. I have seen many reds in my life - mostly at parties; I never touched them, mainly because I think I love myself too much to get involved with what so-called drama. Besides, I shut off my feelings in that department since I was 15 anyway, why bother?

~ Chapter II ~

It was a crazy party that I was dying to leave on Thursday night when I met her. She’s a purple, a tense one; I rarely meet them. We chatted for a while, I sensed her yellowness - she’s confused, I figured. We had a good session & ok connection - nothing special, another facebook friend and hang out buddy, I thought.

Who knows that she would taught me to feel pain in my chest in less than 2 months since we first met. If only sensing people’s colors comes with sort-of future reading - I would ran away as soon I saw her. Meeting her was a mistake, that kind of mistake which I would pushed the rewind button if I could. There, I said it.

~ Chapter III ~

I met Lindsey earlier this year, total orange - creative and free spirited but a bit insecure. I happened to like her day by day, not such a surprise - orange is a good company. We started to become good friends - she introduced me to her circle as well. Full of colors, I like them.

One day, I told Lindsey about my weirdness, she looked at me confused as if I were joking with her.

Of course I knew. Purple has several extreme mismatched sparks here and there.
She is complicated - I knew since the beginning that she would hurt me, though unintentionally, sooner or later. Therefore I took the bullet as soon as I got the chance.

Anyway, despite the chaos - I learn to believe that she was necessary to happen in my life.
Despite the pain, I must admit that she had painted my life. Not the colors I'd want to, but they're beautiful enough to convince me that I am not so black and white. That I am not dead inside.

~ Last words ~

I think the moral of the story is: Lame shit happens in life & that we are equally fucked up. No matter how hard I try to avoid unpleasant colors, I will bump into them inevitably & possibly romantically.

Sensing colors doesn't help nor playing safe. Let me correct that, ESPECIALLY playing safe.

playing safe == oh-you-are-such-a-fucking-coward-and-going-nowhere.

Good thing is we can always learn from any experience we have encountered. Smile, laugh, or cry about it in a year or two. We can be as happy, sad, and/or proud as much as we allow it to effect us. Laugh, learn, and moving on. That’s life all about.

And seriously, listen to this dude from a bathroom wall at King Street Station, Seattle, WA

Don't take life too seriously... no one gets out alive anyway

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