Green. That was the colour of my hopes for a new beginning as I packed my bags and moved to another country and climate, desperate for fresh experiences and encounters. Coincidentally, it was also the colour of the sweater I wore when boarding my flight, saying goodbye to my family and hello to a land of opportunity.
Aberdeen was a whole new place filled with endless possibilities. The Granite City was waiting for me, ready to launch me into an entirely new era where perhaps even I could build something as sturdy and reliable as the substance from which its name was coined. The first few days were alright. Emerald and sage green colours still pulsed to life around me, perhaps relics of my home country, where the greens were vibrant, and life was noisy. But in the ensuing days, that colour would begin to fade, dissociate and eventually morph into something different.
Yellow. Not the active shade associated with happiness and joy but a pale, ailing hue that filled my days with sadness and homesickness. It didn’t help that I was immediately thrust into schoolwork in a new learning environment with endless targets and deadlines.
I found myself battling aches and pains, inexplicable sorrow, and sleep, which had once been a cherished lover now eluded me. I had failed to realize that the bright golden sun was now a distant memory which had been replaced by a horrible shade that was ruthless in its torment. It was a miracle that I discovered vitamin D supplements when I did, and an even bigger miracle when, after about a month, I began to feel like myself again.
Aberdeen welcomed me into its cold granite arms, and its unpredictable weather irked me to no end. What do you mean it’s raining now? The skies were clear just a second ago. The icy weather only mirrored the frigid state of my heart, where I was yearning for the familiar warmth of my family and friends, where I mourned the life I once had, where everybody knew my name, and they were always glad I came (excuse the Cheers reference, I’m a huge movie and TV nerd). With each rainfall and long commute back to my apartment, I was reminded that I was utterly alone. I now had the blues, my once green experience broken down into dull shades of the colours that had previously constituted my experience.
However, joy really does come in the morning. Because, with time, things began to change. I would walk into a class, and someone would call my name, say hello, or just give me a smile that would brighten my whole day. I went from going days without speaking to anyone to having conversations that ended in belly-aching laughter. I now had people who knew me, wanted to talk to me, and cared about what I had to say. My classes no longer felt out of my depth.
I hadn’t even realized that I had been waiting to exhale until I started to breathe again. Oh, and how clean and beautiful the air was. Even as the sun began to set earlier than I expected, I was starting to find little aspects of my life that would bring me joy. Whether it was stumbling on a bar that offered discounted chicken wings on a Wednesday with a friend or receiving a warm hug from someone who had begun to feel so much like family, the blues and yellows were now replaced by something else.
A wonderful kaleidoscope of hues that mattered every day and in every way.
Here, I was experiencing the crimson power of passion, the inspiring stroke of creativity that only purple could bring, and orange when my mates and I were discussing course material, the atmosphere brimming with energy. Even better, yellow was no longer sickly but now symbolic of happiness, and blue meant I could finally rest in hope. Not because there wasn’t work to be done but because I could trust that everything would eventually work out for my good.
Even now, as the weather changes and the environment seems to fade into only shades of grey, I no longer notice. My life is now a constellation of colours, and it’s because of the people who have filled it with their presence.
I am not alone.
Far from it.
I am loved.
And love, isn’t that the brightest colour to ever burn?
