Naming Colour

They say that the name of a person determines their personality and I think this is half-true. What most people don’t see is the colour of a name. The name determines a person's colour, and their colour inspires their personality.

Anyone with a keen eye will notice the pattern of colour through my scrapbook which changes depending on who’s in the photo.

Jasper is the colour of sunset. Some days he is outstanding brightness with sharp, vibrant tints drawing me in, alluring, but by no means blinding. At sunset I wish I could forever watch the blue sky dip into a warm orange before lightening into a soft pink hue, like the tone of his lips, but its beauty stems from its fleeting presence. I enjoy my moments with Jasper. When he leaves, I experience an instance of heartache. I look forward to the next time I can feel the warmth and sincerity the name and colour of Jasper promises. When I speak his name, I feel the memory of a kiss, a goodbye, like a sunset fading on the horizon. In my scrapbook, a peachy ribbon with burnt marmalade stripes borders Jasper’s smiling photo, as if the ribbon will tie him down to earth and stop him from leaving.

Lorelei is the colour of the ocean. She is the sparking blue waves rolling across the Earth, always moving to and fro, leaving and returning, rising and falling. When I say the name, my tongue makes the same movements as an ocean wave. Lorelei absorbs all other colours around her until only blue remains, which she showcases in abundance. In the mornings, the name Lorelei is gentle like a pastel swan sea, the pigment of her eyes, and it swells over the course of the day. The name is steady, a constant and reliable presence, but never predictable. The soft blue waters of the cove can rock someone to sleep, but in a storm they revolt into a deep, dark smothering navy. A Lorelei storm is a mesmerising thing to behold, the strikes of lightning sparkle against her surface, never piercing her fortifications. Lorelei is a force to be reckoned with, a beauty in all her grace and fearsomeness. In my scrapbook, Lorelei’s photo with me at the hot springs sinks, floats, and dances against the glittery sapphire background paper.

Sebastian is the colour of smoke. The fire which always smoulders has him arriving home under the silver crescent moon with an ashen, tired countenance. My older brother is strong like stone, but is ground into dusty gravel with the right pressure. Sebastian is a misty morning where the grey clouds and light drizzle sends the day into a dreary, timeless state. These colourless days are calm moments of respite before he transforms from the shade of ash to that of steely gunpowder. The name Sebastian is subtle, but I haven’t found another with such a strong foundation, like concrete at its core. His name makes me think of a bastion, a fortress. In my scrapbook, the photo of Sebastian playing his space-grey guitar under the stage lights with steam rolling off his skin has a singular silver button pinning it to a black page.

Mia is the colour of wild red blossoms on the hillside. Vitality and vigor, unabashed lust, an overwhelming passion and desire for all the good things in life - this is Mia. The way my lips meet when saying the name makes me think of her mouth curled into a smile, scarlet lipstick vibrant against her pale skin. When we drink together, her cheeks glow with a soft cherry blush, and her laugh lifts a room. Sunny afternoons eating strawberries and drinking sangrias just because she can, and celebrating one flower in the whole meadow is what it means to be Mia. The name Mia is the bouquet of all things delicate with the power to take the breath away - geraniums, roses, tulips, poppies. As the moon replaces the sun, her bright petals deepen to the tone of a rich red wine, bold and full-bodied. In my scrapbook, a fake poppy embraces a photo of Mia and I at a festival.

I wonder if I can see more than the average person, because when I asked my friends what my colour is, they blinked at me dumbly before asking what I meant.

Jasper said Riley is pink, and gave a wink.

Lorelei said Riley is grape purple, like my favourite bubblegum.

Mia said Riley is yellow, because she always sees me getting out of my little lemon car when I see her.

My brother Sebastian sees names like I do. He is a songwriter, so of course he is wired for it. Sebastian said the name Riley is the colour of chartreuse. I didn’t know what that meant. He explained my name is the colour of a cure-all, a remedy, the elixir of life; a herbal tincture that is chartreuse. He tried to hide his smile at my confusion.

“Riley,” he repeats. “Riley is chartreuse. Ah, you don’t get it. Okay, Riley is like the green stained glass in the window panes at a pub. The place is dark, but everyone looks at the glow from the window, their worries eased. Don’t give me that face! It’s a good thing, I promise. Well, Riley is the colour of a jade stone, and matcha ice cream. The point is, this green is soothing, it’s healing. You are the watercress topping a salad, the spring gully, the cool grass. Does that make more sense to you? You live out in the forests with your friends, while I live in the bars where I play my gigs. I see Riley in chartreuse and stained glass, but I guess you can see yourself in nature.”

Sebastian flicks through his phone and shows me the screen. My profile in his contacts is a photo of him and I at my 21st birthday dinner, which he added a pale green border to, and I finally understand.

“This is the colour of Riley,” he says.