Experience Life in Colour

When I met him, I was enamoured with the radiance of his smile and of the whiteness of his teeth. They perfectly complimented his skintone, a soft, caramel brown. I recall that it was a bright summer day in July. Flowers rich with vibrancy via bubbly pinks and pastel yellows, with accents of royal purple were in bloom. The crystal-like blueness of the sky complimented the leaves on the trees, and they shone like emeralds— it reminded me of days spent in science classes discussing chlorophyll and wavelengths, how so many more colours exist, but we are only given a pittance of what is visually possible. It was inconceivable that more colours existed outside of what I could see. This catalysed a fascination of collecting colours, as many variations, tones, and shades possible. Finding words to describe colours would became a mental exercise, “how would I describe the colour yellow to someone who has never seen it?” This eventually evolving into an appreciation of colour, as well as the experiences that words could create without having to say the word “yellow”.

If I had to describe the colours of his eyes beneath his thick-lensed glasses, they are similar to the colour of dark chocolate with flecks of milk chocolate sprinkled randomly. Brown as colour is often one that we take for granted, because it is associated with dirt, blandness or ‘to be plain’. However, my love for the colour brown is enveloped in the smell of soil after it rains, the taste of coffee with cream and sugar, and the bittersweet taste of dark chocolate.

We were walking on a sidewalk, having a casual conversation with the deep-blueberry coloured graffiti on the concrete grey walls as a backdrop. I pointed out a bunny to his left, and the bunny darted away into the bushes with a worn wood-chip coloured tail the last thing I could see. I asked him “did you see it?” He replied to me, “no, I can’t see out of parts of my left eye”. I was curious as to why, but did not want to pry, so I made a mental note instead and we continued on our way together.

Great lengths of time passed as we spent more and more time together. Ultimately, I learned that he was losing his sight hence why he could only see out of parts of his left eye. He was only twenty-three and he had glaucoma. I learned that it was caused by increased pressure to the optic nerve to which there is no cure. He would go blind, there was no doubt. The ease at which he said it was unnerving. It was something that he had come to terms with years ago when he was diagnosed, but as someone who was unaware what that was until some Googling, it hit me like a train once I realised what that meant. He laid his head on my lap, and he looked up at me. His hair was the colour of what Italian espresso tastes like, warm and rich. It twinkled in the sun with the product that he put in it earlier. He studied my face and told me “I don’t think I will ever forget what you look like”.

I loved this man more than anyone I had ever known, and to know that one day his world would be dark was heartbreaking. Colour was something I had taken for granted. The fact that there were colours that I hated seeing suddenly seemed irrelevant. How can we hate something because it is slightly different variation of something else? A colour as ‘too much’ of something or ‘not enough’ of another? Absurdity.

I made a promise that day, that for as long as we were together, I would be redefining colours in ways that captured the feeling of what I was seeing, without using the names of colours themselves. I’m not sure if I’ve ever told him my grand plan, and I don’t think I ever will. Gradually, his vision will darken and the world will seem different to him than when he was a younger man. But, as long as we’re together, the colour of clear blue skies will instead be the texture of water running across the skin. The colours of red and orange and yellow sunsets will be the warmth in one’s stomach after a shot of whiskey as it fades to nothing, just like the sun over the horizon. Colours will no longer be something he can see, but instead, they will be something to experience.