By Esha Aphale
(@eshalikestowrite on Instagram)
To me, yellow was never a colour.
It was a phenomenon; a bright sensation that kept me alive and jumping, a small fire that ignited my bones and later spreads all over my body. For me, yellow is not just the crayon that coloured the sun in our childhood. It’s the emotion that makes me bloom like a daisy, burn with passion like the sun and be as solid as a gold bar.
Yellow, always so bright and luminous, capturing my attention to show me that insanity is always the path to courage.
Something that kept me showing through the delirium, destruction and dystopia of life. Yellow always beckoned me, pushed me, broke me, begged me, and showed me that I needed to create my own sunshine, even if the whole world turned rational and grey. To others, yellow depicts joy, happiness, a sense of calmness. But to me, yellow is chaos, the singular ray of hope and insanity that keeps pushing me towards the version of myself I’m supposed to be.
A beacon of love, loss, healing, creativity, and hope for me. If only we could hear colours, and what they had to say. I’m sure, somewhere amidst lemonades and pretty summer dresses, Yellow would be whispering, somewhat chanting, “Flower child, you’re about to bloom and burst into sparks and shards of yellow.”
Yellow was never a colour. It was much more. It was a phenomenon.
To read more such musings, check out The Word.