Dear pink, I am sorry I was so mean to you in middle school and you were ever so soft and loving and ripped at the edges but all I saw was girliness and being girly was a crime. I am sorry I thought you were associated with romance and men and a symbol of how weak we are. I wasn’t weak and so I hated you. I didn’t know pink meant strength, that it meant holding on to the good in you when the world told you to let go, that it meant ice cream and chick flicks and best friends. It meant dancing and song and sisterhood. Most of all I didn’t know boys like pink too. I didn’t know colors don’t have a gender. I am sorry.
Dear black, I am sorry I idealized you so much, you were the only cool color, that I never stopped to notice the fairy-tales beneath your monotone exterior, that I assumed you to be dark and brooding and strong like I thought I was. I know now that sadness is not meant to be romanticized, that your vacancy is in fact scary, that you are not “too cool for you” rather you’re “too tired for you” and being tired is something I was unaware of, it was something that threatened to come but never came. Dear black, I am sorry I judged you to be perfect and tore away your right to be tarnished. I still think you’re a masterpiece.
Dear gray, I am sorry I thought you were boring, old and plain well gray. Being you was a bad thing and all you ever was- was yourself. You reminded me of waning buildings and crumbling infrastructure and emphysema. You rang with the thoughts of distress and depression even though I didn’t even know the meaning of the latter. I was growing older but I was in obstinate denial and you were too accepting. I associate with you on different level now.
But most of all I am sorry to brown.
To brown with love, with admiration for braving the cold wind of everything life has thrown at you for not shying away from the boundaries of my skin for encompassing all the colors in me. I have done you wrong because I was taught differently. I was told to wash you off with beauty cream to ignore the genes that make me thoroughly myself. Being myself is beautiful. My colors are home. You are home. I love you. You are more than chocolate, you are the color of chai that I have been so addicted to all these years you are the color of home and love and earth. You are the color of all my colors I am so happy that they fuse to form you. I never understood how you could be my father’s favourite color but you are now mine. I’m glad there’s at least one thing we agree on.