White is My Favourite Color 🤍

and this fucking world showed up with a paintball gun 🎨

White.

The color of beginnings. The color of endings. The color of everything before it becomes something. Life itself begins in white. White cribs. White baby blankets. White hospital walls. White lullabies sung in soft whispers.It’s the first breath in a clean room. The start of a story, unwritten.

Life has felt like a paintball gun aimed straight at my white world.

Not the fun kind where you’re laughing with friends and diving behind barrels. More like the kind where you’re not even in the game. you’re just walking around, minding your soft little white business, and suddenly - SPLAT. Pink disappointment. Green envy. Red heartbreak. Blue days. Black moods. Orange stuff that stains even your quiet mornings.

Life hasn’t been pastel and poetry lately. It’s been messy. People came. People left. Some threw color. Some threw shade. Some were bold strokes that stayed too long. Others were smudges I tried too hard to erase. But today lets talk about all the colors :))

You know from the title, I love white. The color of silence before a song. The pause before something begins. White is untouched snow under a sleeping sky. It’s the first page of a journal. The space between stars? The echo of stillness in this fuckall world It is softness. Simplicity. Sincerity. It doesn’t compete. It complements. It doesn’t ask for attention yet it’s always noticed.

And that’s what I love most about it. It stands alone in peace, and yet, it welcomes everything. White is beautiful on its own, clean, fresh, pure. But pair it with another color, and it transforms.

A white T-shirt with a bold red lipstick? Unstoppable. White bedsheets with colorful plushies and cushions, so cute. White popcorn glazed with golden butter?A white plate holding a cheesy grilled sandwich browned at the edges, oozing with yellow and gold. White walls holding up a room full of green plants, yellow fairy lights, and people you love? That’s not decor. That’s belonging. I fucking love white.

White makes other colors feel seen. And maybe that’s why I adore it so much. It reminds me of who I try to be.

Lately, I’ve been thinking. Maybe I am white. And maybe people, every single person I meet is a color I get to wear for a while.

My partner is both fire and water. He’s red and blue, sometimes at the same time. We argue. We don’t always blend but we’ve stopped trying to match. we fold all those differences into one box, one home, one suitcase. It’s not clean. It’s not put together. It’s messy, but it’s ours. Our tastes don’t always align. his playlists clash with mine, his outfit choices are bold, mine are mostly comfort first. But somehow, we find a rhythm in the contrast. Like colors on opposite ends of the wheel, we balance more than we collide I guess ??

He enjoys the occasional club night. the pulse of music, the shimmer of lights, that electric kind of energy that glows hot pink and deep violet. It’s not really my thing. I’d trade all of that for something quieter, something soft. My color would be a muted sage or a lazy lavender. Something that doesn’t demand attention, but makes you feel safe once you notice it.

I imagine us in a backyard that isn’t perfect, but it’s ours. Green stretches wildly around us - half daisies, half marijuana and a crooked white swing creaks softly beneath me. There’s a kiddish blanket thrown over it, faded from too much sun and a little burnt at the edge. Cushions are piled carelessly in every corner, half of them stained with ash from the joints we pass back and forth. The air smells like late evenings and sandwhiches. And just ahead, under string lights that flicker like fireflies, a projector plays Brooklyn 99 on repeat because honestly, I could watch the same episode a hundred times if it meant I was watching it next to him.

It’s not glamorous. It’s not loud. But it’s the kind of color I’d want to live inside. Everyday.

Our life isn’t aesthetic or color coded. It’s a bit ehh. streaks of teal tension, charcoal quiet, soft lilac understanding. But we keep painting. Day after day, we choose to stay. there are a shitload of colors I think but he is a hue that made the whole picture make sense.

My friends come in beautiful, imperfect shades? The blues are the calm ones. The ones who text “reach home safe” without fail. The ones who sit in silence with you and somehow make it feel like the loudest form of love. They’re like still lakes on tired days, very reliable, reflective, and always there when you need to see yourself clearly.

The reds are a riot. Passionate, bold, sometimes exhausting, but never boring. They’ll drag you to spontaneous plans, fight your battles louder than you do, and leave voice notes that sound like explosions wrapped in affection. They’re firecrackers in the middle of your quiet night and you love them for it, even when they shake your peace a little :))

The greens are humble. The friends who speak in full stops, not exclamations. Wise, patient, annoyingly good at perspective. They don’t show up with blah blah blah, they show up with soup. With questions like “did you eat?” and eyes that make you slow down without saying much. They remind you to breathe when you didn’t even realize you were holding your breath.

The pinks are warm light in human form. Silly, soft, full of heart. They’re “I made you a playlist,” “I found this meme and thought of you,” and “come over, I’ll make chai” energy. They know your favorite inside jokes, your weirdest fears, your favorite sandwich order. They’re the random mid week plan that turns into a core memory.

And then there are the colors that faded. The ones who were neon for a while. Ex-best friends, once daily texters, people who knew your middle names and traumas. Some left quietly, some not so much. Some dulled over time like old posters in the sun. Others were sharp exits, like paint splashed and wiped too quickly. They still live in the background of my canvas. no longer in the spotlight, but not forgotten either. Some made me brighter. Others left a smudge. But all of them taught me something.

My parents are my green and my yellow. earth and warmth. The foundation and the light. But I think their colors feel like they belong to a different palette. One that doesn’t always blend easily with my current white. We argue over things that never used to matter. We misunderstand each other more than we connect. I roll my eyes, they raise their voices. I pull away, they hold tighter.

Still, no matter how tense the tones get, they never stop trying. Even when I don’t ask. Even when I act like I don’t need it. They keep offering the best of their colors through forwarded WhatsApp messages, saved recipes, money slipped into my wallet, and advice I pretend not to hear but carry anyway.

I know my white is too fresh, too naive, too restless to fully see their shade right now. I want change. They want certainty. I want space. They want closeness. And maybe that’s just what your 20s are. a time where you chase every color on the spectrum, except the quiet ones that have always been holding you.

Then it’s people I met online. random connections, unexpected friendships are silver.
Bright. Fleeting. Sometimes surprising. A DM that turned into a deep conversation. A comment that felt like a hug. They were sparkles. And sparkles matter too.

And yes, there were some colors that didn’t belong. The blacks. The smudges. The people who lied. The ones who drained my light. But they taught me the importance of protecting my white. Of choosing what colors I let in.

Rebellion has its own palette too. I’ve been brave sometimes. And scared most of the time. But bravery isn’t just marching or screaming. Sometimes bravery is quiet.

Bravery is holding a cigarette in your hand even though you know people will judge you. You might think that’s not bravery, but bravery comes in different colors.

Bravery is wearing a dress no one approves of. Eating what you want, drinking what you want, even if it comes with glares and gossip. From childhood till now, I’ve worn colors that didn’t feel good. Colors that scratched against my skin. That whispered “don’t do this.” But you get to decide if a color becomes a stain or a brushstroke that helps you paint something better on top.

I’ve been called a lot of names over the years. And my favorite one is Badtameez.

Because what will I even do with all that tameez once people form an opinion about me? People’s judgments are like permanent markers,they don’t change. But the secret is that, you make your color so strong that theirs doesn’t even show up anymore.

Bravery always walks hand-in-hand with fear. I took my first trip with friends without telling my parents. I was terrified. But I still went.

I always wanted to live alone. And everyone around me said no. I was scared too. scared that if things went wrong, it would all be blamed on me. That I wouldn't be allowed to miss them, because I wanted it so bad. But I still did it. I still chose my colors.

Because here’s the thing about colors you know. In science, color is not a thing, it’s a perception. It’s how light bounces back and hits your eye. So, technically, nothing has color. We see it. We make it.

Just like life. Just like rebellion. Just like becoming who you want to be.

It’s all about perception. About what you’re willing to see. What you're brave enough to paint.

I think I want to live a life full of good color. Not too loud. Not too empty.

I want a life of white mornings. slow chai, clean air, quiet hope. Red starwberries, brown nutella. With soft yellow giggles, blue calm evenings, green ambition. I want red purpose. Pink kindness. Purple wonder. I want to meet colors I haven’t even named yet.

I want a career that feels like a whiteboard scribbled with wild, colorful ideas. A home with white walls and loud laughter. A future that feels like white skies waiting for the next splash of sunrise.

So maybe this is what I believe now. White is who I am. and people people are color. And I am lucky to have been painted by so many.

If you’re reading this, think of your own palette. Who added the yellow to your life Who painted you blue when you needed to calm down? Who added red when you forgot how to feel? And more importantly, what colors do you want to find next?

Because life doesn’t come fully painted. We color it in, person by person, moment by moment. Until it finally starts to feel like our own.

White.

And someday, life ends in white too. White flowers. White clothes. White light. White silence. A full circle. From untouched to complete. But in between those two whites, we live a life full of color.