This is in response to the nomination by Ket at Cynical Souls. I promised him I’d get to writing posts for these and well, here I am. Ket is a warm, loving individual who knows and understands the value of the people in his life, being a priceless soul himself. Do check out his blog, it will leave you with a smile.
Back when I was a school girl, a classmate wore a beautiful black dress to school on her birthday. However, our teacher pointed out that it wasn’t particularly auspicious to don black on a happy day like the day one was born on.
My teacher had good intentions – of that I have no doubt. Even back then, I was in love with everything and everyone who stood out – those enviably free souls who galumphed when all around them wanted nothing but to sit and sleep.
So it’s understandable that what I heard that day made me reflect in length about why black wasn’t loved more.
I suppose it’s a cultural thing, or perhaps it’s evolutionary.
White is something pure, innocent and auspicious. And black represents all that we tend to avoid.
While there has been quite a lot of debates about whether white and black could even be called colors (wonderful explanation here), I’d rather not speak in length of that.
Black is the absence of all color. Untainted. Unblemished. It is possibility and potential, for it has nothing of it’s own – some could say, no identity.
I remember having a discussion with a friend on the subject.
She opined that black couldn’t even be a color, it’s much like a zero.
And I thought, well, if you add zero to the end of any number, that’s how you get an infinity of numbers.
Zero may represent a vacuum in itself. But it can also represent infinity.
On a similar note, black may represent something we’d rather avoid. But is it not true too, that those things we avoid are often the very things that challenge us and push us to our limits?
After all, if something were easy, everyone would do it. Everyone would love it.
It’s probably not easy to love, or even comprehend the infinity that black represents. Infinity threatens to make us lose ourselves at the cost of knowing everything else, and we’re not exactly sure how pleasant that would be.
Regardless, there’s a growing love for black. I’m happy about that.
Now on to see all the other things that have been misunderstood or oppressed or ignored, so I can love them more.