I always like to ask people how they would describe a colour to a blind person.
“Green is touching the grass and facing the wind as it messes with your carefully done hair and laughing out loud.” “Yellow is smiling so much your cheeks start hurting. Kissing a daffodil.” “Crimson is being in love, being passionate, being intense.”
What colour do I associate with a particular memory, what particular memory do I associate with a colour?
Earlier today, I had a sip of orange cold brew- orange juice in a coffee cold brew- I felt fresh, rejuvenated, new, excited, intrigued. I felt lavender.
Every time I decide to keep sleeping despite my alarm, it is a moment of navy blue. A zone of comfort, a period of perfection, not yet ruined by the pressure of the workday in front of me.
I went on a canoe out in the grey sea and it began thundering, as did my heart, And I clutched onto the sides of the boat because I was terrified of drowning, And that moment was a dark and oily olive green.
And once, all I remember is running on the sand. Laughing with my friends and playing a vicious game I knew I wanted to win and being out of breath but running nonetheless. Someone jumped on my back and we danced and I laughed even more, and I kept wondering What was the colour of friendship? Of fondness. It was too soft to be violet, too sunny to be marine, too nuanced to be neon pink, too crazy to be grey. I kept searching for a colour, never satisfied.
Months later, I remember hugging my friend and wondering why I was crying in joy- was friendship this deep? I was not afraid, I was not terrified anymore, I was just content. Grateful for a crazy person by my side. And then it hit me- Amber.
If someone told me to describe amber to a blind person, I would tell them that.
To close their eyes and think of a very happy moment in their life, something strong enough to fuel a Patronus, A moment when they felt they were invincible. A memory they shared with their loved ones, their closest friends, a moment they found their home. Think of affection, fondness, friendship. Think of holding a sunbeam in your hand. Slow dancing, not feeling giddy but feeling warm, Amber was a lighthouse- ever steady and hopeful.
Written by Milomi.
Inspired by a quote from the book, ‘Cleopatra and Frankenstein’ by Coco Mellors: “Fondness was warm but not tepid, the colour of amber, more affectionate than friendship but less complicated than love.”
I never miss a night For the skies call out to me And I, like a magnet Am glued to its beauty.
There is this silence For a few moments before shattering Where it’s only me and the stars Confessing, sharing, sympathising, Slowly becoming one.
The skies revolve around me Changing positions, dancing Entertaining and entrancing me As I lose myself in its magic.
Words cannot describe my sudden urge to fly And jump from star to star My head always held high But I always see my place on the field And realise I am bound and that there are boundaries.
I make do with what I can Storing each star in the nooks and crannies of my heart Never wanting to forget these nights by the fields.
i wrote my name in the sands of madagascar. my dad held my hand and helped me trace it in two other languages and i grinned wide. the sea caressed the shore but never reached my name. she was protected from the rolling waves and the salty foam, she was resilient.
and ten years later, when i stand brave at the same shore, my mother’s homeland, i remember resilience. i listen to the songs of the wild, i’ve learned to dance to her melodies and bask in her music. i grin wide again. on the coasts of tamatave, i find myself. and finally, suddenly, altogether, i feel at peace.
2.
on 17th December, i stepped out of the Antananarivo Airport and uttered the same words i did the last time i was there, “i can smell madagascar.” as if it was more tangible than a rare dream, as if i lived there for years on end and was returning finally, as if it was a Marc Jacobs perfume and not a country.
still, i could smell the familiar coal, the nostalgic firewood, the distinct fragrance of mud after rain. the crickets called my name and the wind hugged me in a way i’d forgotten was possible. madagascar was more than just a country, it was a feeling it engulfed me.
3.
tamatave was the same as before. six years and nothing had changed. the supermarkets, the school, the roads, the same sand found its way into every nook and cranny of the town. it stuck to our shoes, it troubled our home, it refused to leave us how much ever we shook it away. “you can try to run away from this sea, this sand, this feeling,” it seemed to say, “but madagascar will never leave you.”
my tall sandcastle stood in front of me, proud and resilient, i wrote my name in the sand again- claiming it was mine: i knew that the moment i walked away, the sea would claim it for its own, and that days later the sand might leave my fingernails, might not dance in my socks,
but for me, always- it would be mine.
4.
early the next morning, i joined an online Zoom meeting, sitting on the same spot where i wrote essays about ‘My Day at the Beach’ as a kid, hoping the african air would channel some creativity-
“you’re in madagascar? where is that?” “oh, it’s in-” “the USA right? i knew it sounded familiar…” “no… it’s a small island south of Africa. it’s beautiful-”
it probably isn’t basic geography to know this but i was taken aback. there are people who don’t know this country, who don’t know about lemurs and eternal greenery and roads so bumpy you can’t feel yourself, who are oblivious to this beautiful beautiful feeling.
oblivious to this beautiful beautiful feeling.
5.
a few days later, we found ourselves on a lovely beach in foulepoint. a point of hope, full of goodness.
light glistened off the waves, emerald leaves brushed my face, the salty air tasted of sweet serenity. the water was mesmerising- the more you stare at it, the more real it seems to become, the more faint life is, the more prominent nature is.
the ocean lapping at my toes tells me that it will wash away my worries. i will be reborn, it promises me, in its hallowed element, that i will be safe.
6.
just as we were ten years ago, the evening found us sitting uncomfortably in a canoe, heading out to the grey sea to look for corals and interesting things the boatman can find. he tucks the faded ariary note and we are off to the grey sea before we finish saying our prayers.
he rows and we ride, grateful that we reside in a lagoon where we are sheltered from the roaring waves of the indian ocean but not as grateful to not be fearful.
with every few meters we went forward, we bit our lips a little harder, clutched the sides of the canoe tighter lest we topple off- praying the lightning doesn’t reach us because we’re so close we can almost touch it.
the boatman carries on- such is the spirit of madagascar, unstirred by anomalies, one with nature- he seems determined to show us the wonders of the sea while the relentless rain pelts us and leaves us defenceless. till we reach the shore which seems to be miles away, we accept that we are one with water. we remember the coast’s promise that it will always remain ours.
7.
the days go by and it’s unsettling when you stay in a country that speaks a language you can barely comprehend. all i know to understand is the language of the trees, of the wind, of the sea, conjugations and foreign words are beyond me. important discussions take place and i sit with my legs stretched out- ready to escape. language can wait, nature cannot.
“je ne parle pas français,” i can hear the sea laughing at me but the sand agreeing with me because some experiences transcend words. some feelings elude the need for language.
8.
and soon enough, the time has come for us to leave, with no clear idea of when we will return just as it was six years ago. we leave with heavy hearts, knowing that somewhere we belong to the coasts of madagascar, that when we close our eyes we will still remember the sound of the sea, it will never really leave us. this feeling, will never really leave us.
and later, when our flight takes off and i see the magic of the country i know that it is a secret i’ll carry with myself. it is a whole new world, impossible to share, to fully express in words. it is a feeling after all.
i close my eyes and i hear whispers of a beautiful story, it speaks to my heart, and i know it is that resilient voice of madagascar, that beautiful beautiful feeling.
I’m sailing west and all I see is blue. All I see is a canvas of waves, Maybe if I step carefully I’ll be able to dance across the sea to the horizon.
It’s my kingdom as far as my eye can see, I hold the world in my fist, it belongs to me and only me, It resides in my soul- a kind memory. My heart pulses with reassurance, A gentle hymn of water and the sea.
I’m sailing west and I close my eyes, yet all I see is blue. Cerulean overpowers my senses and leaves me feeling Weak in the knees- Blue humbles me and bathes me in awe, beauty, and ease. It emphasises my helplessness because I don’t know where I’m going in this ultramarine infinity As calm, cool, and chilled as it is sharp, shocking, and savage. All I can hope for is that I’m heading home, steady divinity.
It’s on the verge of mocking my lack of clarity: The waves speak the sacred language of the ocean, I’m not privy to its celeste secrets.
I’m sailing west with innocence and a prayer, still all I see is blue. I don’t trust the stars to guide me, my heart Strives to believe she is one with moana- Maybe if I step carefully I’ll be able to dance across the sea to the horizon.
Electricity is raw, powerful, and intense. In its true form, it buzzes and Howls and thrashes in unfiltered rage. It causes shudders and shock, Hurling chaos and carnage, Unleashed.
When not contained, it is naked and Burning and white and invoking fear, It does not give in to life and love, instead Worships agony and awe.
Till it is captured and caressed and channeled To change to a more civilised form. It’s tamer now. It hasn’t lost its essence in this Metamorphosis, Insisting on being wild and free, while harnessed.
It shares the same name as the force that caused destruction and havoc. It is not any less capable, any less terrifying. But it is now a facilitator to warmth, comfort, and convenience.
It is now a stove that keeps you content, Now a fan that sings you to sleep, A bright yellow bulb that inspires you to think.
It is not any less beautiful, any less powerful, Simply channeled and concentrated. We, too, can be channeled and concentrated.
I’m wearing red sunglasses. The sky looks like it’s stuck at sunset, Everyone is always blushing, Water now looks like peach lemonade or a fancy cocktail I’m not allowed to have or translucent blood. Everything is tinted, Everything is sharp, Everything is crimson.
I’m wearing red sunglasses. And everyone agrees it is super chic but I feel like I’m veiled. The world feels obscure to touch, foreign, unknown. I’m somehow within a movie where it is just Red&Red instead of Black&White. The freedom and joy of colours is beyond me while this costume of scarlet refuses to leave me.
I’m wearing red sunglasses. And in a world where I could find love, I find anger. The stubborn sky that was stuck at sunset reluctantly gives way to twilight And the moon is bleeding but I tell her it’s not the same. Mars looks redder today as she agrees.
Someone told me that I’m a sunflower. I smile too much, laugh too loudly, I’m yellow. I’m a living, breathing entity slowly being reduced to One single flower. Why does no one tell me I’m a field of sunflowers? That my beauty is overwhelming, Unable to be restrained or contained on a single hill. Why does no one say I’m a sky full of stars? That my soul spans across galaxies, My ideas aren’t confined to one planet: I want to become an entire universe. I’m not a rock, I’m not a mountain, I’m not a flower, I’m not a star, I’m not a tigress, I’m not a queen. I’m a force to be reckoned with. Let words not reduce me, control me, undermine me. The euphoria of music is never truly captured by its score. The beauty of humans is never truly captured by words.
It’s a spark, a tiny, kindling flame, A humble comfort, a meek butterfly But a butterfly nonetheless. It’s bubbling, doing jumping jacks in a way butterflies shouldn’t be able to. Is love a butterfly or a dragon? It’s a reassurance but also a risk, Maybe being too excited is also being slightly afraid, But maybe joy eclipses it all. Maybe joy also eclipses the pain and the ache, Can happiness numb heartache? This dragon in me is roaring fire in triumph Victory, victory, victory Love, love, love. This dragon in me scorches my throat and morphs me into a being I don’t understand, I’m a leash to love Is it terrific or terrifying? I’m flying up and high and far and fast, Carrying a future on my back, Love is allegedly the wind beneath my wings. If I look down, I know I’ll fall. I know I’m not a dragon. I keep my head up. Here’s to love.
“Just keep going straight ahead, you’ll reach the light.”
I’ve been spun around and shaken, My thoughts are shivering in a small corner, Hiding, wondering if it’s safe to come out. I’ve lost all sense of orientation, of balance, of life. Forgotten which foot is right and which is left, Where my eyes are and where my heart is.
I’m starting to collapse upon myself, I’m not a supernova but a black hole: Everything is dark, dark, dark.
Tears blur my mind, it all feels Hot and sticky and wrong, but I can’t do anything. Oblivion blindfolds me and abandons me in a silenced void, I slowly lose feeling, lose memory, lose life.
I try my best to keep going straight ahead, But I keep circling circles and meeting an abyss Every time. I’ve lost my way, the blindfold thickens, darkness threatens, And the promise of light is long forgotten.
Milomi's world 