"I can't pretend to feel impartial about colours. I rejoice with the brilliant ones and am genuinely sorry for the poor browns."
- Winston Churchill

I am the brown with a splash of orange. Or was it red? I can’t recall.

Today, I woke up with the consciousness that the ordinariness of a day-to-day routine has resumed. So, I took that small effort and made that small difference. Instead of the usual Palmer’s Cocoa Butter Formula with Vitamin E which claims to soften, smoothen and relieve dry skin, I used The Body Shop’s Peach Body Lotion which apparently is a lightweight moisturiser with peach oil and Community Trade soya oil. And, I now smell like a fruit. This is not a sponsored post.

Bon Jovi’s Always in the grocery store.  Natalie Imbruglia’s Torn in the room I had to clean. Then, a dash of memories and recollections of what has happened in the past weeks, past months. ‘If only’ seems an absurd start to a sentence. In isolation, it is in itself a sentence. A decree so disquieting, so damning, so demanding. Choices are what we make of it, or what we refuse to make of it. The cul-de-sac is a common, convenient excuse. What a mess. Retrospectively, it’s still quite a mess. Nothing and no one has changed. Just that splash of orange or red.

It is simple, almost effortless. Live, simply live. Live when there is still life or breath or a beating heart. To see, to taste, to feel again and to love again. Living is simple; a sentence must not violate that simple, sacred covenant. And, in its small variation of shades or strokes against perhaps a different canvas make a new world. I don’t remember myself happier. I don’t remember myself unhappier to know myself never happier.

[[ mood ]] working

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