Tuesday, 10 October 2017
Life as a sensitive #1
I have always been sensitive. Sensitive to constructive criticism for instance. Sensitive to seeing others cry - and sensitive to change, no matter how large or small.
Sensitivity was always an unwelcomed trait. I had read up about it, and found that many people are sensitive like me also, causing influxes in their mood but with a great ability to put themselves in another’s shoes so easily and in such great detail.
Although this trait has been well known about myself, particularly from my childhood nick name of ‘sook’, it is only recently after being accepted to our very own apartment and constant discussions of furniture and colour schemes, that I realized that something even as simple as a mere colour, affects me.
I guess I had always known this after living with my grandparents for 15 years. The house was black, grey with splashes of red. That was basically the entirety of the colour scheme from my bathroom, the kitchen, living room and laundry, and it always had. Maybe that was why I always found myself choosing to dwell in my bedroom with coloured lanterns hanging from the roof and an electric rainbow bedspread; feeling content amongst the bright colours, as opposed to the lifeless grey.
We all know colours have a mood. Orange for instance is nothing less than happy. So is yellow, representing a cloudless summer day. A light blue is still and content, quite like the sky. But grey I find is dull and sad. It’s a great colour to sit amongst with a blanket whilst the rain pours heavily outside. But I am only occasionally fond of rainy days, mostly when they had not graced us with its presence in months, and so the reminder of such weather isn’t pleasant and brings only a sense of confinement as I wait for the grey to pass.
I love to wear red. It’s a bright and bold colour that I find suits well on my skin tone. But when my partner suggested the colour to be incorporated into our colour scheme I crinkled my nose and shook my head. Bold was nice to wear, but I didn’t need to be consistently shouted at by the colour in my home when I get home from work.
Red wants to be admired and it is a beautiful colour, so that wouldn’t be difficult. But it is not admired for its serenity but is admired for its uniqueness - difficult to find anywhere in nature other than the isolated plains of Australia, and it consistently demands to receive attention, whether your gaze provides it that willingly or not.
It is just odd how much detail I could go into regarding the mood and atmosphere of a colour, and even more strangely how much one can affect me. I don’t feel comfortable amongst red for long, finding I become restless, almost uncomfortable. Grey always has me feeling sluggish, yearning for the brighter colours of orange and yellow, or the rainforest greens, where I can sit amongst representations of the world and nature I feel the most me in.
So, anyway, what should be an exciting task of finding furniture and items for our new apartment has been rather difficult, particularly when my boyfriend suggests a black dinner table and dark grey couch. But we have compromised and decided on a beige sofa with orange pillows which I feel will mimic the sand and sun on our coastal beaches J