How do you feel? — I feel White.
After flying 5 years of our Irish life to California, and giving most of the material things away for practicality, the challenge of an empty apartment became overwhelming to our marriage. How weird and stupid, that we saw ourselves as this adventurous cool couple, so unattached from things and little white fences, but in the end it was an empty apartment that knocked us over.
Most disagreements between two friends are healthy, in the end. All disagreements in a marriage are stupid, and never end. There’s just a moment (that moment) when we just agree to leave the battlefield and sleep on neutral ground, un-discussed and un-agreed. But in a marriage the days never re-start on a clear screen; there’s no transparency as to who played the hero and who pushed it too far. If I had to choose a color for the way married people feel after the paint has settled dry on the walls’ surface, it would be white. And that was our solution in the end; the theme of all our new furniture is white.
White turned what use to be infinite labyrinths of stress between two strangers, into strolls along aisles filled with wonderful possibilities that only a 5 year old would notice. White is the name of the game. There’s even giggles when we find something we both like but the store doesn’t sell it in white, “In that case we don’t want it, it has to be white,” and we turn away from the puzzled look of yet another Sales Assistant to wander off to our next adventure.
And because everything in life seems to happen in a perfect timely fashion, white defines perfectly how I feel about everything these days. I seem to have lost my sense of self when it comes to feelings, labels and other humanizing definitions.
I feel like I’m from no-where, that I’m neither young or old, that most of me is fat and most of me is slim, that I’m not new at writing but I’m far from knowing anything about it, that I’m an avid book reader who’s very slow compared to the normal english native reader, that I’m not a web designer novice but often feel like a beginner, that I have friendships but have no friends, that I have a family but have no sense of home.
And aren’t all labels redundant? Isn’t all you ever wanted to say about yourself only meaningful by comparison? If you’re in the middle of a definition, and the middle is white, is white good or bad? Is it a promise of a new beginning, the page un-written, the screen un-coded, or is it just an excuse on borrowed time. Does it compliment all other colors around it — is that a promise or a commitment? — or can you live on white alone?
I never liked labels. They always looked to me as cards on a child’s game, “You can be the Prince if I can be the Princess.” I feel like I belong to several places in the world, I probably belong to a quarter of Planet Earth. I feel that I can be a great writer, designer, wife, woman, friend… if you’re looking in the right angle.
…but most of the time I’m not.
And is white good or bad?