The colour purple is the colour of a grey area. It is neither red nor blue. Just like a grey area, it is uncertain. It does not have an identity. I do not have a fetish towards any colour in particular, but I love colours. they made life beautiful. Purple is fine, I thought it was nice. However, to be like purple, to not have an identity and to feel lost posed a problem to me currently.
My parents just signed the divorce papers. Again, I thought of the colour purple. The signing took place solemnly at the lawyer's office, each stroke I witnessed causing my heart to flinch.
I did not hold authority to openly express mu utmost unhappiness nor dissatisfaction. I was not the one getting a divorce. However, as a child, I had my insecurities too. I was at a loss about what to feel, perhaps numb from the past few months of my parents’ exchange of verbal abuses. Like purple, this documented occasion is neither sad nor happy.
A divorce is not a sad occasion. Two individuals can finally separate, not having to face the wrath of each others’ anger nor unhappiness anymore. They may lead not only more peaceful, but carefree lives too.
A divorce is not a happy occasion. It is a pity two individuals once so deeply in love had to be separated, ironically by their personal choice. They have to risk being lonely for life. Their children and loved ones have to live in the shadow of such an ugly, unfortunate event.
Loud, crude arguments. Anger. Slamming of doors. Unhappiness. Shouting. Whining. High-pitched screaming. Flying furniture. Banging. Cold, awkward silence.
All these were more than familiar to me for the past few months. They became such a normal thing that I feel unused to the peaceful silence I know have at home. “Home” is often linked with “family”. Now I question if I even have a home. The concrete walls just felt like a roof over my head, not a home. It dawned upon me that the months of noise were silently overwriting the memories of my family, once bonded and lively. The memories of my family gradually faded with time. It was a pity I did not treasure what I had. A divorce triggered me to recollect my memories from the devil of time. Part of me blamed my innate ability to adapt easily since young. Without the divorce, I probably would have forgotten the happy family I once had.
I realize I had been giving in, kept giving in to my optimism. My mentality was that so long as the adults do not exchange blows, things will be fine one day. Sunshine does come after rain. It was normal for married couples to have discrepancies. We are human after all, we do not think alike all the time. In the end, it seems like their basic etiquette of resisting punches had let me down. Even without exchanging blows, a relationship could crumble. I should have known better than to be so naïve.
While helping my mother pack the cupboard, I spotted an intricately designed, thick, brown book. I pulled it out to find the wedding photo of a man and a woman. On the cover, in a frame set in the book. It seemed to smirk at me considering present conditions. Nonetheless, I flipped through my parents’ wedding photobook out of curiosity. I saw purple balloons in one of the pictures. Purple, as much as it is considered a grey area now, was perceived to be a union – the union of red and blue, just like my mother and father when they got married. It is too bad purple now holds a different meaning in my heart now.
As my mother entered the room, I put away the book. Even though I am confused and lost in a pool of thoughts, I still had my optimism with me. I believe that one has to go through sadness to feel genuine happiness. Even though it is something I once possessed, I have learnt to take better care of it should I encounter it in the future.
