Colourless

I first realized that my home was a dark place in high school. My friends and I had embarked on an ambitious filming project, mostly due to my prodding and obsession with a certain "banjun" reverse drama. We rewrote the scripts to make it a double reverse drama, and had a lot of fun making the cheesiest, corniest, hammiest interpretation possible. I still have those scripts, though sadly not the taped scenes.

It was during the location scouting that my friend brought to my attention that my house was dark, and therefore not a prime filming location. How had I not noticed this before? After that, I slowly came to the realization that I had become accustomed to the dark, and my levels of bright to dark all existed on the lower end of the spectrum. The view had been obstructed from me, so I grew up rarely looking skywards. 

During past year, I have been noticing the sky, and subsequently, the weather, a lot more. There is a lot more appreciation for beautiful sunrises and sunsets, cloud formations, bright sunny days. Where I used to find comfort in the sound of rain, the sight of grey skies brings a sense of dread. As we creep into the dog days of winter, the sense of dread seems to hang around more often. I hadn't even realized the full effect of the greyness until the sun peaked through the clouds one day at 3'o-clock; how I had taken it for granted. How I just thought there would be another sunny day soon, and not appreciated the sunny days when they were here. 

The concrete jungle is almost painfully grey these days, and I similarly exist in the colourless day that bleeds into a bleak night.