Short Journal #11 — The Colour Blue.

Eugenia Clara F.
Dec 30, 2016 · 4 min read

I love the colour blue, whatever shade and tint of it. Every time I see blue-coloured things, I automatically associate it with what I’ve ever remembered.

A blue cake reminded me of a failed birthday surprise to a friend. Blue strings reminded me of how I aced the knitting class in elementary school (but not really though, my mother helped me), then it took me to nostalgia about how my love for any kind and form of art was already there when I was a baby. Also, mother had this doll with a blue outfit that I dragged around when I was a toddler. See? One colour indeed strong enough to pull a train of thought.

And today, this light blue sky reminds me of you. In the plainest sense with no ulterior purpose. Just placing things on retrospect, it’s another ‘that time of the year’ again.


Blue was the colour of the place where you at, two and a half years ago. The sunset, just dark blue tinges in the horizon before the day went bye. When you push open the sliding door, I was afraid to turn my back so I watched you from the window reflecting your figure — navy blue was the colour of your shirt.

Dark blue was the colour of your lighter when you drop your stuff on the communal raw cut wooden table along with medium size hardcover Moleskine, a booklet, your phone, and cigarette. You stacked them with everything aligned to the left. It was niche stacking, I can’t help but remember it. You said the traffic was a disaster.

When I sensed the panic attack crippling in, I avoid eye contact and gaze to the window instead. I see the fluorescent lamps’ reflection in the windowpane, it was light blue. Two and a half years ago I still hyperventilate when I see new people; I clenched my fist and look down to my shoes. Blue was the colour of my shirt that day, and the colour of my shoelaces just so it matched my DIY-painted blue sole on my old Nike. I think I over-glorified the colour blue right there. But I love when blue is all over the place, it’s easier to memorize things.


Anyway, that was the first time I met you. To look back, it was an important encounter that changed my life. Not because of you only, but you’re the part of the story, the beginning. Blue was the colour of your eyes; but I wasn’t sure, depending on the room’s light. Maybe if it’s under the bulb, it’ll be brown or purple? I don’t know.

It was bizarre to see different eye colour because I grew up in a tiny town where all the people were dark brown eyes, just so you get the picture of it. If ever I stumble to bright-coloured eye human, I would love to stare simply to admire the colours that are unusual to me.


And— light blue was the colour of your shirt, that day when I saw you one last time. I turned my seat to my friend and hum Chicago’s “If You Leave Me Now” as a joke. We laughed cause we both at the same level of loss.

Blue was the colour of the 4 PM sky at the very end of December last year. I walked slowly with my weary headphone tune to the saddest song playlist on my Spotify. Then I decided to sit in the sidewalk, the city had every few meters of sidewalk installed with bench.

Thinking, just thinking.

Some people, in rather a short period of time, can leave such a mark — the kind of contented mark— so I colour-code them blue; because it’s only a little sad but much much much more glad. Much obliged.

An elaborated writing from this one [x]


Short Journal is a series of shortly elaborated thoughts, opinion, homage, anything; from real live events — turned into a medium post. Will update periodically, and mostly about personal experience with the people around me, online or offline.

Eugenia Clara F.

Written by

Art Director, A Creative, Wears Heart on the Sleeve. eugeniaclara.com

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