...the Spark
This was the first red outfit I desired; the first I bought for myself with such enthusiasm. I didn’t need to seek a second opinion. It helped that it was on sale. Also helped that the process for a free return was a breeze. My mind calmly rationalized my impulse for my new purchase.
Tingling with anticipation.
...the Suppression
It would never have crossed my mind to be clothed in red—one of the colors in my shadow bag thick with associations. Too loud. I don’t want to stick out. Too much heat. Gets my blood pumping. Too over-powering. I drowned in that color. It wasn’t a matter of skin tones. It swallowed me—my pale, meek frame and darting gaze. I wore blinders for bright bold colors; glancing past them as I had already decided they were never for me. I was sure I would not touch such outfits nor give them a second look.
So, I thought.
...the Holder
After trying on the new jumpsuit initially, I was still unsure. I liked it—it brought freshness and something came alive—but it still seemed to ask for more from me. I felt unfit for it. So, I kept it hung in my closet for the past few months, as we continued to feel each other out. It wasn’t a no nor a yes yet.
A maybe felt good enough.
…the Expression
The next time I tried it on, I found I could make it work—by deepening my breathing rhythm and condensing my energy. Apparently, it required the channeling of strength and focus, a kind of care-less attitude. It was still a maybe. I didn’t want to “make it happen.” So, back into the closet it went.
The third time...will it be a charm? I packed it into my suitcase, muttering to myself.
You’ll never know.
...the Flame
A single hue. I adored that devotion.
Loose, wide-flowing legs. I was drawn to the comfort and fluidity.
Cherry red. Ooh, that flamboyance.
Did you know, the Latin—and later, French—root of flamboyant means to flame, burn, or shine?
Something of me has changed. It doesn’t feel temporary. Feels like it’s here to stay. More accurately, it was always here, and now, given the permission to be.
It may just be a color or a piece of clothing, yet it taught me that belonging is an ongoing process. What of me do I still allow; what of me do I still apologize for when it shows up? Compassion didn’t need my permission to show up. Vivacity did. Bound tight and rigid even when I didn’t need to.
En flammes! Life needs no apology.
Burn, darling, burn.
— what I thought I had to bind —
— what it really is —
Vivacity says, “Hello, world.”
🍯 The Dandelion Notes ~ Writer’s Fund
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Hello. I am Rosslyn Chay (謝雲), poet × soulworker. I write from the terrain of grief and fracture, breathing life into what is carried in silence. The Dandelion Notes are field notes from this practice.