{"id":4517,"date":"2025-09-14T10:35:42","date_gmt":"2025-09-14T05:05:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/?p=4517"},"modified":"2025-09-14T10:35:43","modified_gmt":"2025-09-14T05:05:43","slug":"the-colour-that-found-me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/?p=4517","title":{"rendered":"The Colour That Found Me"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p>If you had asked me as a kid what my favourite colour was, I don\u2019t think I would\u2019ve had an answer. It kept changing. For a while, I was convinced it was pink, mainly because of my obsession with Barbie back then. And, you know, because by all accounts pink was <em>supposed<\/em> to be a \u201cgirl\u2019s colour.\u201d (I still don\u2019t get that theory. Who decided pink = girly?)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Then one random December morning in 2012, I just woke up and thought, yep, purple is <em>my favourite colour<\/em> now. I still remember how excited I was about buying new purple things for school. Pencils, books, a bag, a lunch box, a water bottle and whatever else I could get my hands on. For a few good years, until I was about 14, almost everything I owned had a touch of purple in it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>But then I turned 14. A lot changed. The way I looked at life, the hobbies I cared about, and even how I carried myself. That was also when I started wearing my hijab full-time. And with that change, suddenly my favourite colour wasn\u2019t purple anymore. <em>It became blue<\/em>. Which is funny, because as a kid, I used to swear I hated blue. I even told the boys in my school van it was \u201cdirty\u201d and \u201cfor boys.\u201d I swore I\u2019d never like it. Yet there I was, absolutely in love with it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Not one specific shade of blue either. Just blue. All of it. The ocean blue I couldn\u2019t get enough of, and the blue of the sky that felt infinite. Blue felt endless. Blue felt like comfort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\"><figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" width=\"768\" height=\"576\" src=\"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26-4.jpeg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-4519\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26-4.jpeg 768w, https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26-4-300x225.jpeg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 768px) 100vw, 768px\" \/><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>Then, when I was 19, something flipped again. At my cousin\u2019s wedding, I came across this colour palette that made me realize maybe I didn\u2019t actually have one favourite colour. I liked them all. Every single shade. Life felt colourful, and I was okay with that. So when people asked, I just said \u201cblue\u201d to keep things simple. But in truth? I was quietly falling in love with every colour God had put in front of me. (Except when my little cousins pushed me for a second or third favourite, I honestly never knew what to tell them.)<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>Now, although I turn 22 in just 12 days, I\u2019ve realized something new. My favourite colour is brown.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\"><figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" width=\"768\" height=\"576\" src=\"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26-2.jpeg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-4520\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26-2.jpeg 768w, https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26-2-300x225.jpeg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 768px) 100vw, 768px\" \/><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>Not a specific shade or a fancy name. Just brown, in all the ways it shows up in my life. Brown is the colour of my skin, and the beautiful women around me, glowing and golden when the sun hits us. Brown is my morning coffee, my evening coffee on the balcony with the streetlight across the road, and every cup of coffee that shows up on my For You page. Coffee has its own kind of beauty, and brown has become tied to that comfort.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\"><figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" width=\"768\" height=\"576\" src=\"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26-1.jpeg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-4521\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26-1.jpeg 768w, https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26-1-300x225.jpeg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 768px) 100vw, 768px\" \/><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>But more than anything, brown is eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>The brown eyes of people I\u2019ll never see again. Eyes that hold whole stories I\u2019ll never know. Cocoa-coloured eyes that make me stop in hallways, that make me trip over nothing, that make me blush and feel seen. Eyes that make me feel like I could do anything. Eyes that speak millions of words without telling a single one, reminding me that my limits aren\u2019t my weaknesses. Eyes that watch me quietly, unaware that I can feel it. Eyes that tell stories that I could read forever, that make me forget my worries for a second, and make me believe in magic.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\"><figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" width=\"768\" height=\"576\" src=\"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26.jpeg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-4522\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26.jpeg 768w, https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.26-300x225.jpeg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 768px) 100vw, 768px\" \/><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>I\u2019ve always had a thing for eyes. They\u2019re the first thing I notice. To me, eyes hold everything: truth, love, comfort and mystery. And honestly, Al Pacino was right: \u201c<em>The eyes, chico, they never lie.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\"><figure class=\"aligncenter size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" width=\"768\" height=\"576\" src=\"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.27.jpeg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-4523\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.27.jpeg 768w, https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2025\/09\/WhatsApp-Image-2025-09-05-at-20.41.27-300x225.jpeg 300w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 768px) 100vw, 768px\" \/><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n\n<p>Brown is my favourite now, not just for its appearance, but for everything it represents. Brown is coffee, comfort and conversations. Brown is my skin in the sunlight. Brown is the depth in someone\u2019s eyes, the kind that makes you believe life still has wonders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>And maybe that\u2019s why everyone at university thinks I don\u2019t own any hijabs outside shades of brown. But that\u2019s not it. It\u2019s just that brown isn\u2019t <em>just<\/em> a colour for me anymore. It\u2019s warmth. It\u2019s stories. It\u2019s beauty in the softest way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p>So, if you ever ask me about my favourite colour again, don\u2019t expect me to give you a shade chart. I\u2019ll probably end up describing my friend\u2019s sunlit Instagram photo, or the way my coffee looks when it\u2019s brewed just right, or how brown eyes can make me forget the world for a moment. Because that\u2019s what brown is for me, a kind of magic I\u2019ll never stop being in love with.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>If you had asked me as a kid what my favourite colour was, I don\u2019t think I would\u2019ve had an answer. It kept changing. For a while, I was convinced it was pink, mainly because of my obsession with Barbie back then. And, you know, because by all accounts pink was supposed to be a [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":124181,"featured_media":4518,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_mi_skip_tracking":false},"categories":[207],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4517"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/124181"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4517"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4517\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4524,"href":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4517\/revisions\/4524"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4518"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4517"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4517"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.gavel.cmb.ac.lk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4517"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}