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Whenever someone asks me my favorite color, I say that I’m not sure, but it definitely isn’t black. People will insist on calling me a ‘pink’, to my increasing irritation - I’ve done nothing to warrant it. As I sat musing over my breakfast today, I realised that it was white that I wanted to be. Not a white that’s boring or bare, but the white that goes with the scent of a lily. The white of the first snowflake, that I’ve craved to see for as long as I can remember. The white of moonshine on a dark night.

The white that’s pristine and soulful, the color of a bride’s dress and the clothes at a funeral: the white of a beginning and an end, of joy and of sorrow. The white of my country’s flag, the path to truth and knowledge, the color of light, the merging of all colors.

I want to be as white as a new wall that awaits the strokes of a painter to cover it with a new picture. I want to be as white as the blank page on which a new beginning is scripted. White is all colors, and lets me choose the color I want to be. White is the color of possibility.