I live in a pink world

My life is painted in shades of pink. The curtains in my room are white with hot pink polka dots, my sketchbook is baby pink, my good luck bracelet has four pink beads snuggled between the faded wooden smiley faces and even my hair is dyed pink. When taking these components into consideration, it makes sense that I view life through pink, rose-tinted glasses. 

Growing up, my childhood was in milky shades of pink and yellow. My mother was diagnosed with cancer when I was in preschool, and elementary school consisted of numerous nights spent at a neighbor’s house and weekends waiting in hospital lobbies. However, the hope I maintained preserved the pink streaks of innocence and yellow streaks of joy that ended up coming together to create subliminal sunset hues of contentment within my mind. 

“You’re my ray of sunshine,” my mother would say, the absence of her red lipstick, jewelry and nail polish causing tears to well up in my eyes because I could barely recognize her in this sickly state. 

Although most children grow out of their innocence by third or fourth grade, I continued to grow into mine — all through elementary school, I maintained the belief that the world, colored with warm, happy tones, is pure and flawless. This mindset was somewhat unconventional, and my peers would jokingly tease me for being “immature” and “childish,” but their words simply went in one ear and out the other. I loved my beautiful perspective on the world, and the happiness that this mindset gave to my mother trumped the insults about my naivete. 

However, my mother’s words of affirmation disappeared when she died when I was in fifth grade, and my world shifted to horrifying shades of black, navy blue and dark grey — the mind I once happily spent hours in became a prison, trapping me in with no way out. 

But through trampoline tricks, plant-cell cakes and video game hangouts, I was reintroduced to the cotton-candy feelings that had been absent for so long through the form of a new friend in middle school. 

She preferred a pale blue color, causing me to rediscover the pink in my world in order to complement her. She, too, saw the world through rose-tinted glasses — glasses that she gifted me mere days after we met. She encouraged me to embrace my perspectives on life rather than ditch them for their unconventionalism. I began to stop caring about conforming to the “normal” perspective towards life. 

Although the shades of pink in my life continue to change every day, ranging from dark maroon shades of despair to baby pink shades of tranquility, I continue to live in my pink world. However, this world has also adopted a more diverse palette from my loved ones’ colored personalities, transforming it into something extremely more meaningful to me. 

My world includes bright red roses in honor of my mom, who introduced me to the wonders and beauty of the world, and pale blue skies in honor of my friend, who brought out my vibrant colors when all I saw within myself were twisted shades of grey. There are the yellow giraffes that my sister once marvelled at when we visited the zoo all those years ago; the purple wisterias and violets in tribute to my two closest friends, who stayed with me when my world changed drastically in color. 

As more and more people leave their imprints on my life, the overt pinkness of my world is slowly being balanced out by others’ vibrantly colored personalities. But although my world’s palette is increasingly becoming more diverse, its vibrant pink hues have yet to fade, ensuring that I will never lose sight of my pink world again.