A Colorful Life
June 24, 2009
I am scared.
For two weeks, my furniture will be covered, my clothes stacked in a safe cupboard, my floor stained, my space invaded, the fumes unbearable. It will be hell, I know it.
But beneath the breath-quickening panic, deep inside, my heart is filled with joy. Soon, there will be no remnant of the nauseating creamish so-called egg-shell color adorning my walls. Finally.
I am repainting my flat.
When I first asked Papa-ji if I could repaint the flat, he was stunned. Why would I want to repaint it? It was new! Did I not like the color?
“Well, maybe I would like something less….revolting hideous unbearable classic?”
“Ooooh, I see!, he said, beaming. Maybe you would like something more young?”
“Then if I may hazard a guess, maybe you would like the color I painted my daughter’s room!”
“Come, have a look!”
And have a look I did. Well. It was certainly younger.
The room was painted a brash lilac. It had been sponge-painted, aiming at a textured effect but actually looking like giant fungus had spread on the walls. It was lit by a neon and all in all I knew that if I stayed five more seconds in the room I would start sobbing.
I congratulated Papa-ji on the brightness of the room but hinted that lilac did nothing for my complexion.
This was six months ago. I finally gathered the courage to call the painters. I smuggled them into the apartment and made them do patches. White, white, white patches. Very pale blue. A splash of red in my dressing.
Wish me luck.