My mother loved the colour purple.

It wasn’t just her favourite colour, it was one of her favourite things. She loved purple & the outdoors. The smell of the sea. Camping. Bike riding.
Her biggest passion was the visual arts and crafts (for which she had no formal training), though she worked for an American multinational company all her life.

I always saw her as a mother who was, in truth, an artist in her own right. She cleaned and cooked and ironed and filed files and paid the bills and wore executive clothes and sighed over big, spacious kitchens. But I saw her drawing, painting paper and fabric, making notebook hardcovers from scratch, molding clay & always wearing comfortable laid-back clothes.

My mother cared about health and nutrition. She always talked about how a meal had to be balanced – even when it came to the colours – and had a handful of books about Chinese medicine, the yin & yang, and macrobiotics.
She had perfect, white and shinny teeth with two vampiresque fangs.

My mother was the healthiest person I’ve ever met. Until she got sick.

I miss her like crazy.

So I wear purple.



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