A metaphor

The other night, I was cleaning my closet when my younger sister pointed out the obvious-all my shirts look the same and my closet only has three colors- as if I was never aware of it or took some late night reflection to question my choices. She, coming from a date, wearing some sunny dress inappropriate for the cold weather, thinks I should wear a different shade for once.

The thing is, I never wear print. I cannot remember the last time I wore something with a bold color on it. When I go shopping, to the disgust of my younger siblings, my feet would march straight to the section where the store displays its plain, mono-toned shirt. Stripes are okay, as long as it's still blue, black, or white(or maroon, because, yeah, school pride). But always the bland style, the same boring color that already permeates every corner of my closet. I never entertained the idea of wearing anything other than the colors and hues that I have now.

But once in a while, when I have the time to spare or the sweet scent of capitalism takes over me, I take a trip to the other aisles- where the colors flow, the prints cheer in zest, and the bold makes a statement. Most of the time, I like what I see. I'd think of my friend Andy who would look great, in his own flamboyant way, in a bright pink shirt while strutting the streets of Taguig on the way to his work. Or Jan just chilling by the beach with a button down with print of coconut trees and the sun. Or Louis and his penchant for hipster prints and bright shorts. In my head, it will fit them, or some other friends or that random guy I met on a social networking app who wears floral cap; the boldness of the print and the mania of the colors would fit the array of hues and images they collect for themselves, proper for their personalities or whoever they pretend to be. It would look great on them.

But not for me. I cannot even remember the last time I consciously bought a shirt with color outside my usual spectrum. Loud colors and print don't drape me the way I want to be clothed. Once, I took a chance and tried a yellow shirt with prints in some clothing store's dressing room. In a second, it's back in its rack, ruffled and unappreciated. The intense hue and daring print and I don't complement each other well.