People who know me well enough (and by this I mean close family members and longtime friends) are only too aware of the fact that I am cast in the 'backroom boy/girl" mould.
By choice a loner, I'm always in the peripheral, and never the centre, of things. And I like it this way for I can always remain my true self. If there's anything I can certainly do without, it's a public persona; I like my own skin.
Being in the limelight, taking centrestage and self-promotion will forever be 'unKama', unless if I have grown senile and can no longer tell right from wrong. [If you see me in a blazing red tog, that day has probably arrived..]
I have an aversion for bright, strong colours because they serve to highlight while I seek to obscure. I reserve my strongest dislike for red; it's too much 'in-your-face" for me.
Lest I am misunderstood, let me clarify that I just don't fancy strong colours on my person. I can and do appreciate their beauty otherwise.
My wardrobe is overwhelmed with greys, browns and blacks, and some pastels in between. My shoes are mostly brown and black while my handbags (all three of them) are black. To complete the outwardly depressing ensemble, I drive a car of nondescript grey.
The dominant shades at home are beige and brown. Not to be left out in the equation are the family cats Awang Jules and Lillie, whose coat are ash grey and tuxie respectively.
The funny thing is, my life is anything but dull and dreary. On the contrary, much like a painter's palette, it has been a riot of colours from the word 'go'.
God, in His infinite Wisdom, had granted me rainbows over the years to make up for my dismal sense of taste. Methink there must be a lesson in there somewhere .......