One: The Warm Colours
My grandma had worked in the Bureau of Scientific Resources years before I even arrived with my portfolio for a job interview.
She had left her seaside village for the first time to complete her degree. At the time, it must have felt like accelerating out of the current millennia. With her degree in hand, she, too, had made this journey to London.
I imagined she saw the same buildings emerge ahead of her and pondered about the countless people, some of whom were replaced with each coming year, diligently marking their time there.
Her work had consisted of travelling across the country to locate civilians who had been educated during the war and account for the general literacy of the nation.
Beyond her job, she’d recorded in her notebooks all the things that she’d seen on her travels. She had written about a year’s worth of observations before returning home and establishing a home and hearth for herself.
When I asked her if she regretted having to give up the job, she would say,” How can you regret living life?”
It wasn’t until I went through her notebooks the summer before my senior year of college that I realised the grand level of exploration that lay in my genes.
Two: The Cool Colours
The country runs on data, the Bureau of Scientific Resources would have me believe.
Different places thrive on different things. Here, they looked for people who were interested in building the common good.
This is what the man with thick-rimmed glasses said to me.
The woman who sat beside him took copious notes of my responses.
I could not determine from their expressions the outcome of the interview.
Their secretary winked at me when I stepped out, though.
“You’ve got this,” he said.
I gazed back at him in surprise.
It turned out that he was not wrong.
Later, they called to let me know I had been selected to go on to the next round.
I pondered about all that I did not control. I was only beholden to my preparations.
Three: The Complementary Colours
My best friend Pat and I split a sandwich as we sat on the curb. Even though it was a moment we had shared countless times, Pat was going overseas soon to begin a research position by the sea of Newfoundland, so we did not know the next time we would be here.
On the one hand, this seemed like a reasonable next step for him. His gramp had also been a sailor. We used to visit him at the senior centre, where he would be throwing cards for chump change to buy cigarettes here or there. It was during these games that he’d recounted wondrous stories at sea.
On the other hand, Pat often complained about the dearth of jobs that he would want to pursue in lieu of extending his education.
I looked at Pat. He was matter-of-factly eating an ice cream cone. We both believed in meals bookended by dessert.
I did not have the imagination nor the foresight to visualise him as anything other than he was in this moment in time.
After we parted ways, I received a call informing me I had made it past the second round and was now being extended an offer. Congrats!
I stood in a state of shock for a couple of minutes, before continuing home under the line of gingko trees, resplendent in gold.
Four: Analogous Colours
I began packing late for my first trip, so an activity that could have been mundane inspired anxiety.
In the background, my neighbour’s radio provided a sensory catalogue. Because of his respiratory issues, he, like some others, no longer exited his home. In areas penetrated by the soot of industrialisation, this was deemed to be the best long-term solution.
I was thus preparing for a journey that many were unaccustomed to take anymore.
In my pack, I brought only essentials. I had my government tablet fully charged, as well as a purifier to process my water. I carried with me a thin digital notebook to jot down any thoughts. This, I had bought in a small gift shop on a journey to Oxfordshire. Though people rarely recorded in such a way presently, I was never one to follow what everybody prescribed to.
Five: The Cold Colours
The first trip deployed me to an area near Par. The town was innocuous enough, but a local villager had reported a sighting of recuperating blue.
Her notes were detailed. I was soon to learn that locals were more attentive to their area than any travellers.
Recently, spring rains had deluged the area, as I saw from past weather forecasts I had pulled up. The countryside was green, with dots of sheep grazing throughout.
I soon realised that my sneakers were no match for the land. I ducked into a nearby shop before they closed.
One lady worked at the front, the other in the back, and I perceived they were somehow related. There was just a synchrony in the way that the two of them interacted, each so aware of the other.
Soon, I was walking out with a pair of English boots, sturdy and light.
By then, the area was darkening. Wanting to give it the best outcome, I headed back to my inn. When it rang six for supper, I sat in a corner watching the water next to the building turning choppier by the minute.
Later, I watched the water taxi going from shore to shore. Its headlights revealed its path.
The next morning, I set out before dawn. The road went from cobbled to dirt. A few locals were heading out by boat and nodded to me. A small acknowledgement like that for a traveller can mean more than the moment itself. It was in this way that I headed out replete with good biddings.
Having rarely ventured into nature in this way, I was amazed at the dew-rich green and dirt. I passed by an old gentleman on his morning walk. His gait appeared to be strong beyond his years.
The salt in the air skimmed off the rocky coastline. Soon, I saw the marker indicated in the local report, an old boathouse near the cliffs.
As I stood there, eying the albatross, I could see the blend of colours in the water. I continued to stand absolutely still as the water resolved itself into green, bluish grey, and – well, the winds threatened to fling me about.
But I stood steadfast as the anticipation built into a turquoise blue.
Returning to town, I reviewed my notes and appended the following researched text from the database. The local refinery had adopted a renewal water effort some five years hence, and it appeared like its efforts had made a positive change.
Six: Desaturated Colours
In between trips, I took the train to Bureau Headquarters.
Since orientation, I had not reconnected with many of the young professionals I met that first week.
The colleague I was closest to was Jaq, who sat near my cubicle. The first time we met, he had introduced himself as a two-timer.
He elaborated by saying he had reached two sabbaticals. It took half a decade to accumulate each one.
Once, Jaq said, “You’ll meet many people, and only some of them will want to help you. That’s okay, because you can learn from those who are willing to share.”
I recorded that piece of wisdom in my digital notebook that evening.
Another time, he told me I should “think deeply about the colleagues I would choose to be on my team.”
At first, I was confused. However, I realised that it was a useful way to think about my daily interactions, which I had not dwelled on so much before his comment.
Part of being in this bureaucracy was finding a team to be a part of.
It was an undefined exercise.
As I sat back in my train seat, ready to go on my next trip, I turned my attention to the other passengers. Like me, some of them were headed out for acts of service in the countryside, with their respective toolboxes in hand.
As I travelled many hours of the day, I started gaining an appreciation for the multitudes a single location could house. By simply passing a place once, you’re not able to capture its essence. Instead, it was often altered by mood, by the people around you, by the lighting itself. Never was it so clear that time did not stand still ever.
Seven: A Value Study
Not long after checking into my next location, it began to pour.
I sighed gratefully as I collapsed into bed before getting up to lift open the curtains.
I could see out onto the harbour.
I hadn’t had time to grab dinner yet, but a quick look at the app indicated acidity levels were running high.
I decided to stay in. Crows flapped around on the rooftop across from my building, oblivious to the acidity landing on their feathers.
Or maybe not. These crows were probably evolving, even as I looked on to take in these changed liquids. Nature worked in strange ways. We were only observers and sometimes interpreters.
When I did venture downstairs later that evening in search of some hot water, I was surprised to run into the cleaning crew. They were quietly preparing the dining area for the English buffet the next morning.
They appeared undisturbed by my rustling. They moved in practised unison. Some of the younger girls joked with each other, but one in particular appeared thoughtful, her mind above the task.
This was what I would picture when I recalled this stop in Porthminster. Not the dark blue of the wetlands, nor the coordinates I recorded from my Garmin instrument, nor the entering of data into my government tablet a bit later in the dark-lit corner of a Thai bistro. No, I would recall this woman’s expression in the dead of night, an unknowable look, setting the table for our breakfasts much later, by which time they would have been clocked out for some hours hence.
Eight: Saturated Colours
As winter became spring, I found myself heading north.
People have heard of Bath, but in recent years, few have visited its rejuvenating waters. This was not due to its steady decline in medicinal properties, but rather, the expense it took to maintain it. During moments of high tide, the sewage containment plant worked overtime to process all the excess waste. What this amounted to was varying surcharges linked to these times.
For the wealthy, this hidden fee was not an issue. They arrived regardless of season or cost. But for the vast majority of people, this prevented them from visiting a once bustling site.
I purchased a time slot on a rented van through a website called Rural Resources. Since the roads were not well-maintained, it was always safer to take these vehicles. I could easily justify these charges.
I shared the van with a nurse-doctor pair who were on their way to visit an elderly man. The van dropped the three of us off at the same corner, and we parted in the way strangers who have connected on the road do, with an air of reluctance that quickly becomes nonchalance.
I now had a head streaming with details about the complaints of health care professionals and the dearth of emergency resources, especially in this quiet neck of the woods.
Soon, I left these thoughts behind, focusing on the path from the hedges to the forest.
I could hear the creek before seeing it, the water slim, the colour a blue varnish.
Resting on a rockface nearby, I felt equal parts spent and cleansed of the human world.
Amidst all this nature, I heard rustling and did not dawdle. I made quick notes and cross-checked my observations with my colour slide before walking back to the main road.
Nine: Painting on the Move
On the train ride back, I witnessed a painter with all his gear on his table.
I was seated across the aisle from the painter at an angle where I could easily watch him work.
The painter murmured to himself. It was only upon consistent observation that I realised he was trying to capture the scenery that was passing by, and the amalgamation of colours that flashed past.
When he eventually stopped to rest, I interjected his peace.
“How do you know you’re done?”
The painter chuckled, “Well, when I’ve captured the essence. Then, anything else you add beyond that is not going to enhance it. It may even degrade from that point forward.”
“And, of course, part of the process is always refining. You may add a dab of white before the blue, and it gives you the hue you want. Then, you remember that, and for the time after that as well.”
I recorded this interaction. Even if I were not to meet the painter again, I would remember his addition to the way in which I viewed the colour blue.
Ten: A Study in Colour
Now, as I sat on the station platform in Oxfordshire, I had been working at the Bureau for a little over a year. I didn’t know what this meant yet, but surely, I felt ready for a change.
A lad came sprinting down the way, appearing to have missed his train.
Eventually, he sat near me.
“Heading to London?” he asked.
“Sure,” I replied.
“I’m here to visit the school.”
“May do my grad studies here,” he tagged on for effect.
“What about you?”
I explained that I was working.
“You don’t look old enough!” he exclaimed.
Noting my indignation, he said he meant no harm. I continued to explain my efforts.
“Like there,” the lad pointed above us.
The factory across the way was chugging a kind of ash into the skies.
“That would most definitely not be recorded,” I stated.
“It is the norm rather than distinction.”
He nodded solemnly.
On the train, we sat across the aisle and continued chatting.
At Paddington, we traded identifiers. I said I’d look him up before watching him merge into the crowd of travellers.
Though our meeting was short, it effectively brought me out of a doldrum of sorts.
Eleven: Revisiting the Warm Colours
I had earned a day of respite and spent part of it going home.
After pleasantries, I went up to the attic and retrieved my grandma’s journals.
It was a school day, so it was quiet. I sat in the local garden and began to read.
Her words were familiar, but I was a different person than the last time I had read them.
My grandma had written about a young girl she had met in the seafaring town of Bristol. This girl, changed by war, still made the trek into town to learn.
My grandma wrote that the girl showed “the resiliency of our people. The grit of the nation is reflected by this intense desire to make what we fought for worth it.”
Looking at the official records was another matter. Columns of labels and numbers impersonally demarcated the state of a nation.
With all this data digitised, my information became seemingly swallowed in the vastness of the digital realm, encompassed by 0’s and 1’s. In the midst of schoolchildren’s shrieks reverberating at recess, I wondered whether my granddaughter would also seek them out.
Twelve: The Primary Colours Again
Steadily, my philosophy about my profession shifted. Then, on one of my trips, a drop of sand flew into my eye. I had been preoccupied with my digital wheel of blue. It wasn’t loading properly, and I realised I hadn’t packed my physical tool, a wheel of the shades I could hold up to the background. Therefore, I could only use the experience I had accumulated thus far from past appraisals.
I realised that all the blues had become merged in my mind. I was faltering in my occupation for the first time. It felt reductive. Though the blue that I was recording captured the health of our world, it didn’t feel like enough.
Exhausted, I fell into a light sleep.
The next day, I heard a bit of commotion outside.
“What’s going on?” I asked a waiter.
“It would seem that a shadow has appeared outside,” he replied.
Curious, I saw that indeed it was darkening, despite it only being the noontime hour. All colour was wiped away. I checked my weather log, and indeed, there was an eclipse slated for today.
I continued to splash water in my eye in a kind of rage that something so minuscule could cause me so much discomfort, and slept till all the excitement passed.
When I woke in the dead of night, I was disoriented. I felt the grain sitting on the edge of my eye.
Looking at it, I realised how tiny it was. Such a miniature artefact causing so much pain.
A week later, I handed in my badge. I didn’t know what I would do next, but I knew I had made my contributions here and could continue to contribute in a different way.
Epilogue: Where Art Meets Science
I found myself packing my bag last minute.
Wind sailing would prolong our trip considerably.
But sooner rather than later, Pat and I were in the tropics, he to collect marine specimens, and I to get a sense of some different kind of scenery.
And what a different environment it was. Though I no longer worked at the Bureau, it wasn’t like I could just turn off that part of my brain that had developed over my time there. I saw the cerulean blue with such open eyes. It captivated my senses and renewed my resolve to actively impress on my hometown this kind of beautiful blue.
