I live in a world of blue and white.
I was born in white and raised in blue. My first name is Blue and my last name is White, with Sky squished somewhere in the middle.
I grew up a stone’s throw from a vast, deep blue edged with soft, wind-stinging white. The warmth of the white coated my feet after I dipped them in the cold of the blue.
Blue stretches above me and white floats across, sometimes rushing, sometimes raining, sometimes faking us into thinking it’s actually grey, only to vanish later into the blue with a wink and a nod.
In school, we painted messy blue into oceans across a glossy background white, and I stared down at the puddle on my page and wondered how to turn it into a sea so my ship could sail on.
I fill the white spaces amid thin lines of blue with words and numbers and sentences and equations, with thoughts and dreams and hopes and quiet, unspoken wishes that peek out from between the lines.
I come from a land where shards and shades of blue meet trills and trails of white, deft and delft and I dance on blue and white in wooden shoes.
I walk toward a land where I touch blue and white, twirling my tzitzit between my fingers and feeling the reminder that I am royal, a priest, called to be a sign and a symbol of He who made me in blue and white.
There is white beneath my fingernails and blue in the green of my eyes. I wear blue on my hand and white on my wrist. I clothe myself in blue and wash myself in white, and blue and white cover me at the end of the day when I close my eyes and rest.
I come from a world of blue and white, and blue and white is the world where I am going.
