Black isn't an obvious colour.

Once upon the time black colour was associated with a clear and deep meaning – you either have just buried a relative or you’re about to do so.

Then there came Mademoiselle Chanel and fucked it all up with her little black dresses and theory that the sign of mourning was the most classy shade in the whole palette.

Now is often worn as a fashion statement  by plenty of minimalists trying to prove that they really don’t care about what colour they have on.

It is essential in every Metalhead or Goth’s wardrobe.

And in the closet of every lazy person – black goes well with black, right?

In my dad’s office I came across a photograph of my grandmother right about my age. We look extremely similar apart from the hair colour. And marks of life experience.

She survived WWII (lost an arm in the processed), the Communist Regime (lost the husband in the process), raised sons and saw the birth of 2 great grandchildren.

She’d always been stubborn – she made a point of not dying before my cousin’s wedding.  Passed away yesterday, exactly  1 month and 1 day after.

I’m wearing black today for the first time in my life as a sign of a bereavement, but it’s no longer an obvious colour. It’s lost it’s meaning as a warning to the co-commuters on the tube or people you work with that you may bust in tears out of the blue. Being so, so, so sad, distracted and slow plus black jumper on is no longer self-explanatory. And you’re forced to verbalise it.

-So sorry I overslept.

-Just don’t do it again.

-No problem, on grandparents on my dad’s side left.