If I were to anticipate gaining a skill from working in fashion before I began, it would be getting better at choosing clothes. I hoped to get better at recognizing good fabric among rapidly and hurriedly produced goods, and best believe I was looking forward to it. But just like with any other job, sometimes you gain skills that you don’t expect. 
 
Among the weird and wonderful roles and hats I have to wear, I sometimes have the unusual task of differentiating between two nearly identical colours. To the untrained eye, like mine, this is not only time-consuming but also very frustrating. Oh, and don’t get me started on the subsequent lengthy task of naming them. 
 
It must be said: stare at colours long enough to see the difference, and you will eventually see what makes them different. And just like that, I am more than happy to cross this task off my checklist. Relieved that it is finally over, I fail to realise that something else has just begun. Because as I step outside, the world seems to shine a little brighter than I last remember. Taking it all in, I recognise what I see from a distant past. As a young child, I remember the colours of the world shone brightly, and as time went on, they dimmed and dulled. I see it all now—all the colours, the hues, the shades, and all the colours in between. 
 
I’ve always loved sunsets and late afternoons; now, I appreciate the post-Maghrib landscape. The warm glow is replaced by coolness. The silhouettes of the streets and the skyline have outlines that suddenly seem bolder and more apparent just before darkness consumes it all. Moments, mere moments that I try to hold onto, because if I blink, it won’t be the same. The passage of time casts a different light, and just like that, the colour grading of the scenery before me transforms once more. Again, it is beautiful and mesmerizing, and again, it’ll change. This role has made me regain quite a sense of awe for the ordinary. The colours of autumn on both a sunny and a rainy day, how the living room looks on an overcast afternoon, how fabrics of various hues contrast or complement someone’s skin tone, the paint on the walls of an old building—I find myself noticing them all. 
 
I am glad this has found me. I look up more often now. Sometimes I stop in my tracks; sometimes I walk back. As a Muslim, we are meant to contemplate Allah’s creation. I find it a little special that working in this field has led me to ponder, wonder, and appreciate the world more.