If curiosity had a color, which would it be?

Curiosity feels like this imaginary co-pilot in our everyday lives. Unlike any other co-pilot though, this is one that does its best job as a navigator when it’s mostly silent. Let it sit here unnoticed, untouched, virgin, adding dashes of untraced alchemy between our eyes and our brain. There’s no point in giving it too much thought, after all. There is no switch that can be used to turn it on and off as we please.

We’re curious about what sits outside even when we don’t dare to step a foot out the front door. It’s why we look outside from bedroom windows. Why we choose the possibility of a scenic route instead of the highway. We read and crave the descriptions in books about what others have seen and we haven’t. We try new recipes because we’re curious about new tastes. As kids, we wonder about the other side of the world — “How can it be summer over there? Aren’t they upside down?!”

I clear the mist off of the bus window on a rainy day so I can see what’s happening outside. So do you. Even as passengers of a world that’s quite literally passing us by, not looking at the bits and pieces of the world outside is never a valid option.

On this rainy London morning, the windows of this bus all have smears of curious hands that didn’t mind getting cold and wet for the sake of a view. Curiosity always pays off because it’s like killing an organic thirst that we’re born with, and we can never really put it out for too long. It keeps coming back, and it keeps navigating us towards something — whether known or unknown, predictable or unpredictable.

The day we stop smearing the bus window’s mist is going to be a sad one. Quick! There is something happening outside that you don’t want to miss. As for me, I’m going to go with blue.