As a child, I was "black." I loved my friends more than anyone and longed to form genuine relationships. But to those who carried bright rainbow colors, I must have seemed unfamiliar, perhaps even difficult to approach. The more I tried to draw closer, the more I was misunderstood. The more I reached out, the further I seemed to drift away. Little by little, I withdrew into myself. Even when I tried to start over in new environments, the memories remained as quiet, lingering scars that refused to fade. It was art that drew out the colors within me —red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet—from that dark inner world. Through art, I learned that being different is not wrong, but simply another form of individuality, and that what once felt like something to fear could instead become a possibility. Just as art taught me how to express myself, I hope this story can do the same for someone else. For some, the courage to reach out. For others, a gentle comfort.