Everyone knows of the gemstone created by fossilised tree sap,
like from the Jurassic Park film or their grandparents’ jewellery,
Everyone knows of the honey-yellow colour between red and green on a set of traffic lights.
But does that mean everyone knows me?
Because that’s me.
My name is a gem,
My name is a colour.
But my name is also common.
I’m told Amber means ‘The Amber or Mystical’ by my key ring,
It’s Arabic . . . but I am not.
I’m told Amber means ‘Happiness’ by the internet,
But I’m not always happy.
I’m told Amber means ‘Ambergris’ the gemstone made from fossilised tree sap,
I’m not old, certainly not a fossil.
But my name is still Amber.
It was not given to me with a deep intent
Nor was it handed down as a reminder of an ancestor,
It was just one word that fit the other two.
The other two words that make up who I am,
The other two words that define my life,
The other two words that knew me since before I knew myself . . .
Each Amber stone is unique,
Each Amber person is unique,
But all Amber stones are called Amber,
And all of us with that name are called Amber.
I am unique,
But at the same time I am not.
I’m just Amber.
A part of a crowd.
A million year old piece of sap.
A colour everyone calls orange.