Everything was getting too fast. The streets were getting busy with the lights coming on from the houses and the buzzing of people talking. The heart of the city is beating too fast, like a rushing river ready to drag anything that enters it, bringing everyone into a vortex sold under the label of 'civilization' that promises a better life for everyone.
I don't understand at all. What are people out there after? More precisely, what is this figure in the mirror in front of me trying to pursue? I pursed my lips, forcing myself to smile. It took ten seconds. Just ten seconds of smiling in front of the mirror every morning could give you a better day, so I kept trying.
I exhaled heavily. I was staring at myself from head to toe, judging every inch of myself. I could see it, the cloudy haze in my eyes. It was all clear there. It seems this is indeed the moment I lose my light. No matter what clothes I wear, what kind of make-up I put on my face, or what hairstyle I try every day, I still can't exude something from myself.
The dim presence, the voice I can't make out, the gaze fixed on the toe of the shoe, the beating heart I only occasionally notice. It felt like I could disappear at any moment without anyone noticing. I squeezed the script in my hand, which felt slightly unfair. Even though I'm just a side character with no dialogue in this life, why do I have to train so hard?
I looked back at the face. The expression that always looked doubtful had wholly lost its ten-second smile, and everything faded away. My eyes moved to the glass jar that was visible from where I was standing, empty. I'm out of stock of my smile, and it looks like I'll have to stop by to buy it on my way to work later. I can't show a face like this.
In this city, being sad is a crime. If anyone can't control the sadness, they will give us many questions and hurtful statements, sometimes at gunpoint, filled with motivational phrases that make the stomachs of everyone who hears them so queasy. Whatever happens, being sad is a great crime. The police can unceremoniously lock people who cry in the streets in jail. No matter how small or big, old or young, poor or rich, everyone must be happy.
Maybe because of that, everyone in my eyes looks so disgusting. They are unaware of the sadness rotting under their skin and the tips of their nails. No one is aware and trying to wake them from the illusion of their perfect days so far. Even so, I don't care. I don't care what happens to them.
I moved away from the glass towards my bed, choosing to re-unite with my mattress and blanket. I covered my face and cried out loud.
I no longer care about my role in this life. I don't care if God suddenly changes my part to the main character. I want to cry like this. Crying loudly, draining my tears, then waiting for a knock on the front door that I'm sure I'll hear soon. I had to cry until I was satisfied.