I tread the concreted earth in my loose leather slippers, a little slippery from the years of wearing. I know not where I am going; neither can I remember where I came from, just trekking this remotely familiar place like a déjà vu of a memory hazed by time. I hear the human voices – the annoying cheerful squabbles. Their voices fill my head. They pierce my ears. Shut up. Just shut up and leave me alone.

I stop at the bridge leading to the beach—My mom said I used to adore visiting it, until one day she told me I was sick because I screamed at a park. She said I had to go for therapy… But I was doing self-therapy. I just wanted to shut the voices in my head. They were too damn annoying, they were hampering proper thinking. I didn’t know it is wrong to practice self-control. Maybe civility is letting someone else control you? She stopped me from going to the park. Instead, I am made to visit this lady in white cloak behind a desk on a weekly basis. I swear her spectacles are too thick for her to see without sufficient diffraction. I wonder if she sees a distorted image. Each time I visit her, she asks me about life, and without fail, it always leads to ‘I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what is wrong. I hope you can say it out, then we can work on it together.’ Even though I would remind her, time and again, that there is nothing I am keeping in. I think now I do have something I keep from her: If I am ever the least bit mad, it is a result of her inquisitively dull repeated assertion of a blind assumption that I am hiding things from her. Oh well, maybe she is the ‘overly-attached girlfriend’ meme in reality? Who knows.

The swings I always go to are occupied, so I stand a little longer at the middle of the bridge, contemplating about the possibility of it giving way. The water below roars past, towards the sea. I know they bring away the life I once had. Now, I am only a shell—with the past forgotten and the future empty. I make my way to a finally empty bench facing the sea.

The sky darkens. Stars twinkle from between the willow branches that tickle me like a friendly host. I giggle and pull my legs in with a slight shudder as the chill sea breeze sweeps past. I know the strangers cast me that strange look as they past, leaving for home. What is wrong? Do they not like my hair or my clothes? I look down at myself and conclude: who cares.

I see the last of the occupied swings vacate. The child hops off the plastic seat as the swing gives a shudder of metallic clinks in reaction. His parents smile amiably, oh those hypocritical smiles that rob kids of their happiness. Those silly kids who believe in their parents lies, until one day they grow up and realize how thoroughly they have been fooled—all in the name of protection. I smother a laugh and watch them leave. They, too, give me that queer look. I smile back. Maybe it is my smile that scares people. My mom always tells me to smile genuinely… But whenever I do, people just deem it with fear in their eyes. Maybe they see something I do not? Maybe.

The swings continue to swing. To and fro. To and fro. To and fro.  I see myself on the swings as they move—each with a different face, a different mood, and a different life: A projection of possibilities. The swings slow down, to and fro, to and fro, to and fro. Yet slower… Yet slower… They finally stop. The figures of myself dust their feet of the sand and turn to me. I see each of their features, styles and… their smiles—so distinctly. I feel assured.

Usually they fade into the darkness after their smiles and the darkness consummates them, leaving only their expressions, imprinted in my mind. But tonight, they band and come towards me. I count the steps they take… Ten more… Five more… One more…