>>>
The Boy Who Walked on Sunshine
I don’t really remember when it actually started.
I just remember how slowly it slipped past my attention and slithered through until it was too late for me to pull it out with my bare hands. By the time I had realized that this massive black cloud had enclosed itself around my ribcage and imprisoned my muscles in its grasp, it had been too late to do anything. It started with sadness at first, the kind of blues that you get whenever you’re having an off day, where you feel like everything’s just going to go wrong and you’re right, days where you just feel like sitting there, staring into space until you manage to let yourself cry. These episodes came and went whenever they wanted, but they were disparate enough, separated by good days that I didn’t take notice until they started coming more consequently. I felt at first that maybe it had been due to the stress and that particularly period where everything was just wrong and felt wrong and didn’t look like it would get any better. But when that hollow gap that seemed to eat away at my insides persisted in staying even on the sunniest of days, I realized that maybe it wasn’t that normal after all. I had kid myself for the longest time, making up excuses and saying that yes, I was perfectly fine and that this happened to everyone.
But when I started breaking down day after day, when I started skipping meals and becoming more and more willing to stay in bed, that was when my housemates decided that enough was enough, which resulted in me being sat down at a Psychiatrist’s office.
I had been totally against that idea, not really cooperating with my doctor, Emma, who had a sunny smile and bright blonde hair and the bluest eyes that resembled crashing ocean waves that glinted in the sunlight during those hazy summer days. But of course, I didn’t tell her that. I had zipped my lips shut, not responding to any of her questions, not wanting to participate in that ‘crazy’ weird thing that they called counselling.
I wasn’t crazy. I never was crazy. I’m just sad and I don’t understand why people needed counselling because they were feeling a certain way.
Am I not allowed to be the master of my own emotions now? Have we come to the point where people get frustrated at the ones that are feeling things other than happiness?
No wonder people get diagnosed with depression. People don’t understand, they just need a reason to stick a label on you. They don’t actually attempt to understand you, they just want you to get better.
I was officially part of the depression team a few weeks later when my stubbornness had pushed Emma at her limit. She decided that it was best for me to take some time off school and had given me a list of medications to take. I had snorted at the never-ending list, wondering who exactly gave people the right to drug others when in fact, it’s all in the chemistry.
Sure, it might make me feel better for a little while. It’s a short term result, something that will make me happy for a few days.
But that’s not going to help my situation. It’s not going to help me.
I don’t need help.
That’s what I kept telling myself, over and over again, as I blew my nose and stuffed my bin once more with another set of tissues, cursing at the fact that I’d have to take out the trash because my bin was already full.
And then, just like a bright ray of obnoxious sunshine, I met someone that understood and wanted to help. Someone who understood and sympathized. Someone who made me feel that it’s okay if depression is a part of who I am, and who made me realize that I didn’t have to be happy to live a fullfilled life.
He stuck to me like a piece of hot glue, permanent and hanging on for as long as he could.
And for once, I didn’t mind.
After having taken some time off to ‘recuperate’, as Emma had stated, I managed to convince my parents to let me go back to finish what I’ve started. Reluctantly, they let me move back in with my housemates who welcomed me back with open arms. But I knew that they were watching me from the corner of their eyes even if they don’t say so, even if the questions are lingering like omniscient presences, ghosts of our pasts filtered through the air and strung through our conversations.
I’ve had half a semester back at college and though sometimes the episodes come and go, I feel like I don’t have enough time to let my emotions waver. I distract myself with work and deadlines. I guess you could call that progress.
But I almost regret my decision when they announce that there is going to be an assigned project where you’d need to work with a partner. If this is how they really want me to quit school, then they’re doing a pretty good job at it.
“I’m Hoshi, nice to meet you,” The boy smiles at me with an extended hand that I grasp reluctantly, “I’m Soora.”
If he sees the sour look on my face, he doesn’t mention any of it, instead continuing in a bright tone, “let’s do our best to work together!”
“Yeah,” I mumble mostly to myself, in hopes that I’ll be able to survive this semester without having to deal with more trouble than I’ve asked.
I’ve spent my entire time in college trying not to get into group works, because group works meant to communicate with other people and I’ve always hated that. Group work only means that there’s going to be a person responsible, a person that takes charge of the work and finally ends up doing everything. And that person always seems to be me for some reason.
But it shouldn’t surprise me, considering that this is a business course. I shouldn’t have expected any less.
We’re forced to sit next to our partners for the first part of the class to discuss about the project that we’ll be presenting at the end of the semester. It will count for our final grade, the teacher had stated, and it’s best to start off early and organize schedules with your partner in order not to fall back on the work.
“How are you liking the course?” Hoshi asks me as I turn to face him. Really? We’re not here to make friends, nor are we here for idle chit chat. I want to get this done and over with so that I can focus on my other projects, but the boy sitting in front of me doesn’t seem to have the same mental state. He’s smiling with his eyes crinkling into crescents like he’s never been happier. That ticks me off slightly.
“It’s okay. Interesting, I guess,” I brush his question away and change subject before he can say anything else, “So, how did you want to divide up the work?”
“What’s the question again?” He peers over at his paper, “Construct a presentation that will be used as a pitch of an idea using a marketing strategy for selling a food product from your childhood.” he reads aloud, “Interesting. So it should be something we loved eating when we were kids.”
I nod in agreement, “we should probably focus on one that’s currently out of the market. It might help boost back some interest. We could use a ‘comeback’ strategy,” I say while making air quotes for the term.
“Sure, that sounds pretty effective,” He looks back down at his paper, “What about Dunkaroos?”
“Never heard of them.”
“What?” Hoshi’s eyes go wide, practically popping out of his face, “Where the heck have you been living all this time? Oh my god, you don’t even know what you’re missing out on.”
I shrug, before he suggests something else,“What about fruitloops? You must’ve had fruitloops.”
I shake my head once more, “I’ve never been a cereal type of kid.”
“Cereal type or not, it’s iconic,” He’s practically grabbing onto his hair and pulling onto the strands at this point, “dude, what have you been doing during your childhood?”
I want to curl up on myself in embarrassment, hating the incredulous tone in his voice. Is he already labelling me as a retard? That had been one of my worst fears in high school. I internally shake my head at that. Of course he’s not, this is college. Not some measly immature high school kid that finds poking fun at someone else some kind of entertainment.
“What about candy floss?” I propose in hopes of diverting the subject from my apparent lack of childhood experience.
Hoshi fiddles with his pen, “I guess that could work. But there’s no brand that we can actually market.” He shrugs, “After all, it’s just candyfloss.”
“Popcorn?”
“Movies still have them.”
“Digestive biscuits?”
“Ew, why would anyone want that?”
It’s bugging me slightly that we’re not able to reach a conclusive decision, but I can’t show that. We need collaboration and cooperation for this project to work between us. Nothing’s going to come out of it if we have disagreements. Plus, I had never been of the confrontational type.
“Pop tarts?” Hoshi suggests, “You must’ve had pop tarts.”
I shake my head in negation, “How about Oreos?”
“Yeah but,” his eyebrows furrow, “These are still hyped.”
“But not the original ones.” I point out, “Or what about drinks?”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. Vitasoy milk?”
“Seriously?” He bursts out laughing then, and the sound vibrates through the room like an instrument that’s being played too late. I can feel the stares and the snippets of glances cutting our way, and quickly shush him. Gosh, he’s loud. The last thing we need is people hating us before our presentation. The thing with this assignment is that we’re being marked by our peers as well as our professor, and thus we’ve got to work on being friendly and on good terms with both of them if we want a good score.
“I guess that could work.” He finally says when his laughter dies down. I raise a brow at him but my lips can’t help but slowly lift into a smile at the sight of the genuine expression of excitement lighting up his face.
He continues on, “I’m pretty sure most 90’s kids have had Vitasoy milk at least once in their life and drank it until they loathed it. And it’s still on market, we can just create an imaginary new series that Vitasoy has launched, and go from there.”
“Sure.” I write it all down in my notes, making sure that we won’t forget our concept and main idea now that we’ve got an opening, a direction. Although I’m already apprehending the amount of times we’ll have to schedule meetings and get together to work on it, there’s a nervous flutter of excitement that bounces through my stomach.
Let’s just hope that Hoshi isn’t just about sweet talking.
Soora: Where are you? It’s been thirty minutes.
I let out a sigh of frustration, fingers tightening around my phone as I think of all the things we could’ve covered if the young man had only showed up early. I should’ve known that he’d be late, I should’ve detected that from the first day we met. But I had decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, thinking that maybe he’d prove me wrong and show up right on time, or maybe just a few minutes late at most.
But here he is, already deepening my impression of his character.
They say that being punctual says a lot about a person, and to be honest, I live by that statement.
I check my phone again but there’s no answer. My lock screen greets me, the digits glaring out at me as if they’re making fun of my gullible state. What an idiot, I think to myself. Impulsively, my grip tightens over my backpack and I decide to leave. This is stupid, I could be doing so many other productive things. I don’t just have this group assignment due, I have many other things and as I raid through my mind and go through the long, never-ending list of assignments, the anxiety trickles through my throat and causes a tight knot to form at the bottom of my stomach.
I’m about to turn around, away from the library where we had planned to meet up, when a sudden shout calls to my attention.
“I’m here!”
Hoshi’s smile is so bright that it almost blinds me. Instantly, my frown deepens even more. He doesn’t look the least bit guilty and that causes anger to flare up inside me.
“You’re late.” I tell him without much emotion as he stops a few feet away from me, panting slightly. I can see a layer of sweat coating his face and I fish out a tissue from my bag before handing it to him.
“Thanks,” he says, flashing me a smile that I don’t return. Instead, I ask, “why didn’t you text me?”
“I was, but I decided that it would be much faster if I ran instead.” He replies sheepishly while rubbing the back of his neck, “I woke up late, sorry. My alarm didn’t ring for some reason.”
My nose scrunches up at his excuse. Whatever, at least he’s here now. We proceed into the library and find free seats. I go straight to the point, showing him the research I’ve conducted on Vitasoy and how their sales seemed to have dropped because of all the other healthier competitors that had entered the market just a few years ago. He listens attentively, not cutting me off, his gaze permanently latched on my face as if he’s burning a hole through my skull. It makes me uncomfortable but I try my best to ignore it. When I’m finished, I look up at him only to meet his brown orbs intent on mine.
He has nice eyes, I think to myself absentmindedly, they’re almond-shaped and slanted upwards like a feline. It’s a very oriental quality to have, and it fits very well with his sharp, defined face.
“What do you think?” I say.
He blinks, “I think it’s great,” He pores over the papers and scans them quickly while muttering the words under his breath, “I think it works. It’s good that we have healthier competitors, because that’s not our target, right?”
“But,” I point out, “If we’re going to make a comeback with these same products, I think that Vitasoy has a better chance to sell if they use a healthier alternative. Cutting the sugar, for example.”
Hoshi’s nose scrunches in thought. I notice that he is very expressive and open with his personal feelings. I wonder briefly if that’s what he sees whenever he looks at me.
“That’s not gonna work.” He says, “Because Vitasoy is known to appeal to kids. Introducing a healthier version would just defeat the purpose. There’s already so many brands doing the same thing.”
“What do you suggest then?” I lean back, racking through my brain for any other marketing options that we can go with.
“If we’re targeting kids, then wouldn’t we want to focus on the flavour?” Hoshi suddenly says.
That could work. Kids love different flavours, specially the fruity ones. If we introduced a strawberry version and a banana version, maybe that would be an effective way to go on about it. “If we focus on the flavour,” I say, “Then we should probably make use of a theme.”
Hoshi tilts his head at me, “Do you have anything specific in mind?”
“Like, I don’t know,” I try to think of all the events that are associated with kids, and then it hits me, “Easter!”
It’s clear from the young man’s expression that he doesn’t understand where I’m getting at. So I explain to him, “If we use Easter as a theme, then we can introduce different kinds of chocolate flavours, and kids love chocolate right? Along with that, the packaging could resemble small bunnies or eggs. They’d love that, they love anything that’s animated or graphic.”
A slow smile breaks across my partner’s face. Did I mention that his teeth are so bright they hurt my eyes? I wonder how many times he brushes his teeth per day.
“There you go!” He slams onto the table with a laugh, “Aha! This is what I call teamwork. Gimme a hand.”
I reach out in all excitement to high-five him, momentarily forgetting that we’re in a library. Someone from the other row of desks shushes us and we exchange looks, sniggering like little kids.
“Wanna get out of here?” He whispers with a sneaky glance towards the door. I nod, and before I know it I’m following him out of the door. The wind is whipping at my hair the moment I step outside, and it’s still cold even though spring has arrived a few days ago. But Hoshi doesn’t seem to mind. Like an excited puppy, he grabs onto my arm and starts jumping up and down while telling me that there’s a place he’s been dying to go to since this morning. I raise a brow but decide to let him lead me to wherever his heart desires, for once forgetting about the anxious knots that had coiled and tightened around my abdomen just a few hours ago.
I should’ve known that of all places, he’d be someone to bring me to an arcade. I shoot him a judging look as we stand in front of the said building, and he tugs onto my arm in response.
“Come on,” he whines persistently like a child begging for a lolly, “You said you wanted to!”
“Yeah, until you brought me to a kid’s place.” I cross my arms with a scowl.
“Relax will you? Nobody can judge you here.” he makes another grab for my arm, which I deftly avoid before saying, “If I agree, will you do the powerpoint?”
“Now that’s just blackmail” His jaw drops and he stares at me in scorn, “Seriously, Soora?”
“I’m serious.” I stand my ground, “If you do the powerpoint, I’ll do all the packaging design and organize the images on the slides. How about it?”
“Ugh, is this really how you bribe people into being friends with you?”
“I might just go back home if that’s the case--”
“Fine, fine!” He grabs onto my elbow again, “But you promised, okay? You’ll play if I ask you to.”
“Sure.” I roll my eyes and follow him inside, resigning to my fate.
And here I had initially thought that Hoshi would’ve been some kind of grownup young man, someone who had his life together considering that business and marketing was his major in university, instead of it being an elective like mine.
It turns out that he’s much more of a kid than I had expected. Bouncing from machine to machine, he begs me play every single game this arcade has to offer. We compete in mario kart and battle royal, partner up for shooting games involving dead zombies, and finally have a face off in guitar hero, both of us drumming to our hearts’ content. Throughout this whole time, I’m laughing, I’m joking and I’m talking more than I ever did during this semester. The time flies and don’t realize that it has gotten dark outside until I check my phone.
“Holy--” the breath catches in my throat when the time displays 7:45pm. We’ve been out here for hours. Hours.
Just like that, panic crashes. I have so much stuff and I’ve wasted so much time. I don’t even have enough hours in the evening to get me through what I had planned to work on today. If I make it back by eight, then I’ll have to cram for my other courses and make study notes, but then I’ll have to eat and figure out what to do for my next assignment for this photography course--
“Soora,” Hoshi’s voice brings me back to reality. “Soora, are you okay?”
My head whips up. I stare at him, not even trying to hide my horror, “I need to get back home.”
“Why?” He checks his watch with a frown, “It’s still early. Let’s have dinner together.”
“I-I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because--” I stammer, taking a step back as my mind is already thinking of a million other things that I should be doing instead of spending time with a classmate, “I just have to.”
“Do you have a curfew or something?” Hoshi persists while falling into step beside me. I hadn’t even noticed that my feet had already started walking towards the bus stop. My heart’s pounding in my chest and I can feel the tension in my muscles, as if my body is going into panic mode, which it is.
“Hey Soora, seriously. What’s the rush?”
I turn to him to notice that he has stopped a few paces behind me, his arms hanging on to his sides. He looks relaxed, he looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world and that alone is enough to piss me off.
“I have other things to do,” I don’t care if I sound snappy. It’s all his fault that I’ve gone out to spend a day wasting my time when there’s so much pressure for me to finish the rest of the assignments and readings for this week, “I need to go home.”
“But--”
“I have to go.” I cut him off, “sorry. You’ll just have to eat without me.”
And then I turn, not caring that he’s still standing there and watching me walk away to find the closest bus stop that can bring me home. I hadn’t cared that there had been a slight flash of hurt and confusion on his face at my sharp statement, but it still haunts me, embedded in the back of my mind even when I reach home and start catching up with all the work I’ve missed.
Maybe I’ve been too harsh, and maybe I’m feeling slightly guilty at having snapped at him when it hadn’t been his fault in the first place. But look at how it’s turned out, I think bitterly. I’m more stressed than I’ve ever been and I’m not just someone that can relax and let go of things. I have quirks like everyone else, and being organized is one of them. I’m a control freak, I won’t lie. When I feel like I’m losing my grip, when I feel like l’m losing control over the part of my life that I can actually call mine, it wrecks everything inside me. It’s like a monster that eats through my stomach until its raw and bleeding with guilt. It’s like a drug, I can’t just be carefree and let things unroll on their own accord. I can’t miss a deadline and I can’t be behind. Because that alone can send me into jeopardy.
This is me. This is who I am.
And I’m sorry if that’s the wrong way of living about life, but if there are people who are celebrated because they can shove their responsibilities aside, then why are the ones who love approaching life in small steps are criticized?
Isn’t it all just the same, after all?
Hoshi: Hey, is everything okay? You looked upset yesterday night :(
Hoshi: I know you received my message! Don’t ignore me! >.<
Hoshi: Sooraaaaaaa TT3TT
Hoshi: TT.TT Are you mad at me?
These are all the messages that Hoshi sends me the following day. But I’m not having it today. I don’t feel like talking to anyone, I don’t feel like interacting with any humans and spend most of the day holed up in my room so as to avoid contact with my housemates. The sun is glaring outside, beating down through my window pane and streaking across the room as if trying to cheer me up. But I keep adamantly staring at the wall instead, hating the dreadful hollow weight that seems to be dragging me down everywhere I go.
This feeling comes and goes. It’s not like I have any control whatsoever. If only I did then I wouldn’t have to be so sad all the time. I would just crank up my happy button. But life doesn’t work that way and I just have to live with it.
If I were to define my emotions in colours, it wouldn’t be something so poetic as the shade of blue or a tinge of orange hue. It wouldn’t be so black and white. My emotions are colours that you can’t define, colours that mix together as if someone is constantly churning all the tones together so that in the end there’s just this huge glob of nothingness, something that looks terrible and yet you can’t understand why. It’s like trying to get the exact right gradient for your painting but missing the mark slightly every time. This is how I feel on the bad days.
Some people ask me why I can’t just look on the bright side of life. My parents have demanded that of me whenever I’d come down to breakfast looking like I was about to break down in tears, and my friends, though more understanding, had tried to brighten up my mood by cracking jokes and trying their best to make the sadness go away. But the thing is, I can laugh, I can smile and make as if everything’s fine. I just have to put on a mask and pretend. I do that a lot, considering that I don’t want anyone to worry about me. But it’s on those days that my laughter is hollow and there’s a glazed look over my eyes, as if I’m there with them but not really. I can hear them, I can understand what they’re saying, but inside I’m busy battling demons of my own.
A knock is heard on my door and I flinch out of instinct. I don’t answer in hopes that she’ll believe I’m sleeping, but Kimberley’s voice filters through anyway, “Soora?” Her tone is tentative, as if she’s walking on broken glass, and I don’t blame her. “Are you awake?”
I nod before realizing that she can’t see me and hurriedly say, “Yeah.”
“Did you need anything? You haven’t eaten all day.”
“I’m tired.” I lie through my teeth, “I’ll eat later.”
She leaves me alone and I hear her footsteps walking away from the door, only to hear a sigh of relief coming out of my chest. I just want to stay here, in the comfort of my own fort of blankets, wrapped tight so that I don’t have to think of the rest of the world. If I don’t hear them, then I can make as if they don’t exist, just for a little while.
“You didn’t answer my text,” is what Hoshi says first thing as he takes his seat next to me. I look at him blankly for a few seconds, before remembering that he had actually texted me during the weekend. But I had been too wrapped up in my own bubble of thoughts to actually care.
I mumble out an apology in hopes that it will be enough to satisfy him, but he persists just like an overexcited puppy that has finally seen his owner after a long absence, “why didn’t you answer? Were you mad at me? Are you still mad at me for what happened that day?” He keeps on whining and I sigh, rolling my eyes and turning with a scowl on my face, “It’s fine, Hoshi. You didn’t do anything.”
“Was it because you had something else to do?” He persists. He doesn’t understand the concept of privacy, does he? A vein practically throbs at the side of my forehead as I gnash out a response through my teeth, “No. It’s nothing.”
“Just tell me. You can’t expect me to believe that it’s nothing,” He says, “You looked really upset that day.” Then, as if sensing my growing annoyance and simmering anger, he softens his tone and his face becomes one of concern, “Tell me if I did something, because I didn’t want to upset you.”
“It’s nothing, Hoshi. Can you just drop it?” I finally snap.
Hurt flashes through his eyes, but he still lets out a small smile, “Alright then.” at the same time the professor decides to start the class. He doesn’t spare me a glance throughout the entire lecture and I don’t expect him to. As the professor drones on about the importance of communication and authority in organizations, I drift off and think of all the things that had been going wrong since this morning. I had a bad critique for my photography course, followed by an english class where I received my midterm and hadn’t done as well as I’d expected. It doesn’t help matters that I woke up feeling the same as I did yesterday, as if I’m walking on glass shards with bare feet, cautious and careful that one wrong step might cause an overflow of pain.
“Soora,” Hoshi’s voice brings me back to reality and it’s only then that I realize that the lecture has ended, with students packing their things and exiting the class, some in small groups and others plugging their headphones in.
I can feel his gaze on my face as I close my copybook and slide it into my bag, hating how he seems to read easily in between the lines of my cracked expressions.
“Soora, are you sure everything’s okay?” he asks.
I turn to him, “I’m fine,” and proceed to plaster a smile on my face in hopes that it would stop him from venturing any closer. I don’t think it’s a good idea to associate myself with someone like him, specially when he seems always so bright and cheerful. There’s no way someone like him needs to be dragged down by someone who sees the world as a threat.
“No you’re not fine,” Hoshi proceeds to grasp my arm in a soft, comforting manner. I flinch and quickly whip it out of his grasp, but not before I feel his fingers sliding over the sensitive, scarred skin on the underside of my elbow. The skin that’s usually hidden beneath the sleeves of my sweater.
“Don’t touch me,” I hiss venomously, but it’s too late. I realize that once I catch sight of his eyes on my face, searching for explanation, a million different emotions crossing his face like he can’t really decide on which one he should be feeling, which one he should be using.
“Hey--” I cut him off with the deadliest scowl I can muster, “Shut up.”
Hoshi’s gaze softens into an expression that I’ve learned to read by heart. Pity, that’s pity that I see swimming through his brown orbs. And that’s the worst thing that can happen. I can tolerate people discovering, I can tolerate having people ask me if I’m alright and acting as though they’re concerned and worried for my wellbeing.
But i hate the thought of being looked at as if I’m just a lost puppy on the street. I hate the thought of being looked at as if I’m a nutcase that no one can handle.
I hate it. I hate it all.
“Soora, you don’t have to do this alone,” His eyes are begging me, those eyes that were once so bright and full of life, they are now the same eyes that look condescending. I suddenly feel so small that I want to curl up and disappear, blend with the wall and make myself invisible.
“I don’t want your help,” I whisper through a series of harsh words, “I don’t need it.”
“I’m sorry that you feel that way,” Hoshi murmurs, “I’m sorry you had to go through this.”
“You don’t understand--”
“I do understand,” He presses his lips together before looking away, “I understand more than you can imagine.”
It makes me falter for a few seconds, wondering if he’d gone through the same thing. But he probably feels the heat of my gaze searching for clues in the underside of his arms and along his wrists, for he turns them over for me to see before saying:
“Not me.” He admits in a murmur, his voice thick with emotion, “My brother.”
There’s a distinct pause. I can practically hear a pin drop in the silence, the emptiness that fills the room.
I gulp, “Is he--”
Hoshi’s silence is enough to confirm the ugly reality. I take a step back out of shock, then another and another until I make a run for it. The knot in my chest has tightened until it’s too hard to breathe, until I can feel my chest constricting with lack of air.
I have to get out of here.
Words die at the back of my throat. I swivel around and make a run for it before I can hear anything else.
I can’t breathe.
Hoshi: Soora, you don’t have to go through this alone.
Hoshi: I understand. I really do.
Hoshi: I know you don’t want to talk about it. But sometimes it’s better to tell a stranger rather than friends or family.
Hoshi: I’m just saying I’m there if you wanna talk :)
“Someone’s looking for you,” one of my housemates lifts her eyebrow at me suggestively, “aren’t you gonna answer that?”
I grab my phone instinctively before turning it upside down so that I can’t see the messages displayed on my screen anymore. I don’t feel like talking to anybody and I guess that’s what Hoshi doesn’t seem to understand. If I were to compare him to an animal, I’d say he’s like a puppy. He is constantly ing his nose in places he shouldn’t be and that’s really getting on my nerves, for he doesn’t seem to understand the concept of privacy or personal space, nor does he seem to understand what rejection means.
What he went through must’ve been tough, but a small part of me is just too stubborn to cave in and tell him everything. That small part of me is prideful, consistently pushing my buttons and telling me that he’s doing this out of pity because he couldn’t save his brother. I know I shouldn’t be thinking that way, but that’s how I perceive it, no matter how much I try to look at the situation.
I can’t help but see myself as a way for him to make it up to his brother.
Thankfully, the week goes by without any business classes to attend. I’m thankful for it, considering that I’ve felt a little too uncomfortable around Hoshi during those past few days. As the weekend comes and goes, I get even more anxious about seeing his face in class on Monday morning but it gets even worse when he sends me another text on Sunday evening and practically reminds me that I’ll be seeing him tomorrow.
Hoshi: Hey. How was your weekend?
Hoshi: also, it would be nice for you to respond once in a while >.<
Hoshi: I can see you reading the texts. Stop ignoring me!
Rolling my eyes and feeling a pang of guilt ring within me, I tentatively pick up my phone and tap onto the keyboard, hesitating slightly as I debate on what to write back. Anything I’ll say will just come out awkward and weird. How do people even text nowadays anyway?
Soora: My weekend was good.
I can see him typing and out of panic, I struggle to close the application before his answer pops up on the screen.
Hoshi: WOW YOU ACTUALLY REPLIED.
Hoshi: HI THERE FRIEND.
Hoshi: HOW ARE YOU DOING OMG I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU REPLIED OHMYGOSH
I can hear his excitement all the way from his own room and can’t help the sigh of exasperation falling from my lips.
Soora: You don’t have to abuse the capslock keys.
Soora: Did you finish the presentation slides? We can go over them tomorrow and do a test run of the presentation.
Hoshi: Okay but seriously, we don’t have to talk about work all the time, right?
Hoshi: and no, I didn’t finish the presentation slides.
Hoshi: I’ll work on them so that they’re ready by tomorrow.
Hoshi: But anyway! Coming back to the subject: How are you feeling? How was your weekend?
Soora: I’m fine, why do you ask? And you already asked me that question.
Hoshi: I’m fine too, thanks for asking. Oh, and my weekend was great! Did you enjoy the weather yesterday? It was like 11 degrees outside, god bless our souls.
I didn’t even know that it had been that warm on Saturday, just because I didn’t have any plans to go outside. I feel a flicker of regret course through me, but nudge it aside as I remind myself that I wouldn’t have had time anyway, considering that I have so much stuff due for the next few weeks to come. Those distractions wouldn’t have been productive.
Hoshi: I’m craving for ice-cream. Want some?
Soora: At this time of night?
Hoshi: Every time is a good time for ice-cream.
Soora: No thanks, I’m already in bed.
Hoshi: No you’re not. Who’s in bed at eight?
Soora: Normal people.
Hoshi: Lol don’t make me laugh. Come on, it’ll be fun.
Hoshi: It’s gonna be a little adventure. What’s your address?
Soora: … you’re not actually serious, are you?
And this is how I find myself going out when it’s practically freezing, having slipped on some sneakers and throwing a coat over my pyjamas because I was that unmotivated to go out in that time of night. My brain is thinking of all the hours of sleep that I’m missing out on, but Hoshi’s smiling face greets me in the dim light of the porch as he stands on the front steps of my apartment complex. For a moment, all my initial worries get washed away by the guilt I feel towards the said boy.
Memories of his deceased brother come back to me, causing my stomach to clench with anxiety.
The trip to the ice cream is full of Hoshi’s chatter as he tells me of all his antics and all the tricks he used to play on his mother just to sneak out and get that ice cream. At some point, I start to think that he’s inventing his stories, but when I ask him about it with a more than poignant, confused look, he blinks back with offensive eyes.
“How dare you!” he huffs, “Of course I’m not lying. I must’ve had some crazy kind of imagination to think of that.”
“So you’re telling me you snuck out to get ice-cream,” I repeat slowly, “every day?”
He shrugs, “I was a chubby kid.”
I proceed to roll my eyes, but either he is completely unfazed by my action or he makes sure to ignore my behaviour. We grab our orders -- his being vanilla and strawberry while I get the green tea flavour-- and he sniffs at my choice.
“What?” I ask, slightly offended that he’d find green tea gross as a flavour.
“Oh nothing, it’s just that I find green tea ice cream to be a real rip off you know?” He his own cold treat, “I mean, they charge you extra just because of that matcha powder. Don’t you think that’s a rip-off?”
“Does it bother you?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“All the better.” I take a huge bite of my ice cream for added effect and almost regret it when I feel the icy coldness freeze my gums.
“You look better.” He comments after a beat of silence, both of us just enjoying our ice cream, “Better than how you looked a few days ago.”
I look at him, eyebrow raised, “what did I look like?”
“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “kinda like death?”
I don’t reply to that. There’s no need to. He already knows what I’m going through because he is that good at guessing. I don’t want to push it further because it’s just going to make me uncomfortable in the long run. Sometimes, I think that I’m okay, that I am strong and able enough to talk about such topics that rage through my mind and torment my thoughts like a neverending swirling tsunami, but when I open my mouth it suddenly turns like a dry desert, choking the back of my throat as a sign that I should just shut up and stay quiet.
Talking would mean to give my weakness away and I don’t know if I’m ready to bare myself like that. Not with him, at least.
But part of me hopes, wishes that for him to understand and be aware of it, then it means that he’d be tolerant of what I go through, that him, out of everyone I know, would be able to sympathize.
“My brother’s name was Jihoon,” Hoshi’s words take me by surprise, “he was a quiet kid, very unlike me. He was the angel of the family. Everyone was fond of him but for the most part he was always blending with the background. I guess that’s why I never knew what was going on with him.”
It’s not like I asked him for it but Hoshi seems very adamant about telling me everything concerning his brother, and though I’ve never been one to open up so easily, I believe that people who do so are the ones that aren’t afraid of being vulnerable. And these people make me feel as if they trust me, as if they feel comfortable enough, close enough that they’d peel back one layer of their skin for me to see.
“I didn’t even know that he was capable of such a thing until I found him.” Hoshi’s alto can’t help but break off slightly at that point, and I can’t help but notice pain that seems to wash over his face, his dark eyes swirling with something that looks a lot like remorse.
I look away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the dampened mood. The downward tug of Hoshi’s lips and the serious expression painted across his features doesn’t seem to suit him either.
He took another deep, shaky breath that feels as though he’s walking on a tightrope, “I didn’t know that he could hurt himself so much, until I realized how much he’d been keeping inside that head of his.”
My gaze rests on the table and I don’t know what to say to make him feel better, for words aren’t my thing and actions are even less. There are so many thoughts swirling around in my head, telling myself that he needs the comfort more than anything, but they get stuck in my throat, clogging my trachea and halting the sympathy rising through the middle of my chest.
And I realize that it pains me. It pains me to see him that way, bearing so much in those brown orbs that I’m so used to seeing sparkle with happiness. It’s incredible how much he can hide, for I’ve never seen Hoshi break down. And if he has to today, then it’ll be the first.
“How did he…?” I trail off, part of me wanting to know how he’d managed to escape successfully from the grasp of this world and part of me dreading the answer, for this additional knowledge wouldn’t do me any good.
“Bled to death.” Hoshi’s voice is filled with a sorrowful bitterness. He laughs, but it’s empty and etched with emotion, “how do you think I figured you out so easily?”
True. His touch hadn’t lasted five seconds and yet he’d already known about it as if he had read my mind all along. Impulsively, I try to curl my arm back inside my sleeve in order to hide the faint scar dotting my skin. But Hoshi’s brown pupils are directed onto the said hidden patch of skin, and before I can say anything in my defense, his free hand shoots out to grab my wrist.
I freeze.
He’s watching me, eyes boring into mine with an intensity I’ve never seen before, while his hand slowly slips up my sleeve and skitters across the inner side of my elbow. I’m practically holding my breath and cursing myself because I can’t seem to pull away, before I feel the delicate brush of his thumb against the scar that he’d skimmed past a few days ago.
“Was it hard?” He asks, voice soft.
I distract myself by eating my ice-cream and avoiding his gaze as best as I can, “I just can’t help it.”
“I know,” Hoshi’s fingers are still caressing my skin and goosebumps are skittering up and down my arms, “when they examined my brother’s body during the autopsy, they found so many scars. I just couldn’t imagine how he could hate himself that much.”
“It’s not about hate,” I look at him then, “Not all of it is about hate. It’s just--” my lips press together, “You just want it to stop hurting, and sometimes the physical pain is easier to bear than what you’re battling up here.” I motion towards my head, “It’s easier to deal with because you feel like you have control.”
A silence falls upon us as we take this time to finish our cold treats, but I can barely taste the ice-cream on my tongue, the flavour long gone due to the sudden realization that I’ve said a little bit too much about myself to someone I barely know. But then his voice rings true inside my mind, sometimes it’s better to tell a stranger rather than friends or family.
And I guess he’s right. To some extent, spilling your secrets out to a stranger doesn’t mean you can hurt the other person, nor do you have ties that make it harder to face that stranger.
But slowly, I don’t know what Hoshi’s becoming to me. Sure, we started out as strangers but us hanging out like this, that means he’s more than just a random stranger, and I don’t know how to feel about that.
His fingers suddenly bring me back to reality, causing me to jump in my seat upon realizing that he still has a delicate grasp onto my arm. When I look up at him with a confused frown, his disoriented expression makes me think that even he hadn’t realized that his hand had stayed at my side.
He retracts his limb and a sheepish smile blossoms across his face, “Sorry.” he lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug, “didn’t realize my hand was still attached to you.”
“It’s fine.” then, I send him a pointed look, “So, is it the part where you start ignoring me because I’m too broody and dark for you?”
He takes a moment to decipher my words, but when he does, he can’t help but throw his head back as booming laughter rattles through his body, “Yeah right.” he laughs some more before slapping the table, “Are you trying to tell me to back off?”
“Are you going to?”
“Even if you wanted me to, I’m not,” He leans forward then, eyes crinkling up into the smile I’ve grown accustomed to. It’s crooked and adorable and oozes of so much cuteness that it catches me off guard, “Because I know deep down, you actually enjoy my company.”
I can’t help but snort, “You are so full of yourself.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” his smile widens like a flower, and it’s like a drug for my lips twitch into their own version of a smile.
We exit the shop and he walks me back home as promised, only turning his back when I had closed my front door. That night, I rolled into bed with expectations that I wouldn’t be able to sleep due to the sudden sugar high coming from the ice-cream, not forgetting the fact that I had so much trouble silencing my thoughts at night. But as soon as I had clambered into bed, I drifted right off to sleep with a faint smile dangling from my lips.
Today is presentation day, and I feel like throwing up.
“We’ll be fine,” Hoshi insists as we wait for our turn. My nerves are practically on permanent jitters and I can feel the sweat dotting my hairline at the thought of having to deal with all these pairs of eyes settling upon my frame.
What if I say something bad? What if I screw up my script and don’t know what to say?
What if I’m the reason we get a bad grade?
All these questions and doubtful thoughts are swirling and colliding in my brain, practically causing it to throb in pain as I squeeze my eyes shut and try to clear my head. To no avail, for the series of ‘what if’s and countless scenarios of embarrassment just keep flooding in.
I’m so wound up and coiled tight with anxiety that I barely feel Hoshi’s hand coming to a rest on my shoulder. Then I jump, head swivelling up to look into his eyes, those beautiful eyes of his, before panic takes over.
“I can’t do this.” I murmur, extracting myself out of his grip, “I just can’t.”
“No, hey you have to,” Hoshi murmurs as his hand finds my arm in a comforting touch. But that doesn’t help. It only strikes another nerve of anxiety and I can feel my stomach churning. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
I take a step back but he holds me, not tight enough to hurt me, but firmly enough that I can’t stumble back and run away. In a way, I think it’s good he’s being so sensible for it was only me I would’ve probably already be running away by now.
“I promise you, Soora. It won’t be that bad.” Hoshi says gently, “Do you trust me?”
“Do I have a choice?” I try to make a joke out of it, and Hoshi cracks a smile, “There you go, making jokes. That’s the spirit.”
“What if I mess up my script?” I start asking as butterflies start to creep up my abdomen, “What if I can’t--”
“Soora, listen to me.” He puts a restraining finger on my lips and I blink at the contact. In any normal circumstances I would’ve probably slapped his limb right off. But right now it comforts me more to know that he’s here, by my side when I need him.
“You’ll be fine, alright? This is only a presentation. You know more than anyone else in this room about our presentation, and no one can say anything against you.” his dark orbs are flickering with seriousness, but I find the strength and genuine firmness of his conviction. Drawing power from his gaze, I slowly nod in understanding before he squeezes my shoulder with his other hand, “And you’re not alone. If you go down then we’ll just go down together.”
If he’s the one that I can depend on then so be it. I will hold on with every ounce of energy within me.
The class starts clapping to signal the end of the previous pair’s presentation, and as I glance up to catch the wide smiles breaking across their faces, I can’t help but cower back in fear of knowing that they probably did a wonderful job and that it would be hard to measure up against that since I’m such a bad public speaker.
“You ready?” Hoshi whispers in the shell of my ear. I can feel his warmth against my side, the comforting hand he’s placed on my shoulder.
With a gulp, I swallow down the nervousness rising in my throat and mutter a soft, “yes.”
I take a deep breath and step towards the podium.
Disaster.
Just disaster. That is the word that defines our presentation.
I was a stuttering mess and hadn’t even gotten halfway through the presentation before I had felt like throwing up. It got worse when I stumbled over my words as I explained the graph, and sifting through my notes in an attempt to find myself, I couldn’t help but feel the stares boring through my back, eyes that practically pierced through my body and burnt holes of embarrassment at the back of my skull. It was too humiliating, air kept getting stuffed at the back of my throat and I knew that I was hyperventilating before I felt the world tilting, darkness swarming at my peripheral.
I had run out like there was fire on my heels and didn’t stop until I found an empty hallway a few corridors down. I collapsed then, palm pressed against the wall for support as I heaved in oxygen through my lungs and tried to calm the overflow of panic searing through my brain. I felt like I was choking, as if I was underwater and unable to break through the surface of the water.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I let out shaky breaths and bit down on my bottom lip to stop the small whimpers escaping the back of my throat.
I knew I wasn’t cut out for this. What made me think I was worthy of doing this? What even possessed me to try when I wasn’t ready, when I’ll never be ready?
How am I going to face the class again after this incident? They’ll just laugh in my face.
I don’t know for how long I stand there, fingers curling tight into my palms as I replayed the scenes again and again in my head like a broken video player. Each time my heart would squeeze and I’d be overthrown by another wave of mixed emotions; frustration, agitation and this black gaping monster I call anxiety strumming against my ribs until tears form at the corner of my eyes.
On impulse, I choke back a sob.
I want to go home. I want to curl up in my bed and hope to disappear.
“Hey.”
My muscles tense up at the sound of Hoshi’s voice ringing in the empty hallway. I can feel him standing behind me and I press my lips together until they turn white from the pressure. I don’t say anything, partly for fear that words fail me altogether.
His footsteps becoming louder until he crouches next to me. Still, I refuse to look at him, refuse to face the gaze full of pity. It’s enough that I made a fool out of myself in front of everyone in class, but having to face Hoshi after all this and knowing that we’ll probably end up with a failing grade is unacceptable.
“Soora.”
I face the wall. Anything but this, I think. Please. Just go away.
And that’s when I am suddenly enveloped in his arms, his hands bringing my head so that it is tucked underneath his chin as he holds me gently, delicately in his embrace. It’s comforting and warm, warmer than I expected it to be, and I can feel his steady heartbeat beating against my erratic breaths. His other hand places itself on my back before patting me slowly in an attempt to calm my nerves down.
Focusing on his peaceful breathing, I try to match his pace and slowly feel myself relax in his arms. Tired and weary, my body stops fighting and slowly, when he is certain that I am now composed enough and that my tears are just dried up trails that stained his shirt, he pulls away ever so slightly and I can’t help but feel intimidated at the closeness of his face to mine.
“Feel better?” He asks, alto deeper than I imagined it to be.
I nod and open my mouth to ask about the presentation when he beats me to it, “Everything’s okay. Don’t worry about the presentation, alright?”
“But--”
“We’re fine,” His lips curved into a soft smile, “The professor understands, Soora. It can happen to anyone.”
“Not everyone,” I mumble before dropping my gaze as shame courses through me in remorse, “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for.” He pats my back comfortingly, “Come on. What do you say about some coffee and cake? It’s on me.”
I let him lift myself up, too tired to care that he’s seeing me in my worst state. He pulls me along with him and as I hear the series of footsteps of students leaving their classrooms, my eyes find the ground like they’re magnetically being pulled downwards until we exit the building. If it wasn’t for Hoshi’s supporting arm around my frame, I don’t think I would’ve made it till the end of the corridor and for that I can’t help but feel grateful at the fact that he’s with me, that I’m not alone. It’s a nice feeling to be able to count on someone, and I want to curse myself for relying on a practical stranger.
My partner keeps up his stream of chatter until we reach our destination, commenting lightly here and there on the various things he catches sight of on the street. Thankful for the fact that he’s trying his best to distract me from getting into my anxiety prone world, I focus on the breaths and the rise of my chest going up and down. We find a table at the very corner of the store and I’m more than happy to let Hoshi order for the both of us. A few minutes later, a slice of chocolate mousse and a matcha soy latte appears in front of me.
I look up, only to be met by his grin. “I didn’t know what you wanted, and decided that maybe you should try something new.”
“And how do you know I haven’t had this before?” I ask with a raised brow.
“That’s cause you always get the same thing whenever you grab coffee.” Hoshi leans forward, “And you told me you weren’t a fan of sweet things.”
“If it weren’t for you helping me out there, I’d say you were stalking me,” I huff but decide to dig in. He proceeds to take a bite of the cake, letting out a sound of satisfaction as he chews. “God, I love chocolate.”
I have to agree with him. Who doesn’t like chocolate?
He isn’t as chatty as he usually is, and it’s probably because he prefers not to bombard me with information when I’m already wiped out by the amount of emotional rollercoasters I’ve been through just a few hours ago. But I’m still grateful for his company, grateful that he cared enough not to walk away when I was at my weakest. People get scared and people fear what they can’t change, and so it surprises me that he didn’t just let me deal with my own problems.
He walks me home again, but it seems as though the air is clearer, more comfortable somehow. Hoshi comments on things here and there, but although conversation is sparse, I have never felt so comfortable with the presence of another human being at my side. It takes me by surprise that I’m enjoying the silence he gives me, which is probably something that won’t last considering Hoshi is a natural chatterbpx. But I bathe in that silence, take in everything I can from it.
“You sure you’re feeling better?” Hoshi asks as he delivers me at my doorstep.
I nod, memories of this morning causing me to wince slightly. But although I don’t show it, his eyes are quick to read my facial expression. He asks, “Are you sure?”
“I’ll be fine.” I tell him instead. I don’t need him worrying about me when he has his own issue to deal with.
I bid him goodbye then, quickly turning on my heel and hoping that escaping up the stairs will give me enough time to recompose myself to face my housemates, but he’s quicker. Grabbing onto my hand and turning me around, I come face to face with his almond eyes, shining with concern in the soft light of the porch. Up close, I notice his features; the smoothness of his skin and the gentle curve of his mouth. The lack of physical space intimidates me and I can’t help but gasp at the closeness.
“If there’s anything, anything at all, “he searches into my eyes, like he can find a response that will qualm his nerves. His jaw clenches slightly while I can’t help but focus on the warmth emitted from his palm, “Let me know. Talk to me. Please.”
I manage a nod. “Okay.” I murmur.
“I’m serious, Soora.” he persists, alto dropping a few octaves.
I nod with more assurance in hopes that it will be enough for the man. But then he surprises me even more when he pulls me forward. I stumble out of surprise, falling into a pair of arms and cocooned into a warmth that I call his chest. My nose falls into the curve between his neck and shoulder, while he presses his chin onto my temple, arms wound round my waist in a tender but firm embrace.
I gulp in shock, not really processing what had happened until a few seconds too late.
The rational part of my brain is telling me that the wisest thing to do is step back, push him away and define my boundaries. But it feels good to be held, it’s been so long since I’ve felt that kind of comfort, and call me selfish but my muscles slowly relax as if their desires have been satisfied. I can’t help but sigh with some kind of exhaled satisfaction.
Hoshi half-laughs and half-exhales in the shell of my ear, warmth surging from his breath and erupting a bunch of goosebumps along the back of my neck. “S-Sorry,” he says as his arms slowly retract their hold. Quickly, too soon. Bue he continues talking, “I don’t know what came over me--”
My arms tighten around his torso and instantly that shuts him up for once. Looking down at me with curious eyes, I avoid his gaze and instead hide it in the crook of his neck, not wanting to admit that I’m enjoying this as much as he is.
“Soora?” he whispers. There is panic underneath his question, but I press closer and manage to breathe out slowly.
After a few beats of silence do I murmur back, “Thank you.”
Hoshi’s silence is enough encouragement to continue, “For everything.”
After some slight hesitation and me hoping that he won’t push me away, I feel his arms coming back round to hug me more closely to his chest. He chuckles deeply, the sound resonating through his chest while he says, “Now that is not what I was expecting.”
I frown, but he can’t see it. “What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know,” he rocks me back and forth, “A slap maybe? Or a punch? Not a hug, that’s for sure.”
“Do you always have to make jokes out of everything?”
“That’s my speciality. You want to hang out with me, you get all the humour. That’s how it works.”
I roll my eyes before I say in the dryest tone possible, “Hilarious.”
Time loses meaning when I feel so comfortable in Hoshi’s arms. But when he finally draws back, I have no choice but to do the same, avoiding his gaze for fear of the embarrassed flush coating my face. But if he notices it, he doesn’t say anything.
His nose is practically millimeters from mine and although I feel like I should be stepping back due to the boundaries, I can’t help but bask in the fluttery feeling causing butterflies to erupt in my stomach. I wonder if he feels the same, I wonder if he’s experiencing the same things I am.
My teeth gnaw on my bottom lip out of impulse. His hand reaches up to my mouth, “Don’t do that,” His voice is deep, rougher than usual. I shiver in response.
He realizes a few beats later that his action is one that is intimate, too intimate to be defined as something that’s just friendly. He stares at me and I stare back, unable to formulate words, unable to find words to explain what’s buzzing through my head and my heart.
“Wh-What are we doing?” I ask out of slight panic. Hoshi’s gaze softens, eyes swirling with something that looks a lot like affection. Too much like affection.
“I don’t know,” he murmurs back breathlessly, “I don’t know, but I don’t want it to end.”
And his lips suddenly brush against mine in a tantalizing attempt, a question lingering at the edges of his mouth.
A question that I answer by pressing my mouth to his in affirmation.
Fireworks explode in my chest. Heat courses through me and I can’t help but let out a soft gasp upon feeling Hoshi’s arms wound round my waist and pull me closer, fingers practically leaving a scorching trail of marks as they travel to my hips and pin me to his frame. My hands shakily come up to frame his face, cradling his jaw as our lips moved softly across each other’s in a conversation only we could understand.
It’s a short kiss, but it leaves us both breathless when we part. Foreheads touching, I can only gaze at him and he does the same, realization dawning that what I’ve done is something that I can’t take back and I don’t want to take back.
Realization that, after all this time, this annoyance at the man’s interest had turned into an affection I couldn’t define for the life of me.
“Well,” Hoshi lets out a soft chuckle and it rumbles through his chest seductively, “Apparently, someone has feelings for me.”
“Speak for yourself!” I scowl back, “You started all this.”
“Did I?” He muses, pulling me closer so that his jaw is at my temple, “don’t remember.”
“Yeah right.” I roll my eyes.
“So,” he says as I feel his hand travel up to curl a stray strand of hair away from my face, “How about tomorrow? Movie? Just you and me?”
“That was not smooth at all.”
“Look, I’m not here for smoothness okay? If you want smooth, then go buy a Ken doll or something.”
“No need to be so stingy,” I can’t help but smile at him, and he mirrors my expression before breaking out into laughter. He hugs me to his chest possessively, like an excited child, “So? Yes for tomorrow?”
“Sure.”I murmur into his neck, “Are you paying?”
“And there goes my money.”
I know that this is very cliché that the two characters end up together, but hey everyone needs some Hoshi in thier lives. I mean I wouldn't say no to a man like Hoshi, ya know what I mean? /smirks/
This story is one that resonates really closely to my heart. It's the monday blues I feel every once in a while and I feel like everyone has those moments. Some worse than others, some less than others. But I guess that majority feel blue at some point in their lives, and I want to tell you all that it's okay to feel this way, it's okay to feel as if you're battling against yourself. It's okay to feel like you're losing the battle...as long as you don't give up.
I've seen what this does to people, I've witnessed someone getting destroyed by it, and trust me, it's bad. I'm not generalizing through this story and saying that you all need a man to feel better about yourself (GOD NO) I'm just saying that there's always going to be someone to listen, someone who cares enough about you and who can help you through this. Trust me.
So when you feel alone, please reach out. It doesn't have to be someone you know, heck, it can even be me. But don't keep it inside, don't let it eat away at you until there's nothing left.
I just wanted to put this out there. :)
Thank you all for reading, and I love you all. I hope you spend a wonderful day and cherish the blessings you have <3
-nutmeggu
Comments