I was scared, terrified. Ever since I was little. I was afraid of failing. Not fulfilling the expectations of my parents - and especially those of my mother. To disappoint them. In my delusion I even got so far into it that I was afraid of being myself. To consistently say 'no' once and admit that even I sometimes just didn't have the strength anymore to put in twice as much effort as all the other kids my age, was never an option for me. 

To admit that I was just another person who sometimes needed rest was like admitting weakness. No one was allowed to experience me in weak moments. No one was supposed to recognize that behind my façade was just an insecure, cowardly, sometimes quick-tempered boy full of crazy ideas. Because I wanted to be strong, admirable, flawless. And definitely not weak. This fear shaped my life. It was my constant companion, my guide and decision maker.

It was like a coat that wrapped everything negative in deep shadows and emphasized the positive in an advantageous way. In this fairy-tale, threadbare fashion dream world of my mother, one would certainly have spoken of an indispensable accessory. A must-have, I was sure of it. Now, at the age of eighteen, I suddenly saw this coat in front of me like a soap bubble that burst when it hit the bottom of reality and made this coat leave an ever-increasing wound. 

Like a deep hole that opened up and revealed a greedy monster with gaping teeth and sharpened claws inside and awakened it from its years of sleep. Eagerly it gnawed at my life spirits - bit by bit - until there was nothing left and instead a meaningless emptiness crept into my heart, which was neither warm nor cold, light or dark, black or white. After I saw my mother standing in the middle of the rubble, my fear evaporated. 

After I saw my mother standing in the middle of the rubble, my fear evaporated. My own life suddenly seemed insignificant. Small and insincere. I asked myself over and over again what was the point of this hypocritical behaviour, what was the point of having nothing left in the end, except broken furniture, a horrible appearance and an even more horrible character. Did I really want to end up like this? 

To follow my mother's example unconditionally? Let myself be pushed in that direction? Back then, when I still hoped for better times and I was naive and dreamy - as I was - chasing after shooting stars, the answer was most certainly: »No. Never, ever.« However, I grew older and nothing had ever changed, no matter how many shooting stars I had ever met. I got tired of waiting. 

If I had been asked the same questions a week ago, whether it was worth pretending at all, I would have put on a confident smile and said with a beaming smile »Why pretend? My life is perfect!«, I would have replied. And this lie was probably not even questioned, although I knew what the truth really looked like. But now? Now I began to seriously reconsider this answer. After all these years of hopelessness. 

What was weakness? For years I assumed that it was my negative qualities. All those things that could give people the opportunity to make a bad judgment about me. All the things that my mother had always forbidden me to do. But wasn't it much weaker of me to be afraid of it? Afraid of what others would think of me if they only saw the real me? Would it not have been even bolder to admit and accept all this? 

After all, hiding instead of honestly admitting it was cowardly and weaker than all the rest put together, wasn't it? After I saw my mother standing in the middle of the rubble, I asked myself the same question again. And without hesitation, I answered. »I never want to end up like that!« Now, at the age of eighteen, the long-forgotten hope in me was inflamed anew. Like a brave knight with shining armour and sword and shield, this one faced the released monster in my heart and tried to suppress this hopelessness. But..

Wasn't it too late for that? Too late to completely rebuild my life? The public my mother was trying to push me into knew only my facade. My environment knew only my facade, even my closest friends. My whole life was a facade. The monster in my chest tried with all means to devour the determined hope. If I just let myself, I could keep hiding. Then I could go on pretending the world was perfect, as if nothing had happened.

I felt torn.

Hope with a course towards the unknown or fear with a familiar direction?

What should I choose now?

An end with horror, or an endless horror?

I trembled all over my body when I couldn't find answers and shed silent tears  when neither Mum nor Sehun moved. I was also standing in the same spot, but I felt as if I was going in circles. Was it the residual alcohol in my blood or was it my contradictory thoughts that caused dizziness? I didn't know. Just didn't have any explanations, saw no signs. Could only witness the inner conflict of my feelings as an extra, before I couldn't stand it any longer and left the house screaming. 

I screamed and screamed my soul out of my body, while step by step I left the hated house with my hated mother and the hated jerk in it behind me. Hate and anger towards everything and everyone, and yet only towards me alone, mingled with my tears and clouded my vision as I disappeared into the dark of the night without thought of consequences. If I had been in my right mind and my mother hadn't been here, I would never have even considered walking through the neighborhood screaming and yelling.

What would the neighbors have thought? What light would this have cast on me?, would probably have been my thoughts. But now I didn't give a . I didn't care if I disturbed someone's sleep or If I even felt ashamed of it tomorrow. I just didn't feel like thinking about others first and me last of all. Was it so wrong to be selfish at least once in my life? More and more hot tears ran down my cheeks until I came to a halt, completely breathless and with legs as heavy as lead. 

My cries fell silent, because my throat was scratching rough while I was panting. The clear night sky was filled with thousands and thousands of stars. Some were more sparkling, some less. In between a glowing shooting star flitted by. I myself found myself in a small clearing surrounded by tall pines and larches and was startled when I realized what place this was. It was the place that, when I was still naive and dreamily chasing the shooting stars, gave me incredible comfort and gave me strength to hope. 

That place where I had spent countless lonely hours full of assurance. Was this an answer to my question? A clear sign that I had made the right decision? Or was this just a coincidence that I had walked to this place of all places? Powerless, I kneeled down in the damp grass, while I wrapped my arms protectively aroun