Lavender | Wakatoshi Ushijima

34 | Hollow

The funeral was what you'd expect. Tears, silence, but mostly compliments. You'd be surprised how this funeral was more of a display for my family. I was getting compliments on my skin, posture, and image, but none of them seemed to touch me or make me feel good about myself. On the contrary, I felt worse and that this plastered version was not my true self. No one there knew that the Takahashi daughter was interested in flowers, music, or poetry. I was transparent. None of them knew me as he did. I bet if he was there, he would've worn sharp clothes and we both would've looked like clowns, or at least felt like them. He would've told me this new version of me is interesting but he liked the old me better. Or he would've said nothing at all, who knows? That all faded into the abyss as the next day went by.

I feel like I'm becoming invisible to everyone. I feel alone and hollow and I am nothing but a shell holding onto the fractures of the armor.

The team is busy with practice, even Kiyo's fading.

I submitted my poem for the competition and I plan on starting to study for my final exams. As evil as it sounds, I feel like my Mother won't find out I've lied and it'll slip away. You'd think lying is something I can let slip easily, but I'm not used to it and I stay up thinking about it, about being caught. 

Both of my parents don't pay attention anyway. Hey, I've raised myself and cooked for myself and practically lived alone for god knows how long. It would be bizarre for them to find out now. It wouldn't make a difference.

After school, I went straight home. I walked on my own and avoided anyone that I could come across. I put my earbuds in and floated away into the world of music. I didn't care where I would be going when in reality I was going home. After the funeral, my parents got even busier than before and I knew they weren't going to be home. Instead of making plans with my friends like the teenagers my age, I was already emerging into adolescence, thinking of what to cook myself or if there are enough leftovers for my parents who could be coming home. Cleaning, gardening, writing, everything squished together made up my life. 

It was getting tiring becoming twenty-five at eighteen. Instead of being happy, I was sinking into the insecurity and misery eating me alive.

And no one seemed to care. Mother won't look at me the same anymore, I'm not her sweet daughter, I'm her burden. A tall child who needs frequent trips to the clinic. 

My friends are fading from the picture when I need them most. It's my fault, I'm not telling them anything. I'm holding myself together but at some point, the glue bottle will run out and they'll see the parts of me shattered on the floor. But that won't happen. It won't ever happen. I won't burden my family anymore, It's not fair to them that I'm as sick as a dog that lives off pills and pills and scans and tests that'll never end. I won't ever burden my family with the gossip and rumors that'll suffocate them. I'll hold this off. I'll keep my feelings out the doors of my heart. I'll shut it all out.

I had reached the door. I put my shoes away and dragged myself up into the hole of a room I live in. I got changed into baggy clothing and went downstairs to cook myself something. I couldn't bear looking at my body anymore. It had become so slim, but I had no energy to do anything about it. Let it stay this way, I deserve it. It became 

I had leftovers from yesterday, scarce but good enough. Who was I fooling? It was barely a full bowl. I had lost my appetite with myself. I sat by the counter as the plate spun in the microwave. Isn't it funny? Not too long ago here I was cooking myself chicken and I was dancing and seasoning my food so happy I didn't know what was coming. I didn't know love was this cruel, or that life could change. It rips everything from you before you realize you've lost anything. The bowl kept spinning and spinning.