When Zee tries to forget about the past, NuNew becomes his best company and someone who will try to heal Zee's broken heart, meanwhile Saint still regrets what he has done to his best friend. Max and Zee thinks that they won't see Saint ever again b...
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Annie showed me posters designed mostly by NuNew and Gun, who was very keen to help us. I saw a photograph of Gun in a real closet, right next to the hangers, several of which had black and white clothes on them. Gun had his hands over his mouth, painted with a cheerful smile, but tears were flowing from his eyes. As far as I knew, it was a joint idea of the guys and its meaning immediately became clear to me: it depicted an actor hiding in a closet (known to us for a long time "closeting"), who wanted to get out of this trap, wearing bright colors, he wanted to show the whole world who he was, but he was not allowed to. And although he was suffering, he was told to pretend to be happy (fake smile painted on his hands). For us, black and white clothes symbolized unambiguity and immutability, adaptation to social and cultural norms, while the rainbow heart reflected the multitude of choices and possibilities, showed that each of us is different, unique and amazing, unrepeatable.
I was looking at this poster and I couldn't take my eyes off it.
— We still need to come up with a catchy catchphrase and the guys asked me for it, but I have absolutely no idea — She admitted. — What do you think?
— It's beautiful and has a deeper meaning, I like it. Mouth covered with hands means no possibility to tell the truth, am I right?
— You're right. You read it right.
— Annie...
— Yes? Do you need something? Pass you juice? Or maybe water? — She asked. She was currently standing by the cupboards where we placed the microwave, electric kettle and coffee maker, making herself some tea. She once said that it was her favorite green tea with lemongrass, imported straight from Germany. It sounded delicious, but when she shared the drink with me one time, I couldn't taste it. It's strange how sickness weakens us, making us cry over something so trivial, but I only really cried that day because I really wanted to feel the real taste of this tea, and in fact I didn't feel anything. We are then so defenseless and weak that we can cry because we are not able to prepare even a small sandwich ourselves, we feel weak, less valuable, we don't want someone to take care of us 24/7. It's humiliating and distressing, especially if you used to be as active as I was: going to the gym, dancing, singing, climbing trees and fences, doing parkour, skateboarding and swimming, and now you need someone's shoulder to lean on when you go to the toilet. It was humiliating, although healthy people, until they themselves became ill, didn't realize what the real reasons behind the decisions to refuse treatment were. Sometimes we say no because we already know what it entails, we know we're going to suffer, we know we're going to become unbearable grumps, even if we used to be cheerful, playful people. We know it will hurt, we know there will be sleepless nights, that every meal will taste like paper, we know that our hair will fall out and we will steer clear of every mirror so as not to look at what is left of a once strong man. And we refuse because we don't want to go through it again. We refuse because we are afraid. Sometimes it is easier to come to terms with our own death than to accept the suffering that awaits us if we choose treatment.
