Lies took the elevator.
Truth took the stairs.
Both arrived and met Revelation.
Jane killed a family in a car accident. Depressive and accustomed to self-harm, she decides to go back to where her life toppled upside down. Jane doesn't know what to e...
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Three weeks in Korea, and I'm picking up an existential crisis, remember I don't mind having a little body, but I have to admit the matchstick girls of Seoul are giving me a run for my money.
What's traumatizing is I recognize that for most Korean girls, the S line physique is natural, and right now, I'm a double D line.
Rebecca's gaze on my hands when I crave to take a double helping is putting quite a lot of pressure on me, and there's Mona, who is hot.
I'm not envious, but I dislike resembling a roll-bag beside her. It must be so awkward for her to carry me around and presenting me to her selfie-perfect acquaintances. Mona made new friends while I was abroad, Kpop trainees and other models.
It's no surprise; she is going for a bachelor's degree in fine arts despite her mother's disapprobation, who wants her to sit and wait for a husband. Aunt Salomé is old-fashioned; her image of a woman's place in society is biased. I want to say it's not her fault, but aunty has seen the world, and it's not like she married a macho.
I mean, uncle Robert even considered making Mona enroll in the army if that's not sex equality for you; I don't know what is.
I'm glad Mona chose her future regardless of both her parents.
Anyway, all this to say, I need to level up somehow.
In my self-pitying stance, I've taken the bull by the horns, and I've decided to do something with myself. Before the semester starts, I have to mirror the living at least enough to blend in with everyone else.
So I run, at night, sprinting in broad daylight, and facing the stares is beyond me. Fitness clubs where everyone contemplates their neighbor's body are a big no-no.
I'm 20, and I've got the insecurities weighing on me like a teen with braces wearing milk bottle bottoms lensed glasses.
Nighttime is best for me, Seoul is safe, and it's without an ounce of fear I advance.
Running is my passion and the sensation of freedom it procures and gives me temporary peace. My mind becomes serene, and I appreciate the wind. I pick up speed, and I feel as though I'm flying.
It's a beautiful emotion that I wish wouldn't leave me, but its departure is brutal, as though someone pulls a plug or turns off the lights. At that instant, I plunge into the darkness of my reality, the one where people burn alive.
All the doctors and psychiatrists I've consulted told me physical activities are excellent, but like most things in life, one must enjoy them without falling into excess.
Unfortunately, I'm excessive in everything I do, and everything I do is wrong.
My actions pass before my eyes one by one as I run. These last four years have been hell, but I made them that way by punishing myself, but it isn't enough. Still, I would like some rest from the agony, but I can't.
