Chapter Text
I look at the corner of my laptop's screen. 9:26 pm. My phone has been fully charged for a while, and I am rooted to the seat inside the call cubicle. It was cold on my floor, and I always preferred my own company, so I sat myself in there. Don't mistake me. I like having people around - my hobby clubs and events where I bump into interesting, and sometimes like-minded people. But my colleagues? These aren't the people I would hang out with if I were given a choice. I can be cordial. But I like it better when there are people around making minimal noise, minding their own business, while I carry on with my own work.
The office has now almost emptied, two or three stragglers like me, all engrossed in their own world, as I listen to my YouTube videos while I type away on AO3. The Reddit content is being read out and reacted to by the creators as I start to zone out, thinking about the call I just answered from my colleague. Why do people keep making my job harder? Why can’t people just be nice and accommodating?
Does that make me seem entitled? Probably. But I am entitled to basic respect, and people just need to do their job. Is it so hard being professional? I keep my head down and mind my business with a quirk of humour added to it, because I’m forcing myself to be social in a situation where I don’t want to be. And I get advice from those far less professional and eloquent than me about how to conduct oneself. Pish posh. I zone back in and go back to my typing. No rest for the wicked. Repetitive motions, exercising my creativity, listening to other people’s drama (sometimes made up) – ain’t this the life. I like using my mind when I feel like my work is a dead-end with zombies eating away at my unused brain.
But it’s 9:42 pm now and I really need to get going. Time flies when you have nothing significant to do but try to drown in your thoughts. I lock my laptop, slide it into my bag and get up. Half the lights have been turned off, and these are the spaces that make time stand still. The twilight of the workday, if I'm being poetic. A spark I need to keep alive because a muscle that hasn’t been exercised gets lax. Not that I would know much about it, considering the only form of movement I get is plain walking, and a gym routine. But I do like using the only skillset I’m remotely proud of.
My bag contains my songbook, and a stack of papers with titles written - some containing half-finished poetry, and others with just the title and nothing else. I guess creativity is all about that nebulous area where ideas form, and my only choice is to crystallise them in that very moment, or risk losing them forever to the sands of time. Alas, I’m not fast enough most times, and I wonder where they disappear off to. The unseen void where ideas don't die but flutter till they find a new mistress. I’ve written quite a bit in this past year but haven't felt motivated enough to do anything with my writing. Sure, I attend the occasional open mic, but the bulk of it hasn't faced the world. And I don't know when it will. Or if it even will. Motivation is an uncertain thing. Maybe my stints in writing and putting myself out there in various forms will give me the push to just let it out.
I get on the lift and go down. Then, I punch out of work, pick the newspapers for the day, and walk out into the dark. The city is loud and busy, and as I walk towards home, streetlights, roadwork lights, and small shops light up parts of the street. There are horns honking, dogs barking, people talking, and the mundane sounds of the city flit into my thoughts as I head on.
Once I reach my apartment building, I wait for the lift in a haze of tiredness. My shoulders have relaxed but I just want dinner. As I’m unlocking the door, my phone rings with my mother’s call. I answer her with a sigh. If I tell her I’m tired, she’s understanding. Yet, I still want to talk to her. It's a dichotomy. I don't have many friends too. My best friend has a crisis and has retreated into himself. My other best friend sleeps early, and I don’t want to bother her with my existentialism today. I don’t have the will either. My beautiful mother’s voice filters through the speakers.
“Hello darling! How was today? Did you eat yet?”
“Nope, I just arrived. I’ll have dinner soon. Today was tiring. People are making my life harder, I don’t have any substantial work, and I'm wasting my potential. I did debate with myself, but I’m trying to be a better communicator, so I messaged my manager about everything because I just don’t want to get blamed again. I hate my life. This is not where I imagined I would be, but here I am. And I can’t help but think that there’s something bigger and greater out there for me, while I’m stuck in this rut of cookie-cutter behaviour because I’m not that brave or a risk taker.”
“Well, there’s safety in comfort. Stick around and let it take you where you finally want to go. Don’t discredit your education. You’ve worked really hard to reach where you are now. What happened though?”
“Just someone trying to be a speedbump. I made a plan and this guy is basically not aligned with it. And safety? I know that I should probably play it safe. But this is not what I wanted. And I didn’t realise there were so many other things until I opened my eyes, but I was too late by then. Risk gives rewards sometimes. And I’m not brave enough. But enough about this. Tell me about what you did. Any new gossip? Give me all the details.”
“As long as you explained it to your manager, I’m sure it’ll all get better. And you have taken certain risks, yes. Small doses are not to be discredited. As for gossip… Not much really. Nina just had a baby. A boy.”
“What’s his name? And what’s with so many of your cousins having male children?”
“Tips the balance, I suppose. My aunt now has equal granddaughters and grandsons now. She didn’t mention the name but I guess we’ll know soon.”
“Hmmmm, yeah. Anyways mom, I’m really exhausted so I’m going to hang up now. Take care. Good night.”
“Good night, baby. I’ll call you in the morning. Sleep well. Bye!”
“Bye mom!”
I blow out a huge breath and lay back on my bed. Doomscrolling till I fall asleep or try folding clothes? Videos it is. I could be a responsible person but there is this bone-deep tiredness in me that I can’t quite seem to get rid of. But dinner first. I dump the leftover helpings of what I like to call my ‘streamlined meals’ into my plate. I cook multiple helpings of food in the morning and then I eat the same thing throughout the day for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and on the rare occasion, if the portions are too large, for breakfast, the next day. It’s efficient, and I only need to do the dishes once. I don’t mind cold food too, so that’s always a plus. And I cook well, so there's that.
Chewing and watching the videos, I forget my reality. I try letting go of the plaguing thoughts. I’m 26. I’m single. My social life is in an ‘it’s complicated’ scenario, where I am a social butterfly in my hobby clubs and random events, but when I get back home, sometimes I feel so cold. I want a hug, but I hate most human contact. I don’t think I have the mental bandwidth for a relationship, and I love being in-charge of my itinerary, but sometimes, I do want to find my person or people. My best friends all live in different cities. Am I happy? I know I’m not sad, but I also know that those aren’t the same thing. Maybe I should just focus on the phone. Reaction YouTubers, trivia videos, true crime podcast episodes, stand-up comedy – the usual fare. They'll distract me.
Good… Escapism… Take my attention away…
As time passes, I notice the numbers on the top of my screen changing from 22:12 to 23:34. Time to do my Duolingo lesson. I play chess and do a couple math lessons. That’s enough for today. Back to flitting between Instagram and YouTube with a pitstop at Reddit. BTS is on tour and I need to know what people are giving as freebies and the multiple POVs of iconic moments. I sigh for the umpteenth time today. I'm missing out again. Great.
What I wouldn’t give to fly around and attend a show. But more than that, what I wouldn’t give to perform to an audience. I have a nice voice, I think. And I can carry a tune decently. I’m pretty enough - nice eyes, nice lips, average or below everything else. I get flashes of my dreams from two to three years ago. The ones where I’m on stage, hearing voices cheering out asking me to sing, supportive brotherly figures on stage who are delighted in my company due to our shared history. This is what I picture whenever I start one of my nightly singing sessions - prancing about my studio apartment like I’m the main act with the spotlight shining on me, hand clasped in front of my mouth like a microphone while I entertain the imaginary audience. Would I be more unflappable, untouchable than I am now, or would I be more volatile?
I have a cold so I can’t sing today. I’m not in the mood anyway. Oh, it’s 00:30 on my phone now. Guess I need to sleep. Decent rest needed for my bland workday routine which roughs me up; I live for the weekends where I add seasoning to porridge. I brush my teeth, turn off the lights, and lie down on my uncomfortable mattress. There are lights winking out outside my window and the sounds of faint music from outside have also disappeared. The city never sleeps fully, but it is almost silent, with only a faint whirring from my ceiling fan. Slowly, my breaths get shallower, and I don’t realise it myself, but I have fallen asleep.
Time passes in my sleep, not that I know it until…
I’m roused awake by a faint pattering sound. Groaning, I realise I’ve shifted onto my stomach and try burying my face into the crook of my elbow. I grimace at the dream I was yanked from. I was on stage, flying high, beloved and revered. In my real life, the only common things I have with Jungkook are competitiveness and the lack of a pillow. But wait! Why is it so bright?
I pick up my phone from the ground near my cot and look at the time. 03:33. That’s not when the sun rises! And what’s that pattering sound again. Like droplets hitting a surface. I look up and see something that takes me a minute to understand and define. A big, bright sphere is levitating over my bed, emitting sparks like a golden rain. Some of them hit the metallic frame of my bed, the frosted glass windows, and the windowpanes. That's what the sound is. I’m bewildered as the ball moves closer to me, like it sensed my awakened state. I’m fully awake now, sensing that something significant is about to happen, as I try to scrabble out of my bed. The brightness engulfs me and I feel like I can’t escape. It looks hot, but in reality, I feel like I’m caught in is a warm comfortable hug.
And as a slow swaying motion begins, I feel a deep syrupy need slip into my skin and bones, urging me to calm down. My heartrate decelerates, my breaths slow down and deepen, and I am lulled into sleep again. The last feeling I have before the darkness swallows me up is of utter confusion, and I wonder if I will ever find the answers or if I’m doomed to disappear in mystery. Am I being taken somewhere? Am I dying? I can hear a whooshing sound. What about my mom? When will she find out about this? Will she ever know what happened? Will I ever know what's happening?
What is happening? What…