On this particular morning, I sat on the bench that overlooked the school garden, and wondered what it would feel like to fall out the window. Not in an ending way, but in a freeing way.
I got up and walked down the flight of stairs to the first floor, where the doors were wide open – which was mildly concerning since it was about minus 4 degrees outside. There was a girl though, who had her mask off, desperately trying to breathe. I stood there, watching her, and noticed that her head was down the whole time, almost as if she was searching for something.
It was after I had put my bags down in my Chemistry class, that I saw her again, except this time, she had her laptop out; her head still down, but in her books. From that day onward, I would only catch glimpses of her from time to time. I spoke to her every day, but she never really looked me in the eye unless there was a matter truly worth talking about.
I spent the following weeks trying to read her, as I would everyone else.
There were times when she disappeared, and built a wall. When her guards were up, there was no chance of breaking through. I had gotten quite used to that; but to my surprise, little by little, she began to open up. The way I felt on that particular morning, months ago, was the same way she had felt since who knows when.
What she was searching for was herself, but she couldn’t really find her anymore. She gave up a long time ago. There are still pieces of her lying around but each piece is tightly stowed away, undetectable to the naked eye.
I got caught up trying to read between the lines when all along the words on the paper were written in red. The lines flowed together like poetry. The spoken kind, the kind that commands attention.
Sana.
Olyvia Guo 