SILENT STRUGGLES

CHAPTERTWO

Ewla pov:

The next day, practice began. Being a good singer naturally, favored me a lot, since I didn’t struggle much in vocal classes, making the classes pass in a breeze unlike dance classes, which proved to be a beast. My limbs felt awkward, out of sync, and every misstep was a reminder of the debut that felt just out of reach. I really needed to practice as if my life depended on it, though it did. As the days turned to weeks, practice became my new norm as I adapted to the system. I had not made any acquaintances, let alone friends. Instead, I had gained a title, “the headphones' girl”. Can you blame me though I couldn’t survive a day without them. They had been my sanctuary whenever I couldn’t find a razor to help reduce the mental pain, I was going through. Besides, I couldn’t pull my hair in public. Although most times they were not effective, at least they helped take my attention away from everyone who was focused on me.

The instructors were friendly and nice to me, despite that I didn’t talk most of the time. Their kindness being a balm and their patience a gift I didn't feel I deserved. Instead of being fazed by my solitary, I decided to pour the remaining energy after practice to a part time job at a café. There I met Nami, the manager, who was an English speaker. She was tall, giving her a commanding presence, yet with it came unexplainable gentleness. Her short hair was always styled in a trendy wolf haircut framing her face in a way that showed her expressive eyes and the easy smile that always played on her pink heart-shaped lips. She was no Barbie doll, her dressing style gave her a Tomboy demeanor.

Communicating with her proved to be duck soup. Most times I felt comfortable with her. Nami's friendship was an unexpected gift, her easy chatter filling the spaces my words couldn't. My silence was not a barrier to her. She had offered to show me around as she had noticed how much I had a hard time communicating most times. In spite of the fact that I was always tired from practice, her presence never seemed to bother me. Her face provided comfort in the sea of unfamiliar faces I was in.

During the weekends, after practice, I found comfort and joy in Namis’ companionship as we would explore the beautiful city of Seoul. I found it fascinating how, as dusk fell, neon signs would flicker to life, painting the city in a kaleidoscope of colors. The nightlife awakened, a symphony of laughter and music echoing through the historic districts, where jazz clubs and contemporary galleries coexisted in harmonious dissonance. There were quieter quarters too like the parks and gardens which offered a respite from the urban energy. Here, one could find solace under the shade of ancient trees, their leaves whispering secrets to those who listened. These were my favorite.

Nami also taught me some basic Korean phrases, hence I was learning and was able to understand some things. To me, she had become a bridge to a world I was still navigating. I could say I had made a friend for once in my life. Or maybe she would run away if she found out how f****d up I was in the head.

As the months passed by in a blur, everything was well. Of course, everyone's expectations were for me to call home, but I didn’t have the energy. The thought on its own drained me. Unlike others who were always enthusiastic to call their siblings and family, to inform them how they were fairing, I felt my phones’ absence because I hadn’t had my fair share of reading the updated novels. It had always been this way. Whenever I called home, I ended up feeling twice as devastated after hanging up. Deep down I hoped that one day I would call them and remain smiling.

I didn’t want to do it, everything was great. I had barely made any cuts on my skin for a month. Unlike when I was home, where I did it almost every day. Yet nobody knew how much I struggled. I knew my father was worried, but I just couldn’t do it. What was I to say? I had been told that he had called almost every week, but I couldn’t find it within me to speak to him. I once used to be eager to talk to him but not anymore. Then I had always felt like he understood, but that seized when she, my mother, advanced for the afterlife.

Mother had been like a goddess to everyone, except that we just never had the mother-daughter relationship everyone expected us to have. We were not close like everyone else expected. On my side, I felt like I was not the daughter she wanted. Unlike my brother, I was irresponsible, untidy and I didn’t like cooking. I was anything but what a girl was expected to be; I loved riding bicycles and sports and hated cooking, my room was always untidy, and I was always either watching television or reading a book and talking to no one at home. It’s not like I talked to anyone at school either. I was book smart, so whenever I dropped in my studies she was always on my neck. All I ever wanted was a normal childhood like everyone else. That was impossible though, since I was enrolled in a boarding school at nine years old.

The feeling of neglection seeped in while I was still young, yet that didn’t prevent my young soul from yearning for a little love and affection. Growing up with a low self-esteem due to the inability of making friends was something I didn’t fancy, but it proved to be quite inevitable. At school, as the others played police and robber, I sat at a corner with my neck craned to a book. Home made no difference, just that I was busy learning English from SpongeBob SquarePants and Disney. Most times I ended up watching television and reading books to my father. As I grew up, that didn’t change at all, only that I couldn’t read books to him anymore.

In high school, nothing changed, only that bullying increased although it never became physical. My social anxiety grew as I grew in age but insignificantly in height. Depression also came knocking at my door.

Things only worsened when we lost our mother, who seemed to have been the pillar of the house due to cancer. To her, it was a relief and so was it somehow to us. It was always devastating to look at her turn from being a super charismatic woman to lying in bed wallowing in unbearable pain. Her pain had an impact on all of us and kept breaking a piece of us each day. Watching each one of us retire to bed, with insomnia being an uninvited guest because we were all afraid of the inevitable was worse. With each passing chemotherapy session, her health worsened. Nothing could have been worse than watching mother vanish in the thin air when none of us to save her.

Merely a week after we laid our mother to rest, I was confronted with an unexpected reality. My father had found solace in the arms of my aunt, who had been our support during my mother's illness. In my innocence, I had believed her presence was purely out of kindness, but the truth was a bitter pill to swallow.

My brother, privy to his development of the deeds before me, chose silence over sharing this burden. His withdrawal from our family dialogue left me feeling isolated, as if I were an error in the family equation. All I yearned for was a companion in grief, yet I found myself navigating the storm alone. The questions haunted me:

Why couldn't we bear this weight together? Why did he retreat when I needed him most? Weren't siblings meant to be each other's anchor in such tempests? Did I ever embody the sister he wished for? In my quest for understanding, I grappled with the realization that my brother's bond with our mother was a private one, leaving me on the periphery. Despite this, I believed I was still worthy of compassion. It pained me to feel overlooked, to sense the manipulation that unfolded around me without intervention. The questions spiraled, endless and unanswered.

School resumed, and within the walls of the boarding school, I was adrift in solitude, my expectations of camaraderie dashed. It was amidst this isolation that my mental anguish intensified, finding a silent ally in the razor's cold embrace. A clandestine witness to the agony that remained unseen. Nourishment turned adversary, as food itself seemed to join the ranks of my silent tormentors.

Deep down, there was a part of me that longed for recognition, for someone to see the battle I was silently fighting. Yet, echoes of my brother and mother's words labeling me as an 'attention seeker' lingered, casting a shadow over that desire. Perhaps it was for the best, to remain unseen. In the quiet solitude, I had stumbled upon a method to dull the pain, a solitary solace that seemed to be the only answer to my silent pleas.