Read PEN :: Ink 5 | Tapas Community

In truth, a smile may be an illusion I cling to. Because every time I look around, all I see are sad faces.

Even when they smile,
sadness lingers beneath.
A trace of defeat.
A silent plea to be heard.
Or maybe… the urge to scream.

So, one day, I decided to scream.

I let out a sudden cry when I noticed one of those faded smiles.
Then, I turned to the person in front of me,
offering a gentle look—
as if I was about to console them.

But their stare stopped me.

"What’s wrong with you? Are you stupid?"

That’s what they said after my scream.

And just like that, people rushed in,
asking,
"What happened? What’s going on?"

Ah… I had forgotten.
They’re all bound by society’s rules.

For a split second, I wanted to say,
"He tried to harass me."

But then… I looked at his face again.
His expression was pitiful—
confused, pale, fearful.

So instead, I spoke.

"Oh… did I scream too loudly? I just remembered I forgot my keys.
Sorry if I startled you."

Immediately, the tension melted.
Smiles returned.
Voices filled the space.

"Oh, I thought something serious happened."
"Did she just scream to herself? That’s kinda cute."
"Honestly, that’s exactly how I’d react too."

People resumed their business.
Everyone—except the man beside me.
His smile had disappeared.

Did I pity him?

I don’t know.

Something inside me spoke before I could stop myself.

"This is how we scream… when the weight becomes too much to bear."

Then, I smiled.

Should I have left after that?
Ah…

I bit into the chocolate in my hand.

The man beside me stared.

"And then what?" he asked.

Oh, you fool.

I’m not telling you to endure it.

But maybe I’m the fool in his eyes,
because I simply replied,

"Nothing. Want some chocolate?"

He scoffed and walked away.

I bet he was too exhausted to even tolerate my words.
I think he cursed at me under his breath.

Was that stupid of me?
What would I have done in his place?

Ah… I suppose I would’ve screamed just as loudly.
And then… asked why.

That is… if I were in a good mood.

If I weren’t,
I’d probably turn away in disgust—
just like he did.

How strange…

So what can I do?

I can’t stand those empty smiles.

I want to act maturely.
On the outside, I already do.

But my mind…
is still that of a child.

I like that.

But it’d be unsettling if I acted exactly how I thought.

I suppose I’d smile a lot.

But I’d also be called an idiot.
Or a clown.

"Look at her—grinning like a fool."

So maybe cursing is good after all.

But I’d rather smile.

And I want my smile to be real.

Tell me—

What does a real smile look like?

How do I look from the outside, I wonder?

Have you ever thought about that?

Honestly, I don’t care.

I know—
or maybe I am absolutely certain—
that I look beautiful in every way.

Is that arrogance?

I wouldn’t know.

I just don’t care.

I simply feel content every time.
And then, I smile.
And smile—
as if I own nothing.
As if I want for nothing.

I often tell myself I’m beautiful.

Not too often, really.

I don’t even look at myself.

See?

I can’t even describe what I look like.

But that doesn’t matter.

I am a person.
A person with a mind.

Even that, I can’t confirm.

But I have a brain.
And a heart.
And lungs.
And a stomach.

And so—
I am whole.

I have eyes and a nose and lips.
I can speak and listen and inhale all at once.

The proof?

I am speaking now.

Even waving my hands in the air—
There. Over there— Yes, that’s me.

I’m wearing a lovely dress, aren’t I?

What color is it?

Ah, it’s pink.

Girls love wearing pink, don’t they?

As for me—
The writer forced me to wear it.

Look at me—
Jumping around, waving at you.

Alright, let’s get closer.

Here we are, face to face again.

Do you see my smile?

My teeth are too many—
How do I smile like this with a mouth so full of them?

Fascinating.

I seem happy to see you again.

But I am not happy with this dress.
It restricts my every movement.

Fine.

Do you remember the photo I was holding last time?

Yes, yes—
The one I said was a secret.

Didn’t you see it?

It seems I lost it.

What a shame.

If someone finds it before I do,
my secret will be exposed.

I must search for it.

But where do I start?

Look at my face now—
Frustration spreads across my features.

As if that picture…
was something important.

Alright.

I’ll sit down like this.
Hug my knees tightly,
as if I were a child sulking.

Isn’t that what children do?

Ah… I love lying down.

So I’ll lie here.

And stare at the ceiling again.

And now, I smile.

I imagined a butterfly soaring in the sky.
I even smell flowers around me.

My eyes flutter closed,
and I can almost hear the chirping of birds.

Even the breeze feels warm somehow.

And here I am—smiling.

As if meeting myself.

The self I once killed—
for fear that I might never smile again.