That’s why I always prefer my paths to be clear and open.

I don’t like secrets.

But… that doesn’t mean I’m transparent about everything either.

Ah… I need a chair to sit on.

I want to show you how I sit.

As I look around this place that seems so empty—as if no one exists here… The beauty of this place is the only thing that keeps it from being frightening, even though echoes bounce loudly off the walls.

Even the sound of my footsteps can be heard with perfect clarity.

What was I saying?

Here I am… pausing, trying to remember what I was talking about.

Ah… my goldfish memory again.

Oh! There it is. I spotted the chair.

Let me bring it over.

Should I drag it or lift it?

No need to think too hard… I’ll just sit here.

Alright, like this…

I sit up straight, my back resting against the chair, my legs gathered together in a relaxed and graceful manner.

As for my hands… I don’t usually clasp them.

Here I am, placing one hand gently over the other, while my dress glows beautifully from afar.

I wonder, how many times have I said “hello” by now?

Every time, I try to smile softly, hoping to make it a habit.

I don’t want to forget how to smile.

So… I will keep trying, in every possible way.

Since I’m sitting here, maybe I should try talking more.

I mean… telling stories — even if I’m not perfect at it.

Ah, let me try this: Have you ever wondered if your mental health is okay?
Have you ever questioned whether you might be mentally ill?

Yes… it’s true.

Many perfectly “normal” people, in certain moments, question whether they are actually normal or not.

The suspicious thing… is never questioning it.
Believing you’re perfectly normal in every way — your behavior, your words, everything around you.

In reality… I’ve never once doubted that I might be mentally ill.
Not once.
And I don’t think I ever will.

I simply believe I’m different in some way.

But I’ve found that this difference isn’t rare…
There are plenty of people out there just like me.
They just hide it well.

Yes…
We don’t act like our true selves in front of others.

Are we scared?

Hmm… well, as for me — I’m not afraid of being that way.

For a long time, I’ve been used to being exactly who I am.
And from time to time, I still am.

But often…
I act according to what I’ve learned about society’s standards:
a kind, social person… good at communication… a good listener…
until suddenly my expressions betray me in the middle of something, and I smile awkwardly, saying:
"Looks like exhaustion is eating me alive…"

Ah…
And often, I like to shift from my social self to the self that will curse without warning, or feel disgusted by something gross.

This isn’t a story.
This is reality.

By the way… how do people like you see people like me?
Arrogant, right?

Should I be arrogant too… just to confirm your suspicions?

Hmm… what about a story — should I tell you one?

I’m not good at that.

Do you usually start with “Once upon a time”?
Things have changed, haven’t they?

We’re not children anymore.
Now we start stories with:
"I heard somewhere…"
or "Someone told me…"

And every time I hear that start, I can’t help but think:
"Here we go again… the nonsense of liars is about to begin."

So no… I’m not good with stories.

But that doesn’t mean…
I don’t know how to lie.