I managed to reach the bathroom by holding onto the wall, and after washing my face, I could see a bit better.
In the mirror, there was a frog rubbing its eyes, looking aggrieved.
Holy moly.
My eyes were really swollen from crying so much right before I fell asleep last night.
It was the first time in my life since middle school that my eyes had been this puffy.
...I ended up recalling another bad memory.
Do you know?
On the eve of the last day of a school retreat, a campfire is usually scheduled.
And you might remember that there's a terrifying program at the end of that campfire.
It's called the Sensitivity Time.
They light a large bonfire, which is so emotionally charged that even the most stoic person can feel something stirring inside.
The instructors, who usually demand that you "can be angels or devils depending on your actions," make the children lie down and look up at the sky.
The children resist in their hearts, not wanting dirt on their clothes, but they can't help but comply for fear that the all-night playtime planned for tonight might be canceled if they disobey.
The night sky, with sparks from the bonfire flying high and stars twinkling that you can't usually see, is so beautiful that you feel like you could write a poem in the blink of an eye.
The instructors, who are like Jekyll and Hyde, start their story with a needlessly solemn voice.
About someone's life, not special but filled with hardships.
And about those called mothers, who, despite everything, loved their children more than anyone else.
This forced emotional experience is not something that teenagers can easily brush off.
Without realizing it, the faces of my own mother at home appeared in the sky, and my vision blurred as my heart felt heavy.
At the climax of the story, the instructor shouted:
-Do you miss your mother?
-Yes!
-Is that all you feel? Do you miss your mother?
-Yes, yes!!!!!
-Then shout as loudly as you miss her! Mom!
-Mommmmmmm!!!!!!
A cry that I would never have made alone.
But caught up in the collective madness of the moment, the children shouted their mothers' names with all their might, and the instructors appreciated it as if it were a sweet opera.
They must have thought to themselves:
I made these kids cry! I can control emotions!
Truly a diabolical idea.
As the cries gradually subsided, the instructor said:
-I hope you can carry the emotions you felt today all the way home.
Then, with a satisfied smile, he disappeared.
Most of the children, who had been swept away by the emotional torrent, were busy trying to calm down.
For the girls, it was fine to express their remaining emotions.
Someone would comfort them and take care of them if they cried.
But for teenage boys, that moment was like a war.
For them, 'crying' was like losing their masculinity.
Usually, the boys of that day fell into three categories.
The first were those who didn't show any emotion at all.
They puffed out their chests, boasting that they hadn't cried and loudly declaring that it wasn't moving at all.
The second were those who had shed a few tears but lied about it.
Their eyes were red, and anyone could tell they had cried, but they quickly wiped away their tears and loudly agreed that it wasn't moving, then set out to find other victims.
And the last were those who, despite their efforts, couldn't resist the overwhelming sensitivity and sobbed loudly.
Poor lambs, who couldn't even imagine what terrifying future awaited them.
And damn, that was me.
I cried so loudly that everyone in the same grade knew, and even after I got back to my room, I couldn't stop crying. I cried until I was exhausted and fell asleep, and the wicked teenage boys didn't let me off the hook during the all-night playtime.
When I woke up, my eyes wouldn't open, so I went to the bathroom to wash my face and looked at my reflection in the mirror.
My puffy eyes were swollen, and below them, someone who later went to art school had drawn high-quality teardrops all the way down my cheeks. On my forehead, someone who loved fantasy novels had written 'Undine' in elegant cursive.
Of course, it was written in permanent marker.
I found the two culprits and punished them with pillows, but no matter how much I washed my face, the graffiti didn't come off until I returned from the retreat. And because my crying and the funny graffiti had stuck in the kids' minds, my middle school nickname was always 'Undine.'
I was also called the 'Spirit of Tears.'
I should have half-killed those kids who teased me, saying, 'Spirit of Tears! Stop this kid's tears!'
I only thought about getting revenge with interest later, but after starting my career, I saw those guys less and less, and I never thought I'd end up not seeing them at all.
In my past life, I was Undine, and in this world, I have fire powers. How ironic is that?
I wiped my forehead with a bitter smile, then slightly dampened a towel and put it in the fridge.
With eyes like this, I can't eat breakfast or anything.
I don't feel like eating, so I'll just go back to sleep.
I placed the cold towel from the fridge over my eyes and forced myself back to sleep.
When I woke up around lunchtime, the swelling in my eyes had gone down a lot.
Just enough to notice that my eyes were red from crying yesterday?
Fortunately, I didn't need true love to turn back into a human from a frog.
Thinking about it now, a frog and love? What a forward fairy tale.
Even so, amphibians are a bit...
I took out some leeks from the fridge and made leek stir-fry for lunch.
Because I had eaten it yesterday, I now have a tolerance for leek stir-fry and can eat it without crying!
It tasted even better because I had skipped breakfast.
You might think that eating it again after having it yesterday would be tiring, but it wasn't at all.
When it comes to leek stir-fry, I can be a captain.
I could eat it all day.
After lunch, I lay on the bed and suddenly felt like taking a walk.
I opened the closet to change clothes.
I shed a tear inside when I realized there were no pants among my few casual clothes, so I put on the longest skirt I had, the most neutral-looking shirt, and a cardigan before going out.
The weather is nice.
It's the perfect spring weather, neither too hot nor too cold, and a smile naturally spreads across my face.
The people walking on the street also seemed to be in a good mood, with pleasant smiles on their faces.
While walking without a destination, I saw an elderly woman carrying a heavy load on her head.
Since I had time, I approached her and asked:
"Would you like some help, ma'am?"
"Is it quite heavy? Are you sure you can manage it?"
I smiled at the worried-looking elderly woman and showed her that I could easily lift the load with one hand. She was slightly surprised but then smiled brightly like a young girl.
"You must be a hero, miss."
I walked slowly, matching the pace of the elderly woman as she carried the load.
Her leisurely gait, which allowed the energetic children and the passionate young people to pass by first, exuded the calmness of someone who had experienced all those speeds in her life.
The world must flow slowly for someone who is in the process of reflecting on and organizing what they have achieved in life.
The elderly woman shared her stories as we walked.
About how her son, whom she had given birth to with great pain, had grown up and introduced her to a woman he wanted to marry.
And about how her daughter-in-law had given birth to a child who was already in high school.
Her stories were always told with respect.
They say that the wrinkles on an elderly person's face reflect the life they have lived.
There is a clear difference between a face filled with stubbornness and arrogance and one filled with wisdom and experience.
The elderly woman's face, smiling gently as she told her stories, seemed to exude a lifetime of respect for others, and I thought that if I ever grew old, I would want to be like her.
When we arrived at her destination and I returned the load to her, she tried to give me money from her purse, but I waved it off, saying it wasn't done for a reward.
Although I was short on money, I couldn't accept such money.
The elderly woman, who had put the money away, took my hand and said:
"I hope your future is filled with blessings."
I bowed to the elderly woman and turned to walk towards the park I had seen earlier.
When I turned my head, the elderly woman was still smiling and waving goodbye to me.
When I arrived at the park and sat on a bench, I heard the voices of children running around.
A couple, who seemed to be parents, were watching the children with warm eyes.
It's peaceful.
In this peaceful scene, I felt isolated.
It must be because I alone know that this peace won't last much longer.
Perhaps because I cried last night or because I was thinking about the past this morning, I became strangely sentimental. I stretched my hand up to the sky, shading my eyes from the sunlight, and looked up at it, saying:
"Maybe I'm not supposed to be in this world..."
Suddenly, the wind blew, and dust got into my eyes.
With my already sensitive eyes, I rubbed them, and suddenly I felt embarrassed.
What the hell, I'm not even in the middle of my second year of junior high. What am I doing?
I turned my head quickly, looking around to see if anyone had seen me, and in the distance, I saw a familiar white head of hair.
Why do I keep seeing him, like a random encounter monster?
I quickly ran away, afraid of running into Yun Siwoo.
After returning home, taking a shower, having dinner, and lying down in bed, I couldn't fall asleep because I kept thinking about the embarrassing incident. I kicked off the blanket three times before finally falling asleep.
Author's Note:
The Spirit of Tears, Evande.
I hope that Zolinsa28 didn't have such a sad experience in school.
I still shiver when I think about it.
I hope you have a happy day today.
And I pray that Zolinsa28's blanket will be safe tonight.