Another
Fiction
The alarm rings. Socia sits up in bed, at the corner of the room, with no motivation to get out.
“Another day.”
She leaves her bed unmade — the bedsheet, blanket, and pillows all in disarray.
As she gets her toothbrush and puts a glob of paste onto it, she ponders.
“Why do I call it another day?”
She looks up into the mirror.
“Because I know everything that is about to happen.
I have my morning coffee. My parents got me addicted and I will probably get my kids addicted in the future. Without it, my day can’t start.
I wash my face, change my top, comb my hair, and put on some make-up. Looking presentable in my morning office call is important to maintain my reputation. Seems like too much trouble for a job I don’t like. Well, my parents made me study what they were made to believe was respectable and lucrative. Now I was paying the price, and I wasn’t getting paid much either.
Laughing at a joke that isn’t funny, just because my manager cracked it. Everyone laughs. I too laugh.
Breakfast. The most important meal of the day. Half a bowl of cereal and an apple. How appetizing! Because a friend of mine commented that I looked fat, I have to eat healthily. It was sickening. How I looked forward to lunch and dinner!
One has to work for the food he eats, right. Well, I did my fair share too — catching up on my Instagram and Facebook feed. Until it was lunch.
After lunch, I have to fight. One could even call it a war. To stay awake. And I always lost. When I wake up, I would have to rush to get the day’s work completed. Else I would need to take a sick leave to avoid losing face in the call the next morning.
It’s a great relief to finally close the laptop. But it is short-lived as I need to work out. You can’t just lose weight by eating from joyless plates, you also need to lift some. I do put quite an effort into it. I have to take tons of photos to get the right one. My workout pictures fetch me good attention. I need to get something out of it too, right?
After a long, hot bath, I find that the responses to the photo aren’t satisfactory. So, I dig into my cupboard for clothes that I bought to look good in the eyes of the onlookers, which is all that I have. I put on make-up and click a few selfies, select two or three and send it to a few friends for approval. Social life is very important. Without it, I would be lonely.
I post it, wait and respond to the comments with smileys and hearts as I swallow my dinner.
Post dinner, I watch ‘The Series’ that everyone watches. Because that’s what I do. What everyone does.
At the end of my day, I get into the same old bed and force myself to sleep. The next day, another day awaits.”
Socia, looking at the mirror in stupefaction, comes to a realization.
“I couldn’t find myself. When I looked in the mirror, there was no one.”
“I decided to paint myself. A self-portrait of my true self. I grabbed a piece of paper and some colors and looked hard at them.
What colors will make me look good?”
Socia realizes the conditioning that’s gone into her. She smiles, for then, she could find herself.
A portrait, vaguely resembling her in appearance, comes to life. It lacks finesse and the colors are all random, or so they seem. It is far from perfect, but her smile is very real.
“This is me.”
The weird intoxicating satisfaction at having found herself by being herself caused her to lose herself. She posted it online.
The popping comments began to drag her down with them.
CoolDood56432: Haha! You have to accept you can’t draw!
HotBabe87654: Nice work babe! Next time, just don’t post it.
NoOne765434: That is the ugliest piece of art I have seen!
Socia: Yeah, I guess I can’t draw. There won’t be a next time. This was just a try. Come on! It’s not that ugly!
Socia struggles to sleep that night. Come morning, the alarm rings. She sits up in bed at the corner of the room with no motivation to get out.
She leaves her bed unmade — the bedsheet, blanket, and pillows all in disarray.
She gets her toothbrush, puts a glob of paste onto it, and brushes her teeth.
She doesn’t look up into the mirror. She doesn’t want to.
