In celebration of the birthday of my king, my queen, my inspiration, Kim Taeyeon, I decided to pick five of her songs and make a story out of it: The Reading Playlist. Consisting of five installments that will be published every Friday of March (and one in March 9), The Reading Playlist is a story of the first love and the first heartbreak of our youth.
I hate myself.
I look at myself in the mirror, I stare at my reflection and I see my flaws, the ugly, the shame, the sins. They are more pronounced than I can remember.
I hate myself.
What did I do wrong? What went wrong?
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
I am. I am wrong.
The darkness claims me again. The shadows welcome me and I am forced to sit in the throne they have prepared for me. I squirm from their caresses but I am forced to go deeper into the dark.
Deeper and deeper and deeper as though I would disappear, vanish from the Earth. Maybe doing so would make me forget everything. Wipe everything, the memories, all these turbulent emotions inside me.
I hate myself.
I remembered you used to tuck my hair behind my ears when it fell on my face. You said you liked the touch of my hair in your fingers.
But my hair is frilly, in tangles, sticking out everywhere.
I once wore a see-through shirt and I felt the heat of your palms on my back. “You have a mole here,” you said. I never knew that. I squirmed under your touch but you put a hand on my shoulder and stilled me. “It’s beautiful, don’t worry,” you whispered into my ear.
I couldn’t even see the damn mole. I can barely reach it.
We were once lounging on your sofa, watching a movie. We were sprawled on top of each other, I had made your chest my pillow and I could feel your arms around my waist. You suddenly said how I had the most beautiful pair of eyes you have gazed upon. I looked up and saw how close your face was to mine.
“But it’s black—I mean it’s just brown. Nothing unique about them. A lot of people have them.”
“Yes, but it has a spark that I couldn’t quite see on others,” I didn’t understand it but I let you argue, “I love how it focuses on something you’re so interested in. I love how it sparkles with energy when you talk about something you like. I love the ferociousness and intelligence in them when you make your schoolworks.”
But my eyes are now sunken, blood shot from all the tears I had poured on what we lost and what we could have been. It gazed back at me, lifeless, hopeless. I see no spark or sparkle. There’s no ferociousness or intelligence.
“You know what I like about you?” You once asked as we watched the sun dip into the crease of the sea. We were parked in the seashore, far from the sigh of the sea against the sand but near enough for its lullaby to lull us. You were leaning on the hood of your car while I stood in front of you, leaning on you, wrapped in your arms.
I turned my head slightly, you were already snuggling your face into my neck.
“What?” I whispered.
“You see the beauty in almost everything,” you murmured against my skin. My whole body tingled, “No matter how small, no matter how bad it looked like to others, you see something good in it. You see the beauty in the world.” Your lips caressed my cheek and trailed off to my earlobe. I closed my eyes and tried to record everything my five senses could capture in that moment, embedding it in my mind so I wouldn’t forget it.
You lifted your head away from mine and you turned me around to face you. I opened my eyes to see you looking down at me, your hands cupping my face. “But you never see the beauty you have.”
“But I don—“ I was cut off as you brushed your lips into mine and pulled me tighter to keep me from floating. I melted into your touch. You murmured the beauty you saw in me in between our kiss, in between every touch.
I still couldn’t see it. I hadn’t.
I gripped the bathroom sink as I was racked with emotions once again. It seems my tears had not dried after all. I seem to have an abundant supply.
I let the tears fall and I watched in the mirror the wreckage you left.
You said I saw beauty in everything but I see no beauty in the reflection I see. I see no beauty in what is happening.
I only see faults that could no longer be erased. Could no longer be removed.
The beauty in almost everything.
My brain racked every memory, every word I said, of what I could have done to make you leave. What I did wrong.
Had I become too ugly? Had I said something wrong? Too offending? Did you realize I was too much work, too much of a mess you couldn’t take anymore? Couldn’t handle anymore? Was I too boring?
I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know what to do.
I closed my eyes.
I see myself, as though I don’t own my own body, getting up for school, doing what a normal human being my age would do. I see myself doing things but it felt like someone else did it.
Days passed by. Time went by. I lost count. I realized I had become numb. Eaten by my anxiety and insecurities, drowning in memories I have given up on forgetting, stabbing myself with a million what-if’s.
I looked at myself in the mirror one morning. I still see no beauty on the girl that looked back at me. I see no beauty in what happened. Everything had turned grey. Numb.
I sighed. When can this mending end? When will I ever recover from the injuries you inflicted upon me?
When will it stop? The feelings, the memories, the sadness, the loneliness, the loss.
When will I see color? When will I look back into us with a fond smile in my face?
You’re beautiful, never think otherwise.
When will I see the beauty again? The beauty in everything you said I could see. The beauty in me that you once said I had.
When will I say I’m the greatest, just as you had done?
As a budding writer, leaving a feedback or any constructive criticism would tremendously help me improve my writing. Thank you so much!