I rummaged through the closet and came across a fake Max Mara red & white-checkered dress. I decided it must be worn today to fit into the summer sun. I wet my hair, threw off the oversized Mickey Mouse T-shirt and the fake BAPE shorts, and slipped in the dress. I ruffled up a slab of leave-in hair conditioner and started the fusillade of hot air from the blow dryer to whip my hair into a more presentable bob.
Grabbing my yellow bag with a rubber duckie in the front, I packed some draft paper, the Mont Blanc pen
from the days I used to carry daily as a banker, slipped on a pair of Jimmy Choo wedges that had undoubtedly been imitated and reproduced from a sketchy factory in Southern China, and walked out the door. I decided against any accessories, but thought the pair of Ray Bans that I purchased from Taobao for a fraction of store retail price was indispensable to shield myself against the sun’s glare.
I visualized and took my emotions to the process of playing with jigsaw puzzles – an activity that serves to distract me from my depressive thoughts. I looked up into the sky as I contemplated the vocabulary choice, crossing a few words out. Then I bent my gaze back down onto the paper, fleshed out another sentence, twirled my pen around my fingers, sipped the foamy milk and looked around me.
It was that moment I realized I was feeling good today.
The trees were a mesmerizing green, resilient in the midst of car fumes buzzing into the air I breathed. I was writing on my own. That very moment I was happy – not an hysterical excitement, but rather, a calm serenity of fulfillment. The worries of doctor appointments, health treatments, my life in general, and whether Bamboo (my dog)would poo, vanished with the echoes of the car honks.
I smiled a little smile to myself.
The moral of the story is two-fold:
2. Everything I was wearing was fake. But I was real. My thoughts were real. I was me — and for that I felt contented.