Iva- That Day

When you're always looking up, you'll surely fall, may it be today or tomorrow... you'll fall. That's why I would keep my eyes on the ground right below me, wherever I'm led due to that.

Living this way, with my eyes trained downward, served as my shield. Otherwise, I'd cause trouble for myself, and also for others. I thought if I didn't know anything, anyone, didn't show interest in anything, and always stayed out of everything, then no one would hurt me, ever again, and I also wouldn't end up hurting anyone.

Facing no one... not even myself.

I would wonder- if I had one thing, just one precious thing, then I could've lived without hurting so much. Like finding a place for myself in a dream, in an activity, in a person. The reasons for which we conclude may be indefinite and fragile. We may lose it too, but even so, we want a reason. As long as I’m alive, I want it too. If possible, I'd want to find that reason within a person, within someone.

It was back in grade school, after I arrived in Camden, when I deliberately chose to keep a distance from those around me. Lunchtimes became solitary occasions, lacking in shared laughter or any form of companionship. I refrained from playing with others and opted not to walk home in anyone's company. During idle moments, my gaze remained fixed on the ground beneath my feet, never allowing it to wander past that. This was my personal safeguard.

But everything changed on that fateful day, as if the world I'd deliberately created for myself was turned upside down.

"Hey, shrimp. Why're you always alone? Don't you get bored?"

If I wasn't wrong, his name is Alan. Well, his dazzling white hair, and the timid yet perpetually outgoing presence make him stand out from most in the class. Though I didn't know what to say, being teased first thing when we'd never talked before.

"Uh... um... do you ne-need anything?"

"Don't you get bored like that, always just sitting there?"

"W-why are you asking...?"

"Why am I asking?" He laughed, though I didn't know the reason at that time. He simply laughed, as I redirected my gaze back to the ground.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I was just thinking about you, why you're always alone?"

A precious person, it was something I really, really, wanted.

"Concerned... about me?"

"Yeah, you don't know I bet, but our houses are really close. I've seen you walking home alone every day. And I wanted to be friends with you, then we could also walk back home together."

It took me a while to believe, but amidst my self-imposed isolation, there existed someone who recognized my existence beyond the confines of my own mind. Someone who wanted to talk to me. Someone who wanted to be friends with me.

I thought I'd finally found my own precious thing.

When the teachers weren't in the classroom, Alan would always come and talk to me, and he would even accompany me on the way home. It was as if the familiar darkness that had surrounded me was gradually fading away, as if I had been handed a lifeline of salvation.

Being in Alan's presence had a profound effect on me. He had a way of making me feel incredibly kind, mirroring the kindness he would show himself. It was a feeling that compelled me to pour out everything... even the fact that I wasn't truly a good person. No- I longed to keep that truth hidden forever. I was torn between a sense of joy and an inner voice telling me that this wasn't the right path. With those two feelings together, I just ended up confused.

It was during my first year in middle school, as much as I remember, when everything changed. Tomorrow's a weekend, and I insisted on visiting Alan's place that day. Initially, he dismissed my request, but I persisted.

"Is it just your room being dirty, that you won't let your friends visit?"

"No, it's not that."

I kept teasing him playfully. "Then why won't you let me?"

"Like I said..."

"Like you said what? What's the problem with me coming over?"

"You can come some other day, but not tomorrow?"

"But tomorrow's a holiday. You don't have any plans for tomorrow, right?"

"I-I have some plans-"

"No, you don't!"

"No, I really have some plans..." Alan continued to deny my plea, and in frustration, I kept pushing him further... until he exploded in anger.

"Just leave me alone!" It all happened in just a matter of seconds. He swung his hand, his fingernails leaving a painful scar on my face. Blood trickled down my cheek.

"Iva, I'm sorry... I didn't want to-"

"Get away from here!"

"Iva-"

I'd completely forgotten those feelings. Those memories... emotions. I'd thought that by hiding them away deep inside of me, I could live on without... It wasn't anger, not hatred. I was scared.

"Just get away! I don't want to see your face ever again!"

Scared that I couldn't protect myself in any other way. In the end, it's just the same.

Alan ran away from in front of me, while I just stood there motionless. The same as that day, as if he too had walked out of that classroom, leaving me behind. All the same as that day, vanishing in the darkness outside.

Did I take it too far? Should've I just given up on convincing him?

I'd totally forgotten these feelings.

Did I hurt him too?

And in return...

Got hurt... again?

There are countless things one can never retrieve, once they've lost it, in their entire life. A great deal of pain. Many, many tears. It's just overwhelming. Fate always takes away so much from me. I've hurt others. I've been hurt myself. The sense of injustice is forever indescribable, so much that I can never, ever find it within myself to forgive.

But one thing saved me from being crushed under all the guilt. It was Alan, who hadn't shut the door close back then, and eventually, after some time had passed, Alan and I found our way back to each other.

Despite the connection I had with Alan, I found myself hesitant to fully let him back into the room. The comforting light he brought seemed fleeting, as the darkness eagerly reclaimed its hold on me. I retreated to my routine of fixing my gaze on the ground, limiting my interactions, and walking back home all alone.

It was a lazy afternoon, and I was just taking a stroll through the neighborhood. Wandering aimlessly, I'd arrived at the town library before I knew it.

I went to the historical fiction section, my fingertips glided along the spines of the books like a dancer tracing the steps of a waltz. It was my way of picking a book. Rather than reading the title or synopsis, I would brush through one after another while counting down. And at the end I would be stuck with the one under my fingertips for the rest of the week.

Three... two... one...

As I pulled the book out, I realized that there wasn't a book right behind it on the adjacent shelf. Rather I was greeted by a pair of pale indigo-dyed eyes. The white hair...

"Iva?" The voice called out, filled with surprise. It was Alan. "What brings you here?"

I tried to act as if I didn't notice him, as I moved away from the shelf, clutching the book tightly. But Alan chased after me and tugged at my sleeve. "Wait, Iva..."

"Alan...?"

"I've finally got you. No escaping this time!"

It all happened so quickly that I struggled to keep up, leaving me fumbling for words. "D-do you have s-something to say?"

"I must be lucky today, bumping into you here as well! How have you been, Iva?"

"Um, alright. Alan, if you d-don't have any other questions..." I stuttered, attempting to sidestep any further conversation. "I just need to head home."

"What, you're leaving already? I thought I could have you pick out a book for me."

"Some other d-day, Alan. I-'ll go..."

His grip tightened, an undeniable intent in the way he looked at me, which I couldn't avoid. "Iva, please tell me, is something troubling you?"

The same question... he had posed it to me numerous times in the past. And each time, I found myself unable to provide a satisfactory answer. On every occasion, I'd sense that I was on the verge of revealing everything to him... every single detail... yet, I always held back. "W-why are you a-asking that again, Alan? Like I'd said—"

"But that doesn't explain why you've not only been avoiding me, but everyone else too. What's happening? Can't you even tell me?"

My gaze remained fixated on the ground, my heart torn between wanting to meet his gaze head-on and the instinctive knowledge that it wasn't the right path to take.

"Just tell me," Alan pleaded. "What's the matter?"

"Alan... I-" I tried to spurt those words out of my mouth. I really tried my hardest. But I couldn't. I was scared, scared that he might too close the door... just like Mary that day.

"Are you still angry that I hurt you that day?"

"N-no, it's not like-"

He placed both his hands on my shoulders, tilting his head downwards. "I'm sorry."

I tried to stop him, but I couldn't shake him off. The unnecessary gazes made me feel uneasy, but he didn't stop blurting out those two words non-stop.

"I'm sorry, Iva..."

"I'm sorry..."

"I'm really sorry..."

I started crying, though I couldn't tell why. Maybe it was the first time, for the first time in my life, it felt as if I’d been forgiven for something. It felt like I’d been saved. It was as if the breath of sun had shone through the freezing clump of shadow. My tears wouldn’t stop.

Right then, through Alan's shoulder, I noticed a small crowd sitting by a table. A young boy, about our age, was sitting on a chair with a storybook in his hand, and the kids circled around him. Alan followed my eyes, as he turned around.

"Who's he? I've never seen him anywhere before."

"Is he new in the town?"

"Now that you're saying it, I do remember seeing a truck of a moving company."

We approached the little crowd side by side, positioning ourselves directly behind them. The story seemed to be centered around a blind prince and a cursed girl, a story I've read before. Alan seemed engrossed in the story. Yet, my attention shifted from the tale to the young boy himself.

The storyteller.

But something felt off about him, despite his apparent joy and laughter. It was as though he was a shadow, an obscured figure cast by his own puppet show, unseen by the audience.

Truth isn't just a one-way thing. Like everything, it also has its own many sides. After all, we can never perceive the entirety of a situation by viewing it from only one side.

Even in my class, when I avert my gaze downward, I can catch glimpses of the hidden sides of my classmates, an unspoken realm known only to me. Words unsaid but resonating in my ears, secrets concealed beneath their facades.

Expecting someone to smile at a happy story when their own happiness has been trampled upon is akin to abuse. It's nothing short of a curse. And to me, the same seemed for him as well.

He seemed really lonely. Just like me.