FAUX REAL

40

I'm almost waiting for the other shoe to drop. For something bad to happen. For everything to disappear. Vanish. Because it always does. Nothing good has ever lasted for me. The good moments in my life have been like those shitty animal tattoos they give to children at fairs. Washable. Removable. Temporary.

At a young age, I learned to prepare for the worst and expect the worst. Always. It's ironic really. You're in school for the first eighteen years of your life, constantly learning, constantly being lectured, and then you're done. You're an adult. Expected to stand on your own two feet, hoping your education has given you the tools to succeed. But I think that's totally backward.

From primary to secondary school we're taught how to behave, what's proper, what's acceptable, what's normal. We're packed into classrooms with people of different personalities, different upbringings, different strengths, and we're expected to be the same? To have the same values? Ambitions? Views about the world? It's absurd.

I think school is for unlearning. For shedding the blanket futures educators drape over our shoulders when we're six. For peeling away expectations that there's only one path towards success. For silencing their voices and opinions, and instead, finding our own. It's for carving our own paths.

As I step out of the school into the warm spring air, reinstating documents in hand, I'm confident that my path will lead me to where I need to go. To where I'm meant to be. Not all paths are linear. But those are boring anyway. I think my path is curved, maybe even a labyrinth. There might be rocks. Branches. Obstacles. But that's okay. I'm ready. I can still prepare for the worst, that's smart, but I'm choosing to, from now on, hope for the best.

Optimism is a decision. And I'm deciding to be happy. Me. It's in my hands. It's always been my hands. I've always been capable of changing my mindset. It just took a mildly mental girl with a heart of pure fucking gold and a face that would make angels jealous, to finally figure it out.

I'm happy. I really am.

"Fuck!"

My head darts towards the bottom of the staircase, my gaze landing on Taeyong who's slumped over, fingers crossed over the back of his head as he mumbles under his breath. Well, I suppose we can't all be happy, can we?

"Oi," I call out, grabbing his attention as I saunter towards him. Poor bloke. Rough year for the All-Star. "You good?"

"Fucking fantastic, thanks for asking." he grumbles, gripping his cell phone in his hand.

Damn, this school is full of emotionally stunned people.

"Right, well, carry on sulking then." I mutter.

"I'm not sulking, okay?" he states as he glares at me. He looks angry but I don't sense it's towards me. Odd. "I'm just-" he slams his phone on the stairs, running his hands through his hair. "I'm over it. I'm fucking over it. Fuck this school. Fuck everyone who goes here. Fuck Mark. Fuck Seulgi. Fuck everyone and fuck everything," his jaw locks. "I'm done."

I blink, surprised Malibu Ken has such a potty mouth. "I take it you and her broke up?"

He tosses me a scowl. "You think?"

"Listen, mate, I don't want to sound like a fucking boomer, but there will be other girls, okay?" I say, shrugging. "It's not the end of the world, yeah?"

He huffs, hitching a shoulder. "Think you caught the last good one."

"She's not a fish," I say with a playful grin as I plop down beside him on the stairs. "But yeah, I'm pretty lucky."