Perceived Insanity

Don't Doubt

A week later, rather early in the morning, the government sent a transport unit to the garbage dump Nayona listed as her 'current residence.' When she saw it, she slung her small bag of useful items over her shoulder and walked out to meet it. She had done a decent job of convincing herself her decision would not really contradict her values and beliefs. Dressed in a dress she had sewn herself out of old rags using a sewing machine she had fixed up, she climbed into the back seat of the transport unit. The last time she had been in one of the slim, fast supercars had been the time they had brought her from the special school to the outer boundary of the city where the lowest class of citizen lived. They were not, of course, treated unequally, for in such a society everyone was equal. They were still citizens, and had all the rights of citizens. But the majority of a person's rights came from their certificate indicating they had passed the exam. No one would want to employ someone who did not agree with the government, a government created by the people.

All that mattered no longer. Nayona received her certificate, and immediately went to the city employment office. When they heard she had only completed a fifth grade education, they shook their heads and instructed her to apply to the local secondary school. They would provide temporary housing for her and allow her one year to work through a remedial curriculum designed to cover grades 6-8 for older students returning from probation, like she was. In the meantime, she would be allowed to work in the public service department in return for three daily meals. Excitedly, she followed their instructions. Soon she found herself unlocking the door to her new dormitory room, holding in one arm a large box full of supplies. Smiling and humming a children's song to herself, she set it down on the coffee table in the middle of the room.

The dormitory was plain, but much more comfortable than her cardboard box had been. The front door opened into a small living room, and to her left a hallway led to a small bathroom and a bedroom. The bedroom held a narrow mattress on a rusty frame, covered in an ugly orange blanket. In the corner stood an old desk, clean but not in prime condition. There was also a closet containing two school uniforms and a pair of brown shoes. Nayona examined the contents of the box on the coffee table, pleased with the assortment of clothes, toiletries, and school books she found inside. At the bottom of the box lay a clock, which Nayona mounted on the wall of her new bedroom with a good deal of excitement. She opened every curtain, allowing as much light as could filter through the filthy windows into the room.

In a cupboard in the living room, she found a box of cleaning supplies. With determination she attacked first the windows, then the grimy mirror in the bathroom, then the dusty floors. When she was satisfied with the appearance of her dwelling, she changed into her new school uniform. Throwing the old dress of rags away in an attempt to rid herself of all things related to her old life, she smiled. Years of physical distress vanished in a moment. Packing a backpack with the schoolbooks, she left her apartment cheerfully to attend her first class.

Her schedule indicated her first class to be on the second floor of the school building, which neighbored the dormitory. She climbed the stairs to reach the second floor, found her classroom, and eagerly yanked the door open.

She stopped in her tracks. The white board read, "Welcome to Intermediate Cultural Studies!" Nayona sighed, finding a desk to sit in. She would not regret her decision, she knew she had made a good choice. An instructor and several other students entered a moment later, and the class began. Carefully, Nayona controlled her expression. She could not let anyone know her thoughts. Throughout the class, she found it necessary to remind herself of this on multiple occasions. The instructor presented many things as fact that were indeed only opinion. Every time, Nayona hardened her expression. But she had more trouble hardening her heart.

At the end of the day, Nayona had a headache. She struggled with the weight of a thousand lies. Lies that had not been noticeable to her before now stood out as horribly deceitful, and it was difficult to brush them off. She ate very little that evening, trying desperately to convince herself she was only bothered by what she was being told because she was truly what they said of her. She was a silly, uneducated rebel who had finally come back to the truth. If something did not sit right, it was her own fault.

Another voice in her head taunted her. It asked her if she really believed what she knew to be blatant lies. It countered every argument she wished to make. How could she be uneducated on the topics they had been discussing if she had lived a life proving them wrong? She knew she was not silly. Even her reasons for returning had little to do with repenting of rebellion and more to do with a need for physical safety. She would not admit the rest of that reason to herself.

She was different. Out of every person in the nation, only she had a problem with everything. Even the other students seemed to sense she was not the same. When they offered to converse about the topics in class, she smiled and said little. Once she made a comment disagreeing with the instructor, and everyone's brow furrowed. Several distrusting and spiteful comments were directed at her, after which she was ignored for the remainder of the discussion. She would never truly be a part of society like she had before she came up with her beliefs, her values. What were they worth if everyone disagreed with them? If she stood alone, she could not be worth anything. No, to conform had been a good decision. It had to be.

     After all, truth is... something Nayona decided she had lost.