Case Closed

Chapter 3

EDITED 

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Brooklyn's POV

I am sure that some time in your life, you'll come by the What does it mean to be living? question and, sure enough, all our ideas of the definition would be somewhat different. Some hardworking ambitious people would say as 'achieving a phenomenal solution to a global crisis' and others would solely say of having an income that is sufficient to live.

These definitions seem plausible, right?

Well, even though they are plausible, doesn't mean they are correct and I know that I also don't have the right to decide whether they are strictly wrong or right. I am just saying that, relatively, they are just missing the point of what it is actually to be living, not surviving.

Over some years of my lonesome-and-fairly-socially-awkward life, I had believed that living would simply mean being happy. So in my early kiddy days, I was surely "living" and happy. But as I got to high school and when everything in my life went downhill, my own definiton wasnt what it seemed anymore. Instead, eating and maybe breathing would be my unique meaning of living. But then again, who is Brooklyn without being a bit too sentimental?

In the end, I finally figured that for me to be living, means to experience a balance of both the bad and good aspects the world has to offer. If you experience more of the world's goodies, then you are a lucky person. And those who don't, are just not as lucky. So throughout my life, I had always believed I was impartially "living" and equally being hopeful during hard times.

And for a moment of my life, I believe it.

But now I had finally realized, in the nicest way to say it, that I am a truly unlucky person. So unlucky, that even every aspect of my life is fairly retarded.

That's right.

It is as if life is this omnipotent thing looking over me, that wouldn't show any sense of pity. It wouldn't care whether your boyfriend cheated on you or whether your family is shattered. It wouldn't care that you're grieving some bastard who you once trusted and simply having your heart being torn apart. All it has been doing is moving forward, and it has been for the longest time.

You can't blame me. If you need to blame someone, blame yourself for not being any fun.

But I don't want that. I just want a simple life, no need for money or fame. I know that I may not be the brightest start or the prettiest flower, but please spare me some time because this is getting awfully tiring.

"Miss?"

Huh?

"Miss!"

The voice broke my train of thoughts. I blinked a couple of times and looked in my hands: a notepad and pen.

Oh right. It's still working hours. If my boss caught me, I will be so screwed. After all, this is a 5-star restaurant.

"I'm so sorry. What will you be -" My breathe hitched as I looked up and met the eyes of the customer. He looked tall, almost 6 foot I presume and couldn't have been much older than I was. His disheveled auburn hair was neatly arranged and his brown eyes held a strong aura of authority and poise. But with the condemning look on his face reminded myself that he was no other than any other douchebag, just like Michael. And as much I hate to admit, he was handsome but before I got to compose myself, he looked back down to the menu and nonchalantly asked:

"Can I order my food now?" his voice was coarse.

I took a deep breath and grinned. "Of course, please order." My mom had told me to always play nice; Karma will do the job for you.