How Long Will I Remain the Pitiful Protagonist?

Everyone has one or two painful pasts. I have mine, too. Poverty, being a second-generation religious follower, family separation, obsessive-compulsive disorder. There is no doubt that each of these was a painful experience. The problem is how long I continue to drag them around.

How long will I stay intoxicated by the persona of the "legendary protagonist born under a miserable star, who has overcome one trial after another"? Enduring hardship is my default setting; even when problems arise, I keep my eyes averted from the root cause and stop thinking by simply "enduring." Stand up and face it, you idiot.

I have been telling myself lines I've heard somewhere before, like, "Painful experiences aren't all bad. Because of the wounds, I can understand others' pain and be kind... (looking into the distance)," believing that unhappiness has value. I have never been able to trust my own strength, always thinking, "I shouldn't keep tasting happiness. It won't work out. There's no way I'm needed," and I have been doubting the whole world forever.

Yet, my desire for approval is strong. I constantly wish to be recognized and praised, and every time I fail at something, I act deliberately dejected to appeal for someone to say, "You're amazing for trying!" or I blame factors other than myself, saying, "I knew it. It was never going to work out. I was born under a star where nothing I do ever goes right."

It sounds good to call it a defense mechanism to keep from getting hurt, but it's pathetic. I'm always cynical, saying "Whatever..." and never accepting things head-on. It's cowardly.

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Living such a cowardly and pathetic life, I have started to take an interest in beauty, of all things. I'm sorry for wanting to be beautiful while being so cowardly and pathetic.
Now that I'm approaching forty, I've become concerned about sagging skin. However, even though I've bought various cosmetics and diligently applied skincare, nothing seems to make a difference.
So, I decided to ask my friend Y, who is knowledgeable about beauty.

Y is a friend of the same age I met at a part-time job in my twenties. She is a very bright, energetic, funny, and bold woman. Her catchphrase is "What a drag," and although she always complains a little, she loves having fun, doesn't worry about small things, plays hard, drinks hard, spends all her money, and says, "Oh no, I'm broke."
However, she is better at her job than anyone else, is passionate about loyalty and human kindness, is attentive to those around her, and is liked by everyone—seniors, juniors, men, women, all of humanity. Plus, she's beautiful. She's like the protagonist of a classic hero manga.

Naturally, she was very popular with men and was always swapping boyfriends, but in her late twenties, she had a child with an indie band member, got married quickly, and after a few years, divorced him just as quickly, saying, "He never made it big and wouldn't work seriously, so it was a drag." Now, she lives happily with her new boyfriend and her two children.

As you can probably tell, Y is the exact opposite of me. I envied her—glamorous, cheerful, fun-loving, always popular, and seemingly happy.

When I suddenly called her to ask about beauty matters for someone approaching forty, her answer was, "The fastest, cheapest, and most reliable way is to go to Korea and get some cosmetic procedures! Doing it little by little with cosmetics is such a drag, right?"

I hadn't contacted her in about half a year, but she's still the same. I had completely forgotten that her voice on the phone is loud, and my ears rang.
She makes every decision—childbirth, marriage, divorce—quickly and accurately, and lives her life positively and wisely, no matter what happens. I have never once seen her act like me, constantly searching the internet and fretting over things for ages.

I wonder how much of a difference there is in how much we enjoy our lives? While I spend a month worrying about one thing and can't decide, how many wonderful experiences does Y have? Ten? Twenty?
She must be accumulating so much virtue and experience that she'll be born under a popular star in her next life, too. My next life might be as a paramecium. No, that might be easygoing and nice, actually.

"I see, as expected of you. I'll search for Korean cosmetic procedures."
"How are you, Nami? I'm watching your success. I'll buy your book when it comes out. It's seriously amazing. You've been writing since way back when. I can't write at all, so I really respect you. I'll brag to everyone that you're my friend."
"Thanks. But it's not that amazing, and you don't have to force yourself to read it."

I did it again. Even though Y went out of her way to praise me, I denied it to hide my embarrassment. I should have just said a simple "Thank you." Did I say something unnecessary and hurt her feelings?

While I was feeling uneasy after hanging up the phone, she sent me a list of recommended Korean beauty clinics. It was a perfect, highly efficient document that told me everything I wanted to know at a glance: what's good for sagging skin, where it's a bit expensive but painless, where it's painful but has the best results, and so on. It's truly amazing that you can be this kind to others without being hurt by a painful past.

For this greedy and shallow me, who suddenly called and stole her precious time, she made this wonderful list with such speed out of pure kindness. I felt beyond envious; I started to feel sorry.
Then, two more LINE messages arrived after the list.

"I've been taking care of my dad ever since he collapsed from a cerebral infarction, so I'd love to go with you, but it seems impossible for a while. When I can go again, let's go together and splurge!"
"My days are a drag and tough with caregiving, work, and childcare, but your essays are funny and I read them with a laugh. They save me. I'm really looking forward to it. I'm also looking forward to seeing a photo of you with glowing skin, holding your book and looking proud."

I knew her father had collapsed from a cerebral infarction years ago. I had even seen him and greeted him when I went to visit her after she returned to her parents' home following her divorce.
But I had no idea she had been the one providing the care all this time.

Oh my god! Why didn't I think of that? It's obvious when I think about it. I'm supposed to have had painful experiences, yet I didn't notice my friend's pain at all, and on top of that, I said something terrible like, "You don't have to force yourself to read it." Please, just crush my paramecium life in the next world, too.

She hadn't told me about her situation even once in these past few years, and she never showed any sign of being in pain. I had only ever heard silly, lighthearted talk about how her boyfriend's farts were smelly or how he had too much hair-growth tonic in stock despite being hopelessly bald. Even while saying "What a drag," she was always laughing happily.

Could it be that she had always been like that?
Twenty years since we met. We worked part-time together, felt invincible just because we were young, partied like idiots, got married around the same time, had children, and I thought we had both become middle-aged together, but had she always been like that? Even when she had painful things happen, did she always endure it and smile without showing her dejected side to those around her? Did she actually worry a lot, even though it looked like she was handling everything with ease?

Why didn't you tell me? What must you have been thinking while listening to me whine on and on forever? I felt like an even more childish and ridiculous person than usual. This time, I strongly thought, "I will stop being the pitiful protagonist."

I actually knew it all along. My own painful experiences were a long time ago, and the time when I needed that persona to survive has passed. I also knew that I was still using the past as an excuse for why I am immature as a person, wallowing in self-pity and half-escaping by pretending it's not my fault. Enough is enough, I'll stop.

In contrast, Y is too cool. She's cool, but if she had painful things happen, I wish she had shared a little with me. Is it too late to start now?

I sent a LINE message: "I didn't know you had been taking care of your father all this time. Whenever you're ready, please tell me more and more."

"Thanks!" was all she replied.

Perhaps she won't share much with me in the future, either.
Maybe that's just the kind of person she is, and maybe I'm not the person she wants to share her worries with.

If that's the case, I will write even more interesting essays to make her laugh.

I may not be able to become a cool, popular person like Y, but I hereby vow to become a funny essayist with firm, glowing skin who can make her friends laugh.

The End