Nights when I pretend to be living properly

It's not exactly messy.
But I know.
This room is a little bit chaotic right now.

I come home and turn on the lights.

In that instant, I see it.

There's the shirt I took off yesterday on the back of the sofa. There's one piece of clothing on the floor because it didn't fit in the laundry basket. The lid of my cosmetic container has been left open since last night, and the scent of the toner I wiped up with a tissue is still drifting somewhere. On the desk, there are three convenience store receipts. A lipstick left open. A half-finished plastic bottle. It's probably lukewarm by now.

It's not that it's dirty. If a friend came over, I don't think they'd say anything in particular. It's the kind of mess that people would just laugh off, thinking, 'Everyone's place is like this, right?'

But I know.

This isn't just messy. It's chaotic.

During the day, I can pretend to be doing just fine.

I did my work. I replied to emails. I spoke in meetings. I had lunch with a colleague and laughed a little. When asked, 'How have you been lately?' I answered, 'Oh, just the usual.' It wasn't a lie. It really was just the usual.

It's just that on the way home, I caught a glimpse of my face in the train window. It felt like my expression was blank. It wasn't so much that I was acting, but perhaps that I wasn't feeling anything at all. While I'm out, I'm good at pretending to be someone who has it all together.

I enter my room and drop my bag on the floor.

My life is, for the most part, running. But when I come home, I can see that 'for the most part'.

I start to close the curtains, then stop halfway. I open the fridge, then close it without taking anything. I go to the washroom and take out my contacts. There I am in the mirror. My face before taking off my makeup. The face that still carries the remnants of my daytime work mode. But deep in my eyes, something feels tired.

I think, I should tidy up. If I put the laundry in the machine, throw away the receipts, and organize the desk, it wouldn't even take thirty minutes. I know that. But I can't move.

Before I know it, I'm sitting on the sofa. I pick up my smartphone. I open social media and scroll. But it's not like I want to see anything. Someone's dinner photo, someone's trip, someone's cute cat. As I press 'like,' I wonder why I'm pressing it. I should just close it, but I can't.

I want to get my life in order. But my heart can't keep up.

On nights like this, I think my room is more honest than the mirror.

While I'm out, I can pretend. I can laugh. I can talk. But the moment I return, the pretense unravels.

The clothes on the floor are a record of the fact that 'I didn't have the energy to tidy up today.' The cosmetics left open are the traces of a night when I thought, 'Whatever, it's fine.' The lukewarm plastic bottle is proof of a lack of composure, where I thought I'd drink it but forgot.

Only my room knows my true state.

I stand at the washbasin and brush my teeth.

When I look at myself in the mirror, I suddenly wonder. If my past self saw my room as it is now, how would they feel? I feel like I used to live a bit more carefully when I had more room in my life. I would close my cosmetics properly, put my clothes in the laundry basket, and keep only what I needed on my desk.

Now, I can't tell which came first. Is my room a mess because my mind isn't in order, or is my mind unsettled because my room is a mess?

It's probably both, and I don't have to solve that tonight. I put down my toothbrush and turn off the bathroom light.

I won't decide that I absolutely must clean up tomorrow morning. Making that kind of promise to myself has been a little scary lately. Because when I fail to keep it, I quietly blame myself all over again.

I'll just throw away the plastic bottle before I go to bed. That's all I'll do. I'll check the contents of my bag, prepare for tomorrow, and leave the rest alone.

Tomorrow morning, I'll wake up as usual. I'll get ready as usual, and head out as usual. Once I'm outside, I'll be able to act normal again. That, at least, is probably true.

When I turn off the light, the room goes dark. Outside the window, the city lights are faintly visible.

For now, I'll just go to sleep without finishing the cleaning.

Nights like this keep happening.

#Essay #Diary #CasualEssay #LivingAlone #NightStories #TiredNight #Living
#Life #AboutMyRoom #NoRoomToSpare #AboutTheHeart #CannotLiveCarefully
#NightMonologue

After sending a message saying I'm okay.

Even though I actually wanted to cry a little, there are times I just continue the night as if nothing happened.

I wrote about those kinds of nights, too.🫧