She used to work so hard to be liked by everyone, even the ones she won't ever meet again. She began to work on it without thinking about it. She smiles and says 'joh sunn' to every passerby. She speaks in a way that others look at her with glimmering eyes. She sits there and listens, to every unsolicited comment. Bewildered, yet she said nothing. She never let an exasperated breath escape her. She feels trapped in the ways others see her, but she thinks that is the only way to exist. We are all waiting for her to see that malice and ill wishes are always available, and she would grow to like it. Or better yet, she has always liked it.
At first, her tired face was mistaken as being mean. Then, she glares back inadvertently. The next thing she knew, she cussed at the man in the mirror, and laughs triumphantly when they asked her what's so funny. She might as well go scratch her neighbour's cars and set the house on fire, she thought. What's stopping her is that she knew full well, that she won't be the one taking the blame. There are those who wakes up at the crack of dawn, puts on their sun hat hosing down every car by the sidewalk, humming songs in their mother tongue. They will be blamed. There are also those who roam free, going in and out and above fences, landing on their soft paws with retractable claws. Maybe if the scratches are small enough, wispy enough, then...she thought. They will be blamed, and euthanised.
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After the men and women lashed out their anger and soothed their injured pride, they turned around and ran for their commute.
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We are waiting with her.