Chapter 30 The Mirror

• Whenever I spaced out in the dining room, my mom would always tap my shoes under the table. She would always ask me what's wrong, or if I'm suddenly getting bullied at school, or if I'm having a hard time chasing my grades. They would always ask me and in return for their worry, I would always give them a reassuring smile.
• They'd buy it. Most times, I feel like they know what's happening to me, but they refuse to acknowledge it. They rely on the smile of assurance that what they think is happening to me, isn't really happening to me. I like it, it gives me the peace I most certainly yearn for. To not be bombarded with questions with how am I. Am I okay? Why am I spacing out?
• But, on rare occasions, I would always curse myself. Why am I being like this? Why am I hiding the fact that I just want to stop school — living. It's actually tiring to always stretch my lips to the smile they were looking for.