text: Everything was good, I recite. It wasn’t, but as I feel the gazes linger on my skin, piercing through my clothes, the humid air almost drowning me in heat, I knew I couldn’t faint. Not here, Not in front of all these people. I feel light-headed. “Asian.” They whisper, lips curving into small upside-down crescents, feet scampering away, like a mouse avoiding a cat, hands clutching at their possessions. I look down at my plain dress. My hair slides down like a black snake, spreading itself onto my white dress, yellowish brownish skin giving the typical Asian look, finished with thin, split eyes. People stare point, whisper. “Asian, Chinese, go back to your own country.” I walk, faking, acting, putting on a mask of nonchalance. A woman approaches me--skin white, designer handbag at her arms, eyes filled with sickeningly fake worry. Her bag is made of snakeskin, decorated with sand-like specks of gold. She smiles, stretching out her lips. It looks unnatural. “Are you lost?” She asks. I try to reply, my own lips curving into a small smile. But my smiling lips refuse to turn into shapes that make sounds and talk, so I just shake my head. She leaves, muttering about my rudeness, blissfully unaware of my condition. I leave her be. After the nineteenth turn down from a company, I felt like I was dreaming. People had said it would be hard for a foreigner to get a job in another country, and I had thought differently. I was wrong. It wasn’t just ‘hard’ for a foreigner to get a job, it was as possible as finding water in the Sahara desert-just not going to happen. I looked at the buildings towering over the people, like an empire made of glass and iron looking down at their fleshy slaves. Stumbling over nothing, I wondered mindlessly through a light-saturated scene: the sunlight berated down on the hundreds of people, like an invisible whip slashing across work ants, cafés and small shops spilling out into the pavement. I sighed. My feet were aching, dress stained with sweat; I looked a mess. Shaking off waves of confusing emotion, I started toward a bench when a man abruptly came into my path, spilling his papers and drenching my dress with his water. “ I’m so sorry, Miss. Are you ok?” Afraid my voice would reveal my fatigue and discomfort, I nodded, not speaking a word. The man looked genuinely worried-a rare emotion for me to come across, at this period of time. I was confused. Another wave of unknown emotions threatened to crash across my mind, a tsunami of dangerous emotions, and I panicked. The sky seemed to swim as I stumbled backwards, trying to escape from the man’s eyes. The air was like honey melting in water, and I felt like a fly that had dived in, hypnotised by the fake, deceiving, sweet scent. My heels half taken off from my feet, the blindingly white light reflecting from the buildings started to look like blindingly white snakes, tangling in with my black hair. I didn’t fit in, I reminded myself. But if so, where do I fit in? Nowhere. I would always be a misfit. Stranger. Monster. Weirdo. Asian. Foreign. I felt the strength slip out of my body. Anticipating the fall, I closed my eyes, and let black cloud my mind. I was too tired to fight anymore. ------------------------------ When I opened my eyes, it was to a scent of stale medicine, a stench of death and life mixed together in one building. A hospital. I sigh, regretting letting my body fade into unconsciousness. Sitting up, my hands clutched the white sheets as a brush of pain painted my body, briefly colouring my vision white. Lips cracked and dry, I started testing my voice. “Hello?” I watched a doctor come to me, dressed in white, carrying a clipboard and a pen that looked like a passage straight to Hell. I knew what he was going to say. “ Miss Donia?” He spoke with a slight accent, I realised. He spoke naturally, confidently, unlike how I would ever speak. “Miss Donia?” My heart thumped rapidly. I had to speak, I knew I was being rude. But I couldn’t. My mouth wouldn’t move, lips pressed stubbornly shut. Resigned, I nodded, eyes refusing to meet his. “Miss Donia, thank you for responding. Your records say that you have been to several mental hospitals for a cure to your strange condition...being unable to speak at all in front of people...am I right?” Again, I nodded. I let his bold, confident voice wash over me like a wave washing over the golden shore, calming me down. “Miss Donia, you fainted today because of severe stress and sleep deprivation. I will prescribe you some sleep pills and stronger anxiety medication to help you with your current condition. You may stay here for an hour or so.” I closed my eyes. Darkness was familiar to me, as I often spent the hours together while laying on my bed silently listening to the sounds of the city, rumbling of cars and the soft murmur of people entertaining my mind. Here I heard nurses shouting, metal wheels rolling against the floor, people crying and laughing. While this lulled my ears, I dreamed of my childhood, thousands of days and nights wishing, desiring and dreaming about speaking freely, with confidence and standing up for myself. Then came the thousands of days and nights of immense, indescribable disappointment as the realisation that my superpower, speaking with confidence, would never come. It would be as unattainable as flying, or becoming invisible--just a fantasy of my mind. While I slip in and out of consciousness, I hear the news announcer speak from the TV. “....Asian discrimination as been increasing rapidly during these days...Everybody just calm down as Asians are not the one to blame for this virus...” Her monotone voice pierces my mind. I wake up. Recalling my dream, I smile lightly as I think carefully about super powers. While pondering, my body automatically proceeded to pat myself down, make myself look presentable. The once cold looking pasty white hospital walls now helped find my things, and I picked up my phone. While scrolling down on the small white screen, I gasped out a laugh, my face stretching to accustom to the unfamiliar expression. A small text had come from my twentieth company, saying they would consider employing me. It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no, and I was happy to receive a proper response. Hands still and emotions calm, I pushed myself up, ready to start my life again. Silently, I replied to my past self, who longed for a superpower that could allow her to talk. I knew I already had a super power. I always had, though it took some time to realise it. My superpower was the ability to live. It was a unique, special superpower, created from the days and nights I had cried and bled, never giving up on myself. It gave me a barrier, not a perfect barrier, sure, it disappeared when things were harsh, but it was there. I walked out of the hospital, lips still stubborn and unable to speak, clothes still slightly wet, but my eyes were different. The humid, honey-like air still clung on to my frame, and people still whispered, gazes looking at me as if I was a sculpture in a museum, unabashed and bold. But I had regained my barrier, my fatigue and stress resided for the being. Everything was good. Actually good.