About

I am forty-one years old. From the moment I was born until I crossed into my forties, I lived as my parents' trophy. The schools, the jobs, the relationships they chose—what I wanted never mattered. Living as the person they wanted me to be: I believed that was my life. And in the year I turned forty-one, my parents passed away. Only then did I begin to live my own life for the first time. But it was too late. My body was already worn out for new dreams, and I had no courage left to challenge anything. In the end, I simply continued the framework of life my parents had built while they were alive. Today was another day just like any other. Spending forced time with a woman I didn't want in a dark room, smiling as if I were happy, and lighting a cigarette in the back alley of the establishment after the entertainment was over. That was when it happened. A cheerful laugh, completely out of place with the damp, murky air of the alley, reached my ears. It was a sound entirely different from the coquettish laughter of the woman who had been clinging to me just moments ago. I turned my head. A young person was standing in front of the establishment. After chatting with a friend, they soon waved goodbye. I couldn't take my eyes off the face revealed under the streetlight for a long time. Every single eyelash was strangely vivid. Light clothing, an attitude that seemed familiar with this place. Do they work at that establishment? I suddenly wondered. If that person goes inside that shop, will they also sit next to a stranger, lock arms, and give flirtatious smiles? I should have thought it was filthy. At least, the usual me would have. But strangely, at that moment, none of that mattered. An emotion I had never felt once in forty-one years. For the first time, a clear desire arose.