The “You” in the Mirror
Sylvia Yang
I woke up
to the sound of my uncle’s scream therapy that he practices every morning in the shower. He calls it the “art of
music.” The very first time I heard him, I was standing in front of the bathroom door for minutes that felt like hours, debating on whether or not I should call the police. It was certainly
different from living in an one room with an alcoholic as a father and a prostitute as a mother.
Another day has started and I don’t feel the tiniest hint of exhilaration. I drag myself to work
while clinging onto a baseball hat that I got as a present when I used to have “normal” parents.
The hat is a part of me that reminds me of who I used to be.
At work…
“Good Afternoon, may I take your order?”
“Yes, I’ll have a big mac combo and some chicken nuggets.”
“That’ll be $9.80.”
“Thank you, have a nice day.”
It was ironic how the customer expected me to have a nice day when I communicated with
strangers through a single headset for five hours at a fast-food restaurant, where I received
what the smart college folks call “minimum wage.” As soon as I heard the beep that signaled
the end of my shift, I turned off my work mode and immediately turned on the depressed high
school dropout mode. While clinging onto my baseball hat, I stepped out onto the concrete
floor and took a different route to my uncle’s house instead of the dark alleyway route I take
everyday. While walking down the hard, dispassionate floor, I instantly felt a warm sensation
on my face. I stopped and glimpsed up at the sunset that was high in the sky. I sat down on a
nearby bench and gazed helplessly at the gleaming sunset. I looked down at my baseball hat
and replayed memories of myself playing catch with my father. It was nice to remember when
I had so much spirit. Nowadays, I have absolutely no spirit in me. Unfortunately, the joyful
flashback was ripped out of my head by the thought of how I ended up working five hour
shifts at work while living with my psychotic rich uncle. I just knew that I would not last long
in the life I was living now and I didn’t know who I really was and what I was doing.
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