สมน้ำหน้า (To get what one deserves)

by Taylor Dawes, Namadgi School

After a time, you wake up empty. Not in the sense of hunger empty, where one’s stomach pounds and pleads for more food to sustain itself. No, you are experiencing a different sort of empty; one that is, sadly, not new to you. Actually, you have grown rather accustomed to the numbness. The future – you can deal with that thought later, because right now, in the present, you are busy with the job of rubbing sleep out of your eyes.

Your groggy mind tries to piece together what your classes are for today, but draws up blank. You can remember that first period is maths, but only because last night your mum threatened you with not seeing the light of another day if your trigonometry homework wasn’t finished. Which still isn’t complete, but you don’t worry about that small triggering fact for the moment. Instead you occupy yourself with the task of throwing off the burgundy covers, sliding on slippers and heading out the door.

As you step into the kitchen, a burnt oatmeal smell seeps into your nose that is soon overrun by the sickly-sweet smell of brown sugar. There, in the small and bare kitchen sunlight is pouring in through the windows. There, your mum is seated by the table, intently watching the T.V as it plays the morning news. And there, you shuffle sleepily over to her to plant a kiss on her forehead.

“Kop khun na ka, Mae. Aahaan duu a-roi,” you say, the foreign sounds still feeling strange on your tongue. It’s your mother’s language but only recently had you stopped neglecting that side of your heritage.  

One eye fixed on the T.V and the other on you, she replies with, “Oh stop! It’s just oatmeal.” She smiles, pleased at your effect of communicating with her in Thai. Smiling back, a warm feeling settles in your chest. You recognize it as happiness, a feeling that’s been absent for a while.

“Khun mai hiw mai.”

“Chan ja bpai gin dton-nee.”

“Dtok-long ka,” you say around a mouthful of food as your mum presses the power off button on the remote and makes her way into the kitchen to flick the kettle on.

In a much more serious tone, she pipes up with, “Now, you finished that homework right? I don’t want to get into another argument, Dao.”

“Uhh…”

“Dao!”

“Mum! I’ve got to go, sa-wat-dii ka. Chan rak maak khun.” You hastily shove the last of the oatmeal into your mouth, needing an escape, not a lecture.

Running into your bedroom, you hear your mum’s shout of “Chan groot maak. Chan rak khun nit-noy!” echoing down the hallway as you slam your door shut.

School uniform is thrown on, hair and teeth are brushed, and backpack is slung over one shoulder as you quietly tiptoe out the front door 15 minutes later. But not before sneaking one last look into the kitchen where your mum is seated again, her back facing towards you. Then, with no warning, thoughts ransack your mind: I’m the reason behind her anger, why didn’t I do my stupid homework, I’m such a failure…

And, immediately, the numbness that left during breakfast is back. Those dark thoughts keep popping up in your head as you close the door behind you, scurrying around like rodents that are way too fast to squash and kill. They make their presence heard, loud and clear, and it’s all you can think about for the entire school day.

Unlocking the apartment door, you want to scowl at yourself for being so sensitive, so weak. Tears welled in your eyes more times than you’d care to admit, though luckily no students asked if you were okay. You have no problem with others crying in public, but when it’s you, it can’t help but feel pathetic.

Absentmindedly, you tug your sneakers off and place them neatly beside the rest of your shoes at the door. Your pocket chimes and you see Kaga, your friend and the only other mixed kid in your grade, has sent a message.

up 4 some shopping??? It’s my mum’s bday next week.

Sighing, you text back, Sorry, can’t. About to go start maths homework.

In truth, you probably could make time to go out with Kaga, but it sounds like too much effort. All you want to do is… well, nothing. Does wanting to sleep forever and never wake up count as an activity?

Less than ten seconds later, you get another message: loser. who even has time for homework?

Leaving him on ‘read’, you grab leftover pad see ew out of the fridge and wait as it heats up in the microwave. It’s a little after 3:00pm, meaning your mum should be home in an hour. Recalling your fight from last night, and the fact that you still have to finish yesterday’s homework, you bring your school bag over to pull out sheets of unanswered equations.

Another notification goes off: you ignoring me, dao? rude, accompanied by multiple angry/sad emojis.

Being Kaga’s friend meant you knew he was only joking, but slowly thoughts of doubt crept back into your head, and once they were there it was hard to remember that. Why would anyone want to be my friend? How does Kaga even tolerate me? How can anyone look at me and see a person worth loving? The feeling that followed was like a darkness surrounding your chest and an imaginary chain surrounding your leg, dragging you down.

Breaking into your cycle of negativity, the microwave beeps three times to signal your pad see ew is done. You pull the bowl out of the microwave, careful to hold onto it using a thick tea towel, and sit down by the T.V with the maths papers spread out around you. Pen in hand and ‘อยู่ดีๆก็…’ by WONDERFRAME playing in the background, you get started, trying desperately to concentrate.

It’s another three hours before you give up, consequences be damned. Your head feels like baby puree. You announce this to your mum who is sitting across from you, and she laughs in return. “Khun yak dai gin a-rai.”

“It’s okay, Mae. I’m not that hungry.”

She nods in dismissal and goes back to typing on her work laptop. You collect your pencil case, head to your bedroom, and wonder what to do for the rest for the night. Those three hours wasted only got you a quarter of the way through the maths problems, with your brain no longer willing to cooperate.

Usually you’re rushing around to get assignments completed on time (though you aren’t as disorganized as Kaga), but for the past two days you’ve been blessed with having none, other than maths. Additionally, you haven’t picked up a book in weeks, much to the dismay of your so-called reading hobby. Lately, a lot of things take more energy than you possess; going out with friends, completing school work, to doing things you normally love like reading, down to the most basic tasks like going to school, eating three meals a day and just wanting to wake up. It’s a scary thought when wanting to wake up in the morning becomes something that requires effort.

You flop onto your bed and replay the day. Classes were slow and you moved like a body that had been abandoned by its mind. In maths you got off with a warning for homework that hadn’t magically filled in the questions itself overnight. In first break, sitting with Kaga and a few of his friends by the library, he asked ‘what’s wrong with you, dummy?’ when taking account of your quiet mood. You shrugged and blamed it on school work (and prayed he didn’t remember that you currently had no major school work).

Shaking your head clear of thoughts, you don’t want to think about school anymore, don’t want to think about anything anymore. A heavy tiredness seeps into your bones and brain, and going to bed at 6:32pm doesn’t seem like a bad idea at all.

Nothing’s wrong with you, okay, just get through the next few days and you’ll be fine.

The thing is, you repeated the same words to yourself last week, and the week before that, and the month before that, but the dark thoughts and feelings haven’t gotten better. You know the word ‘trapped’ on a whole new level, wanting to share how you feel with somebody, while simultaneously preferring to never voice those feelings aloud. You’re afraid of them poking fun at the broken and ugly shards of your mind, of them declaring you over dramatic, claiming it’s all in your head. Deep down these fears aren’t you talking, it’s your depression talking; planting non-existent worries in your head to stop you from revealing it all.

Slipping underneath the covers of your unmade bed, you stare up at the ceiling and fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat, wondering if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow…