On the days when no one talked to me, I felt a small sense of relief.

  No need to meet anyone’s eyes. No need to search for the right words.

  But honestly—I wanted to talk.

  I wanted to say something. But the words just wouldn’t come out.

  I didn’t know what the “right answer” was supposed to be.

  After a while, people started calling me “the weird girl.”

  I didn’t even have to say anything.

  Just being in the classroom made me feel scared.

  When I came home, my mom spoke in a soft voice.

  But only her voice was soft.

  “Behave properly.” “Answer properly.”

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  I stopped going to school. I started shutting myself in my room.

  At first, I thought I was just tired.

  But then, I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat.

  And little by little, doing things “properly” just became impossible.

  “I know, alright? I know I’m supposed to be better.”

  “It’s not like I want to skip school or anything.”

  Just thinking about it made my stomach twist, made my head feel wrong.

  Even so, Kuma-chan was always there.

  Right in the middle of my empty room, just sitting quietly.

  He didn’t say anything.

  And yet—I felt like he was listening.

  That’s why, one day, I quietly said to him:

  “... I’m sorry.”

  “Just... stay with me a little longer.”

  I hugged Kuma-chan close.

  And like that, another sleepless night passed.

  ＊＊＊

  "Come on, get up. Don’t lie in bed all day."

  "Wash your face and brush your teeth—properly."

  "If you don’t study the right way, you’ll fall behind before you know it.

  I’ve been hearing these words from my mother for as long as I can remember.

  And there’s always the word “properly” in them.

  I know she means well.

  When I was little, being praised for doing things properly made me happier than anything.

  Now her soft words feel like knives behind a smiling mask,

  cutting into the part of me that just can’t be “proper.”

  Behind every “do it properly” is an unspoken,

  “or else...”

  Binding me with gentle words.

  “The truth is, you know, I...

  Wait.

  She’s slipping inside me.

  Wait.

  Are my mother and I... still separate?

  Where does she end, and where do I begin?

  I can’t hold onto my “self” within the warmth of her gentle words.

  I... I stopped being me.