I don’t like thinking too much before speaking. Things around me are easy to understand. I don’t like overanalyzing simple things—only to realize later that I’ve fallen into a trap. I mean… that I’ve made a mistake.

I should have taken my time analyzing things, speaking more slowly, observing people’s behavior carefully instead of reacting impulsively. I shouldn’t have made it so easy for others to deal with me, as if I were just a naturally pleasant person.

But thinking about it… who really fell into the trap?

Most of the time—I mean, I never take things seriously.

Whatever conversation we have outside… it will disappear the moment I leave.

I won’t remember a thing.

Because in my mind, the only thing that truly matters is me.

If something doesn’t concern me, then it doesn’t matter.

Even my own actions—whether childish or rational, whether kind or indifferent—you shouldn’t take them too seriously.

Because they are nothing like who I really am.

I picked up this way of speaking from somewhere, and I got used to it.

Now, everyone thinks I’m cheerful, easygoing, understanding… and all that nonsense.

Aren’t they fools?

They can get angry, but I can’t?

Imagine their faces if they ever saw me truly angry.

It’s rare—so rare that I almost never let it happen.

I have an almost frightening control over my anger.

Even when people around me are exchanging heated words, I remain calm.

I wonder…

Would I still look this calm if bullets were flying around me?

Speaking of bullets… 

Have you ever tried shooting a rifle before?

Ah… that feeling, when you focus on your prey in a quiet place… It’s truly exhilarating.

But this place isn’t quiet at all.

Would the scattering of bullets make it quieter?

Hmm… I don’t think so. The sound of screaming would only drive me mad.

I’m not smiling anymore. Not for any reason in particular—just because I’ve come to realize that things are no longer amusing. They don’t bring a smile to my face anymore.

I’m not the only one who’s noticed.

Recently, I laughed—hysterically, even—to the point where my mother said, “It’s been a long time since I last saw you laugh.”

And then, I smiled gently… and I remembered what my friend used to say to me every time:

“You have a beautiful smile.”

Only now… I wonder if those kind words carried hidden thorns.

“Oh… I envy you. I wish your smile would disappear.”

Maybe that wasn’t true.

After all, I still smile just as much when I’m around her.

But… I wonder, has she noticed that my smile is different now?

Do I care?

I’d be lying if I said no.

And saying yes… wouldn’t be entirely true either.

Maybe what I truly want… is to smile naturally.

To have my eyes crinkle softly, the corners of my lips curve upward, my full cheeks looking even rounder—like those of a chubby child still growing.

Not like now… where I smile while staring blankly, as if saying, “What kind of nonsense is this?”

Oh, I forgot…

Did I introduce myself?

Was I supposed to?

Hmm… well,

I’m a young woman in my twenties.

I’m beautiful because I love myself.

I always see myself as beautiful.

I love silence.

So much so that I lose myself in the gentle sounds around me—

Like the chirping of birds,

The summer night breeze,

The warm wind rustling through spring leaves,

The autumn rain tapping against the windows,

And the quiet bubbling of water in winter.

I love these things… but I barely notice them.

Because the sound of wheels rattles the ground.

Because people’s breaths fill the air.

Their voices—whispering, talking.

Their laughter—too loud.

Their footsteps—rushing from the moment the sun rises.

I feel lost in this chaos.

I just want to scream—

“Stop.”

Stop.

Walk slower.

Laugh softly.

Speak gently.

And when you pass by each other—smile more.

But I only pass by, unnoticed.

And I often smile when my eyes meet those of a stranger walking past—while my anger threatens to spill out.

I’ve asked myself many times…

“You could just disappear and go somewhere quiet.”

But why should I?

I think there are many who hate this noise.

Some have lost their sanity because of it.

Some curse at the world every chance they get.

Some pretend to accept it, living as if they don’t mind.

And some… are labeled as mentally ill just because they can’t tolerate the chaos.

And then… there are people like me.

Do we truly smile?

We press our fingers against the edges of our lips whenever the world around us feels unbearably ridiculous.

Then we smile.

And maybe… we lower or shake our heads slowly.

What a shame.

Some call us hypocrites.

Are we?

Anyway, I’m of average height, average build…

Ah… I don’t really know how to describe myself.

I’m just… a person.

As for my name—

It’s Josie.

I’m Josie.

Do I talk too much?

No, no…

You’re simply wandering through my world—

A world that isn’t meant to be spoken aloud,

But rather, kept gently hidden within us.

I’m Josie.

And these are the words of my world.