I heard today at work that one of the boys who works with me stole clementines. I mean, he didn't steal them, but he ate five of the clementines that were given as a souvenir from one of our clients. And allegedly, it wasn't even during a break—he just went for it while working, because he liked clementines. And when he was reaching for the fifth clementine, his boss caught him and asked, "Isn't that your second one?" He couldn't dare tell him, "No, sir. It was my fifth." So he went along with the story, just confessed to one of his peers. But when the boss came back and inquired him further about the clementines, he felt a twinge of conscience. "Actually, it was my fifth one," he confessed. What an honest man. If it were a fairy tale, he's the kind of man who would receive both the golden and the silver clementines.

"The clementines must have felt very happy," I told him. laughing. Honestly, that's how I felt. If I were a clementine, I would love to be eaten just because I'm delicious. That's what the world is for—to be appreciated for what it is.

The young boy has a mushroom haircut, looks like he popped out of a rock band from the '80s. He wears a suit with a tie from his father—yellow, with animals printed on it. Perhaps he's expressing his punk rock spirit in a limited space. Yes, we should feel free to express ourselves in the little land we are assigned to. I sometimes get to read the notes he leaves in the office and have always felt his kindness coming through his words. Perhaps because he comes from fertile soil. He talks like a trained storyteller, trying to carry the punchline to his audience. I once asked him, "Are you in a comedy club?" "No, I just talk like this when I'm nervous." So he's a natural entertainer, and whenever he's accused of something by his coworkers, he digs deeper into it without trying to hush the talk. "Let's make fun of me and have a good laugh." I heard he wants to be a lawyer. It would be very refreshing to see a lawyer who cannot lie.

"Do you have a heart made of steel?" I asked him, curious. "No, actually, I am pretty sensitive, secretly panicking when things go wrong." A sensitive soul who refuses to become bitter. 

I should feel lucky that I don't have to sell my soul while working. That's the last thing I want to do. For a few days I was feeling dizzy because my autonomic nervous system was out of balance. It happens once in a while, and while that is happening, I cling to the verge of the cliff while the storm runs through my body. I don't force myself to do much—just survive. That's fine.

While watching the news, I feel a bit hopeless. Toxicity seems to be increasing every day. Perhaps it's in the land already and we can't escape it. No one seems happy, even the winners, and so I would rather be a joyful loser than a vengeful winner.

Plus, I'm in love, so that's how I get by. Just by simply loving.