Work Text:
“Why am I still alive?”
A question that she seems to ask herself more than she should. Her response to the question has habitually concluded to be for other people more than for herself.
Her existence is tethered to those she loves, and It often feels more like a burden than a blessing.
Despite everything, it’s them.
It will always and forever be them. The reason for being, the reason to keep going, the reason to keep fighting throughout everything even though she's thought of quitting so many times she's lost count.
The thought of losing them makes her sick to her stomach, so how dare she make them feel that way?
They are the air she breathes, her light in the dark of night, and she can’t let the weight of her own despair drown that out.
Shinonome Ena awakes to her brother shaking her awake. “Ena, wake up already will you?! We don’t have time for this!” Akito scolded. His voice is a mix of frustration and concern.
Ena groaned back in annoyance, wishing for just a few more minutes of sleep, a few more minutes away from the looming dread of expectation that seems to be constantly weighing on her.
Akito rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, “Oh, don’t give me that, you and I both know you would prefer me waking you up to dad finding out you skipped school.”
Ena glared at him as he walked out. He’s right, she knows he is. She sighs as she sits up out of the comfort of her bed. A reminder of the responsibility that sits on her shoulders.
At school, she sits in her art class, enraptured within a cloud of anxiety.
She stares at the empty canvas in front of her, the stark whiteness of it mocks her, a blank page that should be filled with dreams and hope.
She can’t think of anything. Her mind is drawing a blank, if it would draw anything at all.
The emptiness of her mind when she closes her eyes mixed with her inability to think of anything she can illustrate turns into an annoyance visible on her face. No one notices, as their eyes are glued to their canvases.
Art is the thing she has poured her entire being into. Yet she sits there, paralyzed by her own fear of failure and judgment. This is who she is, this is all she is.
She’s snapped out of her thoughts by her teacher tapping her on the shoulder, “Ena? Are you going to start painting soon? This assignment is due tomorrow, you know.”
She responds hesitantly, “Yes, of course. Sorry…”
She watches as her teacher walks to the other students in the class, their laughter and chatter filling her ears. Turning back to her canvas, she lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.
Back in her room, as if routine, she continues to stare at the blank white of her canvas. She has no slightest idea what she can put on it.
She squeezes her eyes shut as she recalls the words of her father, “give up, you lack the talent to become an artist.” The words ring in her ears, over and over.
Her breath hitches. “No, she is talented. He’s wrong.” She mutters through gritted teeth.
She looks back up at her canvas, wishing to look away and be able to look back at it already completed. She feels as if she is right back where she was 2 years ago.
“I’m not talentless… am I?” The tears in her eyes threaten to spill over.
She squeezes her eyes shut, “all I ever do is cry…”
With a determined breath, she picks up her brush. Each stroke became a part of her journey, her depression, her spite for her father.
The colors blend and dance over the canvas, creating her fears into something beautiful. In that moment she realizes her art isn’t only for her, but her unwillingness to accept defeat.
It’s a testament to her resilience.
As the sun sets outside her window, casting a warm glow on her finished creation, Ena smiles.
The canvas is no longer blank; it shows a story of hope and determination.
Perhaps, the answer to why she’s still fighting and the connections that make her life meaningful are within her art.
Because life, with all its uncertainties, is worth living for those who inspire us to create.