The 6th Floor Window
I remember gazing at the bottom of it, wondering why I am so fascinated by heights. Is it the beautiful scenery? Is it a sense of freedom? Or is it the feeling of detachment that it provided from my everyday life? I cannot recall how much time I spent looking over my 6th-floor room window, experiencing a swarm of feelings that I can never put into words without going into an existential crisis. Trying to remember such a story doesn’t come without the risk of triggering a buried emotion. An emotion that was terrifying to handle. However, for me to truly accept my past, I must keep believing in the therapeutic power of writing. It was 2009, the year where my morale was collapsing almost as much as oil prices. I never really wanted to admit that I went through this night, but it’s a part of who I am, and denying it will never help me reach the inner peace that I aspire for.
On a summer night, in an old suburban building in Ariana, there was a 14-year-old boy who was obsessed with one main thought. He would keep thinking about it all while trying to understand why he was feeling unhappy. He would remember his father, who abused him mentally and physically his entire childhood. He would remember the hypocrite “friends” around him. He would remember the condescending family members. He would remember how his brother is inconsiderate towards his feelings. He wouldn’t stop recalling his daily events, wondering which of them could provide enough comfort to carry on to the next day.
It was not comfortable being that 14-year-old boy, but I somehow was determined to find anything in life that could pull me through and keep me going. At that time and day, the internet was a powerful tool to rely on whenever I needed an escape. In the golden age of illegal streaming, I would keep watching episodes of “One Piece” over and over, imagining what it would be like to be a pirate. One Piece was my favorite thing to watch at the time. The adventures, the laughter, and the action all provided me with a rollercoaster of excitement that helped me forget everything about my day. It was a Japanese anime that tells the story of a group of pirates sailing the sea in the hope of realizing dreams that people considered impossible. It oddly felt very relatable.
That same night, I realized that to find the power to keep going, all I needed was one thing to look forward to. Whatever that thing was, it had to be worth waking up from the bed and carrying on. For some reason that eludes me to this day, I don’t know what it was about One Piece that made me want to continue watching. Maybe it was the curiosity to see whether it was possible to achieve the impossible even within a fictional world. Fast forward to the present, where I learned how to capitalize on the little thing and make them the source of my happiness. I am grateful that I was exposed to what I believe is one artistic representation with the potential to help people who need a small glimmer of hope…
