It seemed to my family that I was no longer as happy as before. Because the way I talked now was growing full swing, maybe intellectual, calmer, more serious, with less smiles and without open laughter. To them, if you don’t laugh or smile, like Long once said, “You are not as happy as before. What’s the matter?”
But I disagreed. I didn’t have to laugh or smile when I was happy, nor did I have to cry or make myself sound pitiful if I was unhappy, and nor did I have to hide tears if I cried. I was sick of faking emotions or deceiving anybody. If I was alright, I was alright. If not, then I was not. How could I be true to myself if I couldn’t even face myself in front of others, especially my family?