Mary Journal
MY LIFE WAS NOTHING BUT BLISS. Whenever I faced a problem, somebody kind always came to my aid. I was just as eager to help others, so I knew the world overflowed with such kindness.
I was right to believe that, but the belief stemmed from my ignorance of pain.
I’d been unaware that wiping someone’s tears out of kindness could sting like a knife. My foolish, infantile ignorance—my belief that love contained only kindness—stabbed someone I cared about where they were most vulnerable.
My world was beautiful, everything in place. My little family was constructed entirely of love, and I drowned in that love, unaware of any of the goings-on behind my back.
✦ ✦ ✦
I didn’t remember when I’d found out that I had an older sister. I’d probably known of her ever since I was a child, but we’d never once been introduced. So, to me, it was as if she suddenly came to life the day I met her.
She was such a beautiful young lady. To look at her was to feel every sensation possible—that was the sort of aura she gave off. She was cold rather than warm, rigid rather than flexible. Her beauty was like that of an ice sculpture. She resembled my father greatly—especially her sharp gaze, the exact opposite of mine. She didn’t bear a hint of resemblance to round, girlish little me. We shared the same blood, but if you put us side by side, nobody would’ve guessed that we were half sisters.
Since we were just so different, I idolized her immediately. I reached for her as if she were far off in the distance. Each time I saw her, she was more beautiful, too striking for words. I started to understand what people meant when they said a treasure caught their gaze.
I was so happy to call her my sister. I believed I’d attained the right to stand beside her without justification—but I was wrong. I didn’t know anything. I’d been left completely in the dark. I convinced myself that there were no secrets between us. I put too much weight on the word “sister.”
I was ignorant, so when the truth was thrust upon me, it gouged me like a spear.
A smiling person wasn’t necessarily happy. What she said wasn’t necessarily what was really on her mind. Loving words could taunt someone, and a smile could cut like a knife. For a kind person, always being kind was neither straightforward nor easy.
My beloved, strong, beautiful big sister taught me the danger of the weapon I brandished. She showed me whom I ought to brandish it at. I’d thought that all I needed to do was strive to be like her; I was so naive. Now that she’d made me self-aware, I needed to be introspective. I needed to understand the meaning behind things. There was always an answer in whatever direction I was guided. I could always act in accordance with the answer before my eyes and drown myself in the kind, gentle world.
That kind, gentle world my sweet father had prepared for me—how happy I could’ve been there. What a wonderful place it might’ve been. As far as I could tell, my family was beautiful. Of course it had looked beautiful; my father chose only the most beautiful things to include in it. Neither jagged things nor sharp things, neither heavy things nor stiff things, were ever visible to me. In that tiny box, he pampered and cared for me.
I assumed it was the same for my sister. Until that day, I truly had not a single doubt.
With a wild beast’s murderous sneer, Yulan had pointed out a thorny path to me that ensnared me more and more deeply with each step I took. Whenever I writhed in pain, I only felt that pain worsen. That was a place that existed for pain. I didn’t want to proceed any farther along the path, but not because the thorns hurt me. Rather, each step brought me closer to an answer—and I was scared to find out what it was. I wished I could turn back and return to the time when I’d known nothing. Then I could still address my father with respect. I could remain his beloved daughter, who loved him in turn.
I loved my family. I’d been born and raised in the arms of bliss, showered with love. That was what a family looked like; that was how a family should be. My family was the model of my happiness. Someday, I’d fall in love like my mother had with my father. I’d sleep every night in the arms of my beloved husband with our sweet baby. I believed that without a moment’s doubt.
Until my beloved sister’s bare hands crushed that belief to pieces, I’d danced in the light of my callous hopes and dreams.
Dearest Sister, I so wished to love and be loved by you. I wanted to belong to that family.
I believed that you, Father, Mother, and I could be the happiest family in the whole world. How silly I was. Why was it we who thought we had to accept you into our fold?
How could I have been so foolish as to forget about your mother—to forget that you were abandoned all alone, and to think we’d do you a favor by being a happy family for you? How arrogant I was. What we should’ve done was wait for you. Just waited until you chose to accept us.
We’d been wrong. I’d been wrong, Father had been wrong, and Mother had been wrong. We’d been wrong from the very start. But it was far too late to apologize now. We’d reached a point where we could no longer have any kind of relationship with Violette.
“Mary… He’s come for you.”
“Thank you.”
Seeing my father’s sullen expression made the back of my nose sting with tears. I picked up my packed trunk and heaved a heavy sigh. I couldn’t let myself cry. I had no reason to cry.
Sister… I’m going to be married. I hear he’s a blood relation of the Vahan family, so I’ll be moving in with distant relatives of yours. My fiancé’s far older than me, you, or Prince Claudia. He’s probably closer to my mother’s age. He seemed mild mannered the one time I met him. But I know all too well now that what a person says, or appears to feel, can be the complete opposite of what’s in his heart. I’m marrying him for the Vahan family’s future. In other words, it’s a political marriage. I’m a little nervous, but I’ve resigned myself to my fate. I have no choice in the matter. The rest will come down to my own resilience.
Sister, listen… I’ve learned so many things.
I’ve learned that even happiness has its dark side. That it isn’t easy to make any judgments seeing only one side.
That kindness isn’t enough to nurture someone, but harshness alone will crush someone.
I’ve learned that love can be a pillow or blanket… But that, at times, it can also be a whip or blade.
That hearts are tender, fragile—they’re never sturdy. That’s why we must cherish them. And hearts are also neither strong nor weak.
I could no longer remain little Mary in the happy miniature garden. I would have no choice but to walk straight ahead, getting hurt along the way. That was what it meant to grow up—only now did I understand that. I already knew that some paths couldn’t be traversed without injury. Yet I could keep walking, embracing the thorns that wouldn’t come out.
From the beautiful world that had all been laid out for me, from the miniature garden where I’d been nurtured only on love, I would carry the burden of abundant blood and tears as I walked the path of life.