From the outside world everything seems different than what she perceives from within.

The patterns of the living room are different to everyone else. A multitude of tacky flowers, uneven dots, gaudy colours, and boring stripes create an unbearable landscape which she has to endure daily. She lets the suffocating decorations choke her without letting the world now how she really feels. Her body trapped in frills and ruffles has become a misrepresentation of her true self. She aspires to purity and perfection when her surroundings scream exuberance and disarray.

How can she remain silent when so many emotions twirl in her soul? The explosion of anger, frustration, agitation, rage, and grief can never let her sit still. In the theatre of her mind, she grabs people’s shoulders, shake them, asks them to wake her up from this nightmare. She begs them to make it stop. She knows it will blow out of proportion, it will be too much to handle. She cannot.

She wants to implore them to show her the way. How do they do it? Is it supposed to hurt that much? Are they really suffering? Do their lungs gasp for air ? She embarks these characters without a face in the whirlpool of the messy patterns of the room. She yells without being able to make a sound, to whom will ever hear her, how she desperately needs to be understood.

And despite how much noise she makes within, these moments never make it to the outside world.