beFun
Look at her happy face, a warm smile carved into her flesh by the relentless pressure of expectation. Each jagged cut, a testament to the societal forces that demand compliance, that dictate the parameters of acceptable female behavior. Smile, they say. Chin up. Be agreeable. Be pleasing. Be fun.
But what is fun, when your very existence is a performance, a contortion designed to appease the insatiable hunger of the patriarchy? What is fun, when the only escape is the oblivion that awaits? The metal bars, a cage of societal norms, dig deeper, pulling her face upwards in a macabre parody of upliftment. Her eyes, vacant and hollow, stare into a bleak light that offers no solace, no escape from this perpetual torment.
This is the fun they offer. This is the reward for obedience, for conformity, for swallowing the bitter pill of expectations. This is the price of a smile. A smile that is not hers, a smile that is forced, a smile that is a mask for the agony within. A smile that hides the emptiness, the despair, the crushing weight of a life lived under the suffocating gaze of judgment.
There is no release. There is no escape. Only the relentless pressure, the constant demand to perform, to conform, to grin. The bleak light mocks her struggle, a cruel reminder of the futility of her resistance. This is the fun. This is the game. And you, too, are expected to play. Smile. It's fun. Isn't it? Not happy yet? Perhaps you should try smiling more. It might make things more fun for everyone else. After all, it's not fun to be around someone who looks miserable.
