Double Happiness (Short)

“Still haven’t finished this pack?” a friend asked, eyeing the cigarette pack that another friend had brought back from Hong Kong.

“Well, it reminds me of Hong Kong.”

“That’s funny, considering you’ve never been there,” he chuckled.

“Ahaha, yes, you know me well,” I admitted, though it’s true — I’ve never been to Hong Kong. I think it’d be an interesting place to visit, despite my distaste for Wong Kar Wai’s films, which always seem overrated to pretentious cinephiles. My friends say I’m just slow to warm up to things.

I lit a cigarette from the pack labeled “Double Happiness.” The irony wasn’t lost on me, given my current state of melancholy. Every time this pack is in my pocket, it seems my depression intensifies. I’m unsure if it’s the pack or just a coincidence.

Once again, my relationship has failed. I wonder if I’m to blame, or if it’s them, or perhaps my unconventional approach to gender and sexuality. I never fully conform to traditional gender norms, and it feels like a void has opened up, especially when people leave without explanation.

I also ponder whether my prolonged abstinence or lingering feelings from a past relationship, which ended in April, are contributing to my current state. It’s not surprising, really. I’m accustomed to being fine yet perpetually depressed.

I feel a peculiar sensation when smoking in someone else’s room — particularly my best friend’s. Today, it was as if butterflies were fluttering in my stomach, making me feel nervous, nauseous, and oddly excited. Maybe it’s his room, his scent, his favorite books, and movie posters, or maybe it’s him.

Suddenly, I felt myself falling from his balcony — my seventh near-death experience. He stared at me as if I were a bottomless pit, and I returned his gaze, unable to forget the intensity of his stare.

His eyes were like an abyss, drawing me in, making me yearn for more. His presence, both consciously and unconsciously, affected me deeply. Without warning, he moved toward me, and I felt disconnected from my own body, lost in his internal world.

His heart, cold and rhythmically erratic, beat like an avant-garde drum. I found myself metaphorically inside his intestines, flowing with his blood, lymph, and waste. Just as his mouth opened wide, I regained my senses.

“Anyway, why are you here today?” he asked, while preparing ramen — the instant noodles mixed with the struggles of capitalism and middle-class life.

“I just miss you,” I mumbled, staring at the sky, trying to mask my emotions with a poker face.

“Haha, miss you too, bro,” he replied, his tone light-hearted. I couldn’t tell if he meant it or if he was just deflecting the truth. The thought of discovering the truth scared me.

“Do you want some ramen?” he asked, pulling me from my thoughts. I gathered myself, both physically and mentally, trying to escape the labyrinth of my mind.

“Sure.”

“Too late, man. I only made one pack, so you’ll have to share.”

“Haha, you just wanted to eat ramen with me from the same bowl anyway,” I joked, even though we both knew we had crossed boundaries many times. Despite our divergent paths, we always seemed to find our way back to each other.

He ventured into the unknown, much like I did. Yet, he seemed comfortable in his wildness, while I was captivated by his presence, finding solace in the silence.

“Why do you like smoking?” he asked, joining me on the balcony.

“I don’t know.”

“Some say they smoke because they’re unhappy. What about you?”

“Well, I’m fine — just a bit depressed.”

An awkward silence followed. My body felt immobilized, like a corpse left for investigation or a paralyzed being in a frozen room of truth.

“Are you trying to be a sadboi right now?” he asked, lightheartedly. Our relationship was complex, and I struggled to decide whether to reveal my true feelings. I finished my cigarette and retreated to the room.

“Just for now. By the way, the ramen is a bit sluggish,” I said, leaving the bowl behind — an anarchist meal mingling with my corpse-like dreams, evoking desire and then death.

“We should hurry then,” he said, as we finished the instant ramen. We sat facing each other like opposing forces — black and white, capitalism and communism, me and him. His gaze pulled me into a different consciousness, and I found myself metaphorically inside his intestines, filled with noodles. I wondered if I could become a little monster disturbing his internal world — at least then, he might remember me.

“So, why did you come here?”

“I already told you — I miss you,” I said, walking away, keeping our friendship close to my heart while escaping the deeper truths of my feelings.

I lit another cigarette as I left.