The World Only We Exist
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The story follows two perspectives: The popstar Anya Moore and the disliked and unknown rockstar Sadie Ozoa. Both of them live different lives that they wish to change, and it happened the moment they bumped into each other when they made wrong decisions that one unfaithful night. Although strangers, they thought the unexpected: run as far away from the situation that could have led to their wishes. They don’t know how they ended up walking together and they don’t know why. But all they want to do is to escape from the environment they were surrounded by. Anya and Sadie thought they would be distant but with every step they took, they started to know so much about each other and what they have one thing in common: they hated how the world has become. They then thought what if they rebuild Earth where it is all ruled by only the two of them and make it a reality? As they go on the journey to create their own world, Anya sees that Sadie is more than an outcast and Sadie sees that Anya is more than just a star--they are each other’s world. But with the world that is against their odds, will they be able to show their truth? It wasn't until Anya's wealthy mother found a way to separate each other--for good. And this is where Anya opens her eyes wide to the reality that she was only happy when she was with Sadie. And she tries anything in her power to show her true self, all thanks to Sadie.
My surroundings are so dim that I can't even see my feet. Besides my heart racing, I can hear voices from every corner, chanting my name in syllables.
The darkness is replaced by a thousand spotlights, and I can finally see my feet wearing those pink glittery heels my mom bought me before the show and the pleated skirt of my pink and black split-colored dress. A familiar tune started playing, and the chants grew louder.
It's time, Anya, I told myself. You can do this.
I managed to look up due to my heavy big blonde wig. Thousands of people filled the stadium, screaming my name and how much they loved me. I want to shout it back at them, but my line is about to start, so instead, I just put on a little smirk and started singing.
The crowd went wild when I sang the first part. I swayed my body with the music and moved to different corners of the stage for each of them to see me. As soon as the chorus hit, the crowds sang along with me.
This is who I am
This is who I am
You cannot change me
This is who I wanna be
What an irony, I thought. This is not what I want—this is not me. But I have to keep going.
This is who I am
This is who I am
I will always stay true to myself
And be me
After that, backup dancers entered from each side of the stage wearing high-waisted panties and half-cup bras, both with different pink and black patterns so they would match my short-sleeved and collared latex dress. As the beat hit, we started dancing. My fans then started screaming, some my name and some just aah~ while waving their merch, flags, and signs.
Seeing my fans enjoying my performance made me happy, but I can't get over how heartbreaking it feels that I am lying to them. I'm singing a song about being myself while pretending to be someone else. As much as I hate it, I have to keep going. Aniya,—I thought to myself, again—you will get through this.
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The show has come to an end—at last. The backup dancers, make-up artists, and the rest of the staff decided that we should celebrate the success of the world tour and congratulate ourselves for the hard work we put in to make this show awesome. This is something I did not expect—reaching new heights, performing on stage, and becoming a worldwide hit artist with a sold-out concert?! This is my massive dream!
Except this is not me, nor what I wanted.
I thank the staff for being such sweethearts before heading out of the back door. Opening the door slightly, I can hear roars and screams from outside. Though I couldn't see what was happening because of the backs of two large and buff bodyguards blocking the view. I do not mind it because I've been doing this for years. I stepped outside and closed the door. Although I'm still facing the door, I can see the lights flash so bright and quick that I'm afraid I may have a seizure if I turn around. But still, I turn around. The two bodyguards that once blocked my way now stand beside me, and now I see crowds of paparazzi and fans waiting for me to show up; most have their phones ready to take pictures. Although exhausted, I flash my brightest smile because they love this character I am showing. And I am an entertainer. Therefore, I should give them what they want.
I carefully moved forward as my head moved from left to right. The whole sidewalk is almost filled. It feels like I'm Moses in the sea of people, where the red carpet in between them is the only thing parting it. I can hear their screams growing louder and louder with every step. I am looking straightforward, trying to ignore the non-VIPs who are struggling to reach their merch out to me due to the barricade and other bodyguards blocking their way. I can hear the clicks of the cameras and my fans saying things like "Anya, I love you~!" or sometimes with curses, "Gosh Anya, I fucking love you!" everywhere. I thought of turning my head and saying them back, but before the words left my mouth, the bodyguard to my right stopped me.
"It's the queen's orders, princess." Uck! The way he called me a princess. My emotions must've been painted on my face because the same bodyguard stated: "It's for your safety, ma'am. She just doesn't want you to get hurt."
My ass! If only I could punch him, though I doubt I could hurt the man; he'll probably stay standing like a statue. Besides, he is right--he's just doing whatever he was told to do.
The end of the carpet led me to a pearly white limousine, which was not like the very fancy and expensive one like the Ferrari we had in America. It is more like the one they use at weddings, which I'm not complaining about- a simple Toyota car could work. The bodyguard to my left opened the door to the car. I turned around and stared at my loyal fans one more time. Seeing their faces lit up and screaming, " I love yous, " made my smile shine brighter. I opened my mouth to say something, but again, the bodyguard on my right pushed me inside the vehicle a little too hard that I stumbled a bit. I glared at him, and he let out a soft sorry. I finally stepped in and sat on the long black chair near the door. The two guards then rode after; their heavy weight caused the vehicle to sink and shake slightly.
I've been looking through the window since sitting down, watching tons of my fans waving and screaming outside the limo. Although they struggle at the hands of enormous beasts, they still have the biggest grin. I smiled sadly. I guess they are just like me too.
"You don't have to look dramatic," I look up at the familiar voice sitting on another long chair opposite me. "There are no cameras." She said this like she was a British woman with a sweet angelic voice.
"That's not what I was doing-"
"Well, you're pretending like you're in a music video!" She says as she pulls out a pressed powder and dabs the powder puff on the foundation to her face. I can feel the car drive off, and the fans' squeals slowly fade.
I can feel my face turn sour but try to hold myself back. "Not all I do is for my career, mom-"
"Hush, my child. I'm trying to focus." She's now putting eyeshadow on her eyelid, still holding up the pressed powder to use its mirror. After using the eyeshadow, she places them on a long dark oak table. She then picks the lipstick up from the table and presses it on her lips. She noticed that I was staring at her. "Oh honey, it's alright--I know I'm beautiful." She says in confidence--too much, I'll say.
I rolled my eyes in annoyance and turned my focus back to the sidewalks and buildings. I shouldn't have given attention to an attention-seeker. Now I'm unsure if I should be proud of hiding my sneer expression.
Honestly, I never wanna be a pop sensation. Although I performed with many other pop artists, I won't say it was the best experience for me. I want to be in a band--as in a rock band. I want to write songs about being gloomy and angry and how to fight against the evils in the world. Just be a badass, but for a good cause, you know? Because rock is not always sad and 'emo.' rock is empowerment. It's all about standing up although you're already beaten down, fighting although they gave you a million scars. It's about not giving up and not giving a shit while doing so. I've written songs about my most profound and sincere thoughts that I soon want to let out in this world, but there is just one problem: my mom.
My fans always tell me I have a cool mom, and I convinced them and the media that she is. But this was all part of her plan.
After finding my songbook, she told me she'd make my dreams 'come true.' I was excited as a 12-year-old. But as I grew up, I realized that these dreams were not meant for me.
My mom is rich and has a lot of friends from different fields, so she called those connected to the music industry and signed me a contract. When I saw the studio, I thought, 'This is it. My dreams are finally coming true. But then they told me to write something different. I should write a song about happiness and love because "No one will ever listen to a song so gloomy and dark--it will just make them hate the world we live in," and so I did. My mom, along with some people I work with, kept ordering me what to do, and being so young then, I obeyed, trying to be a good daughter. I'm living in a dream, but not mine.
"So," I said, still staring at the window. "You still let people call you 'Queen?'" I hear her laugh, sweet and soft in the ears, but when I turn to look, there is a slight smirk if you just look a bit closer. "And you also keep doing that posh voice?"
"Oh honey," she laid her eyelash curler on the table softly with the other cosmetics she had.
"Mom, there are no cameras anymore. You can stop now." Since I can't let her see me roll my eyes, I let my tone show a slight annoyance, half wishing she could get pissed off.
"Honey, it's not an act. It's just what I have got used to." Yeah, mom, posh English in America? "Anyways," she changed the subject quickly. Instead of listening, I sigh and stare at the window, showing me a few street lights and trees that are almost camouflaged in the dark. "Ani~" she cooed, but I ignored her, too tired to care. I'm just waiting for what she's gonna say next. "Aww~ Anya's really tired at the moment, Companyans~" I look back at mom, and she's holding her pink gold iPhone Xs up. Its 'eyes' felt like it's glaring at me. "So you all can just talk to me while I let my daughter sleep in preparation for the concert on friday~" I assume the camera is back to her now because she was smiling as she was saying this. She pointed at the phone and winked. "See you soon~" Then she dropped her right hand, where the phone was, on her lap.
"Is that live?"
"No," she said while looking at her screen and tapping around it. "It's just for my Instagram story."
"Then cut me out of it."
"But baby~ You cannot delete a part of an Instagram story~" I rolled my eyes in annoyance. "And also-" she faced her phone to me and showed her stories of me just staring in the distance for a few minutes. Some are just pictures, and some are videos with captions only she thinks it's funny--damn, I forgot I'm still wearing this stupid wig. I check the views, and it has already reached millions. "Oh, sorry, honey~ I should've asked for your permission. But it's alright because I'm your mother, right?" I just rolled my eyes many times already. "And there's a bright side of this anyways! Your fans are commenting that you look stunning! And they also can't wait to see you again on Friday!"
"What's the occasion on Friday?" I have to ask. I don't care if I finally laid my full attention on her because I have to know what's coming for me.
"Silly!" She giggled as if I was dumb. But then she stops when she realized I have no idea what is about to happen. "Seriously?The second day of the concert!"
"Second day?!" I cannot hold my anger anymore. "What do you mean-"
"Concert was sold out tonight." She said as she finally stared straight at me as well. "There are more fans who wanted to go but didn't because there are no more tickets! So then we are giving them a chance!" She is wearing a huge grin, more extensive than she had a while ago, while confusion is still glued to mine. "So your sched' starts at 8 in the morning, you'll be gym-ing. 12 Noon is the practice up to 3 then 2 hours of rest and more training since many new things are added to your show. The same thing goes for Friday, except I will give you one-hour rest before it's showtime at 6 pm!" She raised her arms and waved her fingers while putting it down like those magicians on tv where there's a sparkling effect on their hands, and I, as a kid, believed that the sparkles were one of his tricks.
Though instead of being sparked with excitement, my anger started rising. I can feel my blood rushing through my veins. "Mom, I'm tired. My head hurts! Everything hurts! Recording, fan-signing events, world tours, and another concert here?! I just finished! I thought we'd take a vacation here?"
"Honey~" She scooted a little farther from the seat and leaned closer, her arms resting on her thighs. "That's what happens when people reach success!"
This caught her off guard. She never expected the word to leave my mouth again, which felt good. "I'm fucking tired--my head and body hurt! Just in case your ears did not hear me from your dangling earrings and the money shoved down that earhole! I need my fucking rest, mom!"
"Don't say those!" She whispered-scream at me. "The driver can hear us, and our bodyguards are right there!"--I look in the direction she nods to, and there I see our big guys sitting in a two-seat facing our direction. They are on their phones watching some cute cat videos on a loudspeaker and not listening to us whatsoever--"They might tell the news that you are disrespecting me! Your mother!"
I calmed myself down a little, but my anger still lingers. "I'm not being rude to you, mom. I'm just saying I am tired-"
"NO!" She lost the posh voice and returned to her Filipino accent, finally showing her true colors. In the corner of my eye, I caught the guards startled by my mom raising her voice, but they refused to look up, and the meow sounds kept playing on their phones. "You cussed at your mom, and that is bad!" She leaned into the table and pointed at me with her finger and her ice-breaking glare. "If they found out about this, you'll be gone, and the people will hate you--forever!"
I stared at my mom with the same anger in my eyes, but then everything she told me came replaying in my head: You'll be gone, people will hate you, you will never achieve this success if it wasn't for me, you are nothing, I turned you into something. You will never be loved that way.
Shit, even the past kept coming back. I shift myself back to reality, seeing my mom's evil eyes watching as my guard starts backing down. Her words and her gaze work together to take every inch of my truth and turn my life back into a lie again. "I-I'm sorry, mom" I gave up, my head hung low.
I watched as her hidden smirk turned into a soft, fake smile. "It's alright, honey." There comes her fake posh again. The limo went to a stop in front of the traffic light. My mom stood, her body leaning down. Since her 5-inch heel made her a bit taller, she went around the table and sat beside me. The car then started moving again. She holds my hand, which's resting on my lap. "You know I cared for you~" then she hugs me with one arm. I can feel the warmth of her body passing through me and my heart. This made me look up. Maybe she did care for me. Maybe she did love me. But the words left in her mouth next lost the spark of hope for me. "So~? Will you do the concert?"
I looked at her, defeated and about to cry, but I managed to let out a smile "Yeah." I said quietly.
She squeals a yay and starts telling me about what she planned for my next concert here in the Philippines, but everything seems to become a blur.
She turned my dreams into hers. She sugar-coated every part of my art the way she always did with her voice to make her sound younger. She took my colors in order to shine brighter than me. I always wonder whether she cares for me because of me or because of what I have accomplished?
I knew I should've listened to my sisters on that day.
At 20, there are things that I knew about life: It's that nothing lasts forever. When there's a sun, there's a moon. In life, there's death, and prosperity comes with misfortune. Like Hansel and Gretel finding a gingerbread house filled with sweets, they thought they had it all until a witch came up and cooked them. The story just taught us that luck does not last forever; it always comes with a consequence.
I learned that right after you found happiness, and it made you too happy, the universe takes it away from you. Like when you're watching too much Netflix, you forget that it was just a month-free trial, so you have to pay for the next time.
Happiness has prices, and everything will suddenly turn into nothing.
Because who says you can stay happy in life?
Maybe that's why it felt so surreal when I found out I was going to be famous--because people will take a part of it from you after you enjoy it. This is where I realized this is just a fantasy, and fantasies are not real.
I felt the car turn slowly as I watched the beautiful city lights of Manila now glaring through the dancing trees. I wonder if those lights will fade once they find out who I really am, and all this time, this is not what I want to be.
Will the city lights turn into a lone forest? Will I just watch the trees dance with the wind? Should I just let the wind take the voice away, or is it better to let out my voice although the lights will fade?
Then, I lost sight of the city. We are going through a dark road with dim street lights being 5 meters apart from each other. I don't see the town anymore, and it's just trees. Although there's light, it still looks dark...Is this what loneliness feels like? If it is, then I don't want to be alone. I must make sure to keep the stage lights open,
Although the show is just a play.
It's dark--because my eyes are closed.
I am lying down on my bed the same way I usually do when I'm not sleeping: on my back, head hanging on the other side of the bed, while on the other end, I let my feet scrape on the soft light brown carpet that covered the whole floor.
I may not see anything, though I can hear the songs on my playlist, ranging from My Chemical Romance to The Paper Kites. Now, I'm listening to Turns Within Me Turns Without Me. This suddenly triggers my mind, and finally, I am starting to see something.
My mom and my sister--flashbacks from the past. The portrait of eight-year-old me with them and dad, showing off our widest grin. Until dad was cropped out of the picture and replaced us with another family. My mom was left hopeless in love and life, but she's still trying to keep things together. Maybe it's because she still has my sister and me. I could say that my mom and I are pre
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