One day, a patient—a twelve-year-old Japanese girl—passed away in the hospital ward. She was very cute and would attempt to call him “Big brother” in awkward Chinese, then cover her mouth and smile at him.
After the girl’s death, he sat by her bed until late at night, feeling exhausted. He wanted someone to accompany him but wasn’t sure whom to find. He paused for a long time outside a door, knowing it was inappropriate to knock on a girl’s door so late.
Nonetheless, he rang her doorbell. She quickly opened the door, wearing a thin nightgown and rubbing her innocent eyes.
“I say, it’s so late, are you treating me like a daughter?” She pouted yet smiled radiantly.
In that moment, he suddenly wanted to hug her.
He felt an impulse to reach out and grab her, to keep her close, where she would bring him a towel and cook noodles for him.
Glancing at her soft pink sheets and crumpled blanket, he imagined how cozy it must be to sleep there. He believed his desire to break free stemmed from too much confinement.
Then came the rainy day he went to pick her up. While sitting in the car, he saw another man grab her hand and wrap his arm around her waist; she didn’t resist. Intense anger surged within him, a desire to pry the man’s hand away and hold her himself.
In that moment, he realized he had fallen in love. Her rain-soaked body awakened his primal desires—to press her beneath him and hear her soft moans. Yet, he knew he couldn’t love anyone; he lacked the freedom to do so.
He struggled, and on a stormy night, she cried, “You’re putting me in heaven and hell.” He felt the same, one foot in heaven and one foot in hell. From the beginning, he understood he would hurt her.
He craved that unbridled passion so intensely that he felt only by holding her could he possess true freedom.
He couldn’t break through his shackles and became more entangled instead.
