- less

 I couldn’t comprehend how I had committed such a queer crime, yet, sat in that room, the first thing I thought of was how much they would make me pay. Perhaps they would put me in jail, but then for how many days, or weeks, or even months. If they made me pay, I’d be in debt for years and if they put me in jail, I’d lose my job, if I hadn’t already. Perhaps they would hold an execution ceremony amongst themselves. There was no capital punishment in my country, but then again I had no recollection of the crime of ‘loss of identity’ either. So there still was a high chance of the existence of beheading festivals for officials or some sort of gory ways of punishment that I just wasn’t aware of. 

 

 But they let me go. After declaring what I was guilty of, a police officer took hold of my hand and dragged me out of the airport. When we were out he didn’t throw me on the ground like you’d expect, he didn’t threaten me or even close the doors behind me. I was left alone in the middle of the street with nothing to do, without the slightest warning, having just learned that I was a criminal. 

 

 I have had to live with so many labels throughout my life. Some I had discovered on my own and some were given by ruthless classmates. I had no choice but to learn how to live with labels. Some would be harder to get used to than others and some you’d wish to call yourself for years but no one label would satisfy to define you. I repeated this thought to myself over and over again so I wouldn’t focus on how I was a ‘criminal’ now, I was still so many other things still. Yet as I dwelled on it more I realized most criminals were only known by a single label and it was the one that declared them guilty. No one knew who they really were. If they had jobs or families, anything that could make them stand out amongst the other thousands of criminals. But if I had already lost my identity, I had nothing else to lose in terms of labels. Maybe this meant I would learn to live without them for the first time.

 

 I started my way back home as I kept thinking about being label-less. I didn’t know what else I could do. Where else I could go to and be accepted as a criminal. I felt weightless, like no one knew me and I didn’t know anyone. Before, when I rode the metro I would always feel as if people were watching me. I’d be careful to sit up straight and not lean on one side too much. I’d keep my eyes down to not seem like I was staring at someone for appropriately long. But now I almost felt invisible. Instead of looking down I kept looking around and no one seemed to mind at all. 

 

 I reached my apartment and took out my keys. Though surprisingly they didn’t fit my lock. From time to time my hands would get sweaty or I’d be too drunk to hold the keys right. But this time, despite all my effort, I couldn’t get in. If it was any other day, I’d blame myself for being too clumsy and having the strength of a four year old which would let me down when it came to locks and keys. But today was different. Today, there had to be yet another bizarre reason. It struck me then that I had probably lost all my property along with my identity. Being nameless came with being homeless and jobless. Had I lost my friends and family too, I couldn’t tell because I practically had no one here anyway. My only belongings now were the clothes I was wearing and one broken cell phone that I didn’t even have the money to pay for anymore.

 

 I sat down on the stairs in front of my apartment. I had never sat on these stairs before, they would get dust all over them and my allergies were really bad. I had never thought of how I could find something to eat cash-less either. I had never not been Alice... or I thought I hadn’t.