Shower Secrets
Do you ever wonder why people take such a long time in the shower?
I always think about it. I think… Some just want to unwind after a long and tiring day. They take their time, slowly moving their limbs. Some are exhausted; they stare at their reflections, wondering when those lines of fatigue running along crevices in their faces appeared. Some look at themselves in the mirror, playing back conversations and occurrences that happened in their day. They demand answers from their reflections, asking if they really meant the things they had said during the day’s meeting – “I fully agree with what you mentioned, we have to proceed cautiously from here; it’s trade secrets, you know, can’t be too careless” – whether they were the persons they pretended to be.
Some people masturbate. Some are jerking off. They touch themselves in the most intimate of ways, with the sounds of running water masking their gasps and grunts.
A couple of people have the luxury of a bathtub. They unleash their inner hedonist and soak in bubbles. And more bubbles. Fruit-scented bath bubbles. Lavender. Vanilla. The whole lot. Some relax in the tub and zone out. Others hold their breath under the water and anticipate the moment they run out of oxygen and start to panic, because it’s the only time they can actually feel a tinge of emotion.
Some people are simply meticulous. They rub underneath their armpits, get behind their ears and scrub in between their toes. Step one is the sensuous, luxurious body wash that is foam-free, cleans well yet is gentle and calming for the skin. Step two is the exfoliating scrub that contains salt and adzuki beans from Japan. Step three is body lotion. The richest and most moisturising body lotion that you can find.
So why do people take such a long time in the shower?
Personally, I’d like to think that they’re crying. I would like to think that they spend this private moment crying. Naked, they step into the shower and begin their routine of squeezing sulfate-free shampoo onto their dampened hair. Suddenly, something in them tears. Something tears, paper-thin, then it splits into a deep chasm, and their chest starts hurting so badly, as if it had been smashed by a demolition ball. Tears start to trickle down your cheeks, swirling in with the soap and dirty water. The silent sobs come in huge waves, you take in gaping breaths, and violent shudders rack your body. Throughout this poignant, fragile and emotional display (while there is no audience, it is a display. It is a display for yourself, because you need it as a display for yourself, to let yourself know that it is alright to cry; it is okay to feel such incredible pain and to express such fragility), you seem to still be able to carry out what you had stepped into the shower to fundamentally do: wash and cleanse yourself.
I’d like to think that people are crying when they take a long time in the shower. It’s when they’re in their bare skin, at their purest and most fragile, when they feel most vulnerable and most comfortable to express their vulnerability. The water is a blanket that envelops their suffering and glides over their body, washing their salty tears and intense pain away. They’re hurting at this moment, but it’s their moment to keep hidden. It’s their private moment. And they find comfort in that.
I’d like to think that people are crying when they take a long time in the shower. But it’s something that I will never know, because when they step out of their washroom, with a towel wrapped around their damp body, their appearance gives nothing away. Their shower secret will be theirs to keep.
Labels: musings, thoughts, type
