I was on my way back from a brief escape to Jogja. Skin a little sunburnt, thoughts loosened just enough to forget how heavy regular days tend to sit on the chest. There is something about being away that makes everything feel suspended. Like life paused just slightly, giving enough space for the mind to breathe. On the ride back, when reality slowly started creeping in again, I needed something to hold that moment in place. So I pressed play on Ariana’s Yes And? remix with Mariah. Chaos never arrives quietly, it always asks for a soundtrack.
Then it came. Mariah’s voice. Soft, but with a firmness that didn’t ask for permission.
“Now, I'm so done with sharing this hypocrisy with you.”
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t demand attention. It just landed. Like glitter drifting through water, settling exactly where it wants to stay. It reminded me of a different kind of clarity — the kind that doesn’t flare up, but instead crystallizes.
Imagine a town. Small. Curated. The kind that looks polished on the surface, like a backdrop built more for image than for life. People walk like they’re being observed. Words are selected for effect, not sincerity. There is a figure in that town, known in passing as The Polished One. They talk like every sentence is an audition. Glossy manners, immaculate poise, the type of tone people applaud without really listening. You watch them. Others nod. You remain still.
But of course, this is just fiction. A setting. A metaphor. Definitely not about real habits people develop when they treat social interaction like a stage. Entirely unrelated. There was a moment when I questioned myself. Maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe politeness really was just politeness. Then Ariana’s voice cut in, clean and unfaltering, like a blade drawing a straight line.
“Say that shit with your chest and be your own best friend.”
It didn’t feel like rebellion. It felt like correction. I started noticing how often I softened my own reactions to make other people more comfortable. How I wrapped discomfort in polite language so no one would accuse me of being too much. Like Hilary Duff in that rain scene in Come Clean, face calm, expression steady, saying everything without raising her voice.
So I tried the Grey Rock Method. Quick background: the term came from a 2012 blog post teaching people how to manage those who feed on emotional reaction. Written in plain language, but the logic was simple; some people are drawn to whatever shines. Anything bright, joyful, or sincere becomes something they want to possess or break, not always to keep it, but to witness the moment you lose it. They envy sparkle. They study it. They wait for an opening. So the advice was direct. Dull yourself in their presence. Do not give them the show. Beauty? Mute it. Reputation? Expect it to be questioned. Assets? Remove them from view. Their joy is not in gaining what you have. Their joy is in watching your expression when it’s gone. The only counter move is not to react. You take away the performance value.
So that was the move. Become visually, emotionally, energetically unremarkable. Like a grey stone by the roadside. Not broken. Just unreadable.
And in that steadiness, something shifted. I started thinking about All Saints in that mid-2000s video — detached, composed, unbothered. Not unfeeling. Just unwilling to provide spectacle. Paris Hilton stepping out of a car, oversized sunglasses on, face unreadable. People call it cold when they are no longer granted access to your expressions. Maybe it isn’t cold. Maybe it’s just peace dressed in something quiet.
Then Mariah returned, voice smooth but merciless.
“Baby, you have been rejected. Go back, no more pretending, bye.”
It did not hurt. It clarified. A refusal to keep giving emotional access to someone who believes your reaction is part of their entertainment. Stillness, I realized, can be louder than accusation. Silence can be a boundary. People assume that not responding means surrender. Sometimes it simply means you have stepped outside their narrative entirely.
Let The Polished One keep performing. A spotlight means nothing if the person you wanted to dazzle is no longer watching.
And yes, to be clear, this is fiction. A town made of metaphor and stage lights. A quiet commentary disguised as imagery. Like those in-world novels written by M in Genshin Impact, truth folded into story so it slides down easier.
Here is where I stand. Sun-warmed. Calm. Wrist still catching light like a reminder. Tongue held not out of fear, but because not everything deserves response. And when the track fades, Ariana leaves one final instruction. Do not get it twisted. I am not putting the glitter away. I am simply choosing who gets to see it. Some people only get the bare minimum shimmer.
I know pressure exists. I know stress bends people. But carrying a heavy load is not a free pass to turn others into emotional landing pads. You do not get to throw your chaos at anyone simply because they are near. Being under pressure does not make cruelty an accident. It makes it a choice.
"Your energy is yours and mine is mine."
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