Prologue: In Medias Res
There is but one question that ceases to leave Cassie’s mind. “Who am I?”
It’s a bias, really, part of the devil’s play to distort her self-esteem. The natural skeptic, who never stops questioning her existential self and her place in the moving world around her, tends to lose confidence in me many, many more times than I can count.
But that’s not the reason why I want to tell you her story.
You see, out of the seven billion people in this world, I chose to endow her with the power to read my mind. All-access connection, 24/7.
But it’s her will to put the power to good use, or otherwise.
So let me begin with revealing that the missing girl holds an ocean-deep of secrets. Out of the many, she never fails to enthrall people around her without her knowledge of it. Whether she’s aware of it or not, for as long as she’s curious and/or concerned about a person, place, or thing, she will be without any idea, or care, about what other people think of her image.
“Adulthood = Commitment unto death,” she once sentenced herself on her diary.
This is just the beginning, and there are plenty more things I‘d like to share both about this budding twentysomething journalist, as well as the brave, fast-paced new world she witnesses in her daily life. Mostly constrained by her tiger mother and largely pushed by her perceived responsibility as the figurehead of the family, she decided to tell others’ stories instead of lamenting on her own sorrows (though, as you will see, most of the time she still wastes chunks of her time doing so).
“But mom, dad, this is my responsibility. I feel fulfilled because I’ve made a commitment to make a social impact before I leave this world,” she went on, carefully picking her words on each breath.
“Don’t. Don’t you dare start your little pity party again.”
With that, Mrs. Cross stormed out of her door, followed by Mr. Cross who, for a brief moment before stepping out of the threshold, glanced back at his daughter’s face with a solemn sigh. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
And he slammed the door shut.
Cassie held still on her desk chair, then slowly summoned up the towering walls of her soul once more. There, she began her loud, serious typing.
On a lovely lunch date with Debonair, actress and philanthropist Angelina Jolie talks truth, beauty, and love, writes Cassie Cross.
P.S. If there’s one thing she doesn’t know, is the fact that I am sharing this diary to the public. Don’t tell her I do.