Nail Polish

After wrapping up the invoices, my eyes drift down to my hands resting on the keyboard.
On my slightly dry skin is the nail polish I applied three days ago.
A simple, translucent shell pink that gives a beautiful wash of color with just a single coat.
As I admire my fingertips—glossy as if drizzled with syrup—I can feel my tired heart soften a little.
Even if it isn't glamorous, simply having hands that look beautiful brings me a quiet sense of peace.

At my workplace, bold colors and glitter were simply understood to be inappropriate.
It wasn't written anywhere in the employee handbook, but there was always that unspoken pressure: You know what's acceptable, don't you?
Once, a new hire came to work wearing glittery nail polish. During lunch, our female supervisor quietly called her into the office.

That was enough to make the rest of us think twice.

So my nail polish collection consisted almost entirely of soft shades of pink.
For a while, I would repaint my nails in my favorite colors every Friday night.
But after a few years at the company, I stopped making time for it.
One day, I noticed that the bright polishes I'd once loved had dried solid in their bottles.
 After that, I never bought another bold color.

When I notice the polish chipped at the edge of my thumbnail, I think to myself, I really need to repaint them.

Once I'd decided to leave, saying it out loud came far more easily than I'd expected.
Clearing my desk. Transferring files.Deleting the ones I no longer needed.
I still remember how erasing the traces of myself, one by one, felt both lonely and strangely liberating.
After a whirlwind of handovers, all that remained was using up my paid leave.
On my final day, I made my rounds to say goodbye to everyone.

One of the colleagues I occasionally had lunch with handed me a small white shopping bag from a famous luxury brand.
When I opened the camellia-embossed bag, I found a bottle of nail polish, still nestled inside its little box.
It was the most breathtaking shade of vibrant fuchsia pink.
I fell in love with it instantly.
How long had it been since I'd owned a color so bold?

"I think it'll suit you," she said casually, as if it were nothing at all, before quietly walking away.

Years have passed since then, and my nail polish collection now looks like a box of colored pencils, overflowing with every color imaginable.
Brick red. Yellow. A muted sky blue. Glittering pink.
And, of course, that fuchsia pink is still there.
Whenever I feel nervous before an important moment, I wear it like a lucky charm.
That vivid pink always feels as though it's gently placing a hand on my back, whispering:

"Don't look back to that world anymore. You belong here now. Keep moving forward."