neo

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what if there was someone who lacked discipline when it came to cleaning his room, keeping his house in order, but when it came to the outside world, this guy was completely disciplined? He wouldn’t drink or smoke during the day. In fact, during the day, he looks like any other person. He functions normally. You’d never guess the kind of person he becomes at night.
At night, though — he doesn’t sleep. He smokes, he drinks, he gets wasted. He’s someone who seems to live in two worlds, one of control in the light and one of chaos in the dark. But what’s even more interesting is how, despite everything, he manages to handle things like he's some kind of underling for a very powerful crime gang. We’re talking big names here, the kind of people most would never dare to cross. And somehow, they seem to like his work. He doesn’t handle the bloodshed, but he does the negotiations, the things people fear him for, and they trust him. He’s clean, and people are scared of him, but he’s never had blood on his hands. He keeps everything businesslike, quiet, controlled.
Another thing that’s striking is his appearance. This guy has the healthiest face and body you could imagine. I asked him how that was possible, given that he doesn’t sleep at night and indulges in all kinds of substances. His answer? “I eat healthy in the day.” That’s it. But it’s like he’s got some secret — an ability to balance the chaos of his nights with the routine of the days. It’s bizarre. He looks like he’s in peak condition, but he’s living a double life.
But then, there’s the other side of him. His house is a mess. A real mess. He has no furniture except for a mattress on the floor. But it’s not a normal mess. The room is filled with thousands of shampoo bottles, body wash containers, and other things just littered around, piled up all over. The bathroom, too, it’s not clean at all — things are scattered everywhere. Yet, the weird thing is, he doesn’t seem to care. He doesn’t clean up. But there’s something deliberate about it — a strange sense of order to the chaos. It’s as if he’s living in the mess by choice, not out of neglect, but because that’s his world.
And another thing that might surprise people is his clothing choices. You’d think that someone like him, living in such a chaotic space, would dress in some kind of disheveled way. But no. He has like a hundred pairs of pants hanging on the door. They’re all black or some shade of dark color, neatly hanging there in rows, almost like they’ve been placed there with intention. It’s such a contrast to the rest of the room, but it fits somehow. Even though his space is messy, his clothing is one area where he chooses control, with everything hanging perfectly in place.
I spent time with him, observed him closely, and he’s different. I don’t fully understand him, but I know there’s something about him that sets him apart. He’s not just a regular guy — he’s got this complex rhythm to his life that doesn’t make sense on the surface but kind of clicks when you stop and think about it. His room is a reflection of this, too — messy but somehow controlled chaos.
His behavior — especially at night — is what gets to me. He drinks heavily, smokes like it’s his way of staying awake, and just exists in the quiet of the night. He doesn’t sleep. And when I asked him why, he just said, “I don’t have family.” That’s all. No further explanation. But you can read it in his face — it's not sadness, it’s more like acceptance. This is who he is, and he’s fine with it. No need to explain it to anyone.
But even then, there are small things that make me curious about him — like the old newspapers scattered around his room. There are dozens of them, all from the previous year, and he keeps picking them up, reading them randomly. I once asked him, “Why do you keep reading old papers?” His response? “I bought them.” Simple as that. He bought them, and now he reads them. No deeper meaning, no mystery — just the act of owning something and doing what you do with it.
Then there’s the water. Two large jugs of water, always full, always in the corner of his room. Does he drink them? I’m not sure. But they sit there, full and ready, as if waiting for something. I can’t figure it out — it’s just another piece of the puzzle that doesn’t quite add up. It’s one of those things that makes me think he’s got this whole life he’s built for himself, and I’m only getting a fraction of it.
The cigarette packets are another thing. They’re just scattered around, randomly packed, half-open, like someone just tossed them around without any real care. But it doesn’t feel messy. It feels arranged in its own odd way. Like someone deliberately tried to make it look like a mess, but the mess was still part of the plan.
And the radio. It’s always on, playing softly in the background. There’s something about it that feels constant — like the radio is background noise that’s just part of the atmosphere, keeping everything grounded while the chaos of his nights plays out.
One thing that I can’t help but think is that he’s not broken. He’s not some tragic figure who’s lost control. No, he’s too in control of himself. He’s mastered this balance between two worlds, and somehow, he’s made peace with it. But I can’t help but wonder what goes on in his head when the world’s asleep and he’s just sitting there in the silence. What’s he thinking about, really?
One night, I was sitting with him, just watching him do his thing, and I couldn’t help but ask again, “What do you do when you’re alone?” He just looked at me and shrugged, “Nothing. I just exist.”
Maybe that’s the answer — or maybe it’s not. But whatever it is, it keeps me thinking.