A Young Woman Came Seeking Help
I wasn't sure why—but there were balloons trailing behind the young woman as she walked in, each one filled with a variety of objects: a utility bill, a research paper plastered with sticky notes, half-sewn pants… unfolded clothes and bedsheets.
"Thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice. I'm Jen. Jenifer," she said cheerfully, completely ignoring a balloon full of trash bags hovering just above her head. It was slowly sinking but floated up again whenever she moved her head.
I was puzzled but did my best to keep my attention on Jen.
Then she began to explain her problem:
These balloons appear whenever she wants to "deal with something later," and they don't disappear until she completes the task.
The contents inside aren't symbolic—they're real objects Jen stuffed in herself. (Yes, those are actual trash bags. I still don't understand why she doesn't just throw them out…)
Sometimes, strange spherical blobs appear over her head. Unlike the balloons, these don't last long. They usually vanish with loud noises or messy splashes.
Other people can see the balloons, but they can't touch them. The blobs, however, can be touched—and some people have even gotten hurt by them.
It was another unprecedented case. Truly fascinating.
I called up my assistant, An, and we went with Jen to her apartment to observe her daily life.
On the way, her balloons—tethered by strings—were crammed outside the car, causing severe wind resistance. A 3km drive took thirty minutes. Jen added, "I usually have to walk. Once, I tried biking because I was late, and a gust of wind from all the balloons blew me off. Luckily, I've got sturdy bones… I was really late that day though."
At her apartment building, I noticed a row of garbage bins. I asked if she could just throw the trash bags away. Jen blinked, then tugged and tugged at the balloon string until the bag hit the bin. As soon as she let go, the balloon burst with a loud pop and disappeared. "The longer I drag things out, the louder the sound," Jen explained. The garbage smelled awful.
We reached her mailbox next. Jen's was stuffed so full it was ready to explode. Curious, I reached out to touch it—only for Jen to shout "NO!" But it was too late. A new balloon formed right out of the box, carrying a load of letters.
"I'm so sorry..." I apologized.
"It's fine," Jen sighed. "It had to be dealt with anyway."
We finally arrived at her apartment. Strangely, it was neat—spotless, even. But that made sense: all her belongings were in balloons.
"How do you sleep?" An asked.
"I just take things out," Jen said, reaching into a balloon and pulling out a bedsheet. This one popped with a soft sound.
After a few minutes, the balloons all started drifting inside, filling up the room until it was incredibly cramped again.
"Alright, let's start tidying," I suggested.
"But I called you because I don't want to tidy," Jen protested.
"If we don't clean up, I won't be able to analyze the system. I can't treat what I don't understand," I replied.
Jen reluctantly agreed.
We began organizing.
We found a very small balloon with shrunken books inside. "What's this?" I asked.
"Oh, those are books I meant to finish years ago. The balloons shrink as I forget about them," Jen replied, pulling one out. It immediately returned to normal size.
"I see," I said. "There's still a lot to learn about this system."
"I don't have time to read now," Jen muttered, placing the book back. The balloon shrank a little more.
"Let's tackle the big ones next," I said, pointing at the huge balloon holding a duvet cover. That's when I noticed Jen's bed was bare.
"It's fine. I've only been sleeping without the cover for a week. Still clean enough," Jen said with a grin, pulling out the sheet. BANG! The balloon exploded.
So the longer it waits, the louder it pops, I theorized.
"What's with the toothbrush?" An asked.
"I lost the charger, so I've just been using it like a normal one," Jen explained.
"Let's find it, then." I rolled up my sleeves and searched around.
Suddenly, I pressed something.
Beep.
Then, shockingly—every balloon popped.
Everything spilled out into the room.
Jen looked like she passed out for a few seconds.
We continued cleaning. Without the balloons, it turned into regular tidying.
Eventually, we finished.
Then the phone rang.
Jen picked up. Immediately, tiny bubbles appeared over her head—not soap bubbles, more like the kind that come up in boiling water.
Her face flushed red. "I need to go home. They've messed up my farm," she said in an eerily calm voice. The redness faded as the bubbles popped one by one.
I gathered my notes and asked, "Ms. Jenifer, would you like to understand your Aves ability?"
She was still packing. "Of course. But I really need to leave now. Maybe next time—"
"What if I could tell you right now?"
She paused. "Really?" Her eyes widened with hope.
"Your ability lets you encapsulate tasks into bubbles—until you complete them. That part, you already know. What I'm telling you is why you can't do the tasks right away: you're lacking something critical."
"Lacking what?" Jen asked.
"Motivation. And your motivation... is leaking away." I pointed to her head.
She looked at her reflection. "Here?"
"Yes. Try finishing that suitcase."
She did. The moment she zipped it up, it floated into the air, encased in a new transparent bubble.
"You don't want to go home anymore, do you?" I asked.
Jen paused—then nodded slowly.
"Your motivation just bubbled out and vanished," I said. "Let's test something. What exactly made you decide to go home earlier?"
Jen hesitated.
"Be specific," I encouraged. I gently moved the suitcase bubble back over her head.
Tiny boiling bubbles emerged again, floating from her head into the suitcase bubble.
Staring into the mirror, Jen burst into tears.
"I… I understand now. Thank you. I'll mail the payment check on Monday. Really—thank you so much!"