Declaration

Mr. K received a letter. The envelope was stamped with an unfamiliar seal, the specific department unclear, only a vague impression of the word "Declaration" showing through. The content of the letter was simple: it requested that he fill out a declaration form and submit it within seven days.

Mr. K was puzzled. He couldn't remember needing to declare anything. But he followed the instructions anyway, and took the form from the envelope. The form was long, densely packed with various items, each item subdivided into countless smaller sub-items, and the sub-items further branching out, like an inverted tree with endlessly extending branches.

He began filling it out from the first item. "Name," "K." This was simple.

The second item, "Occupation." Mr. K hesitated. He was an employee at a company, but he couldn't quite articulate his specific position. He wrote "Employee," and then added in parentheses, "(Specific position unclear)."

The third item, "Matter to be Declared." Mr. K was completely at a loss. He had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to declare. He tried to find clues in the form, but the complicated items were like a maze, drawing him deeper and deeper. He looked up at the clock on the wall; time was ticking away.

He decided to skip this item for now and fill in the following content. But the subsequent items were even more perplexing. "Social relationships of family members," "All consumption records within the past five years," "Life plan for the next ten years"... These questions seemed completely unrelated to the "Matter to be Declared," yet they felt like an invisible net, tightly trapping him.

Mr. K felt a wave of dizziness. He put down the pen and walked to the window, trying to clear his head with the cold air. Outside was a gray sky, and distant high-rises looked like silent giants, looking down on him. He felt an inexplicable sense of oppression, as if he were inside a giant cage.

He returned to the desk and continued filling out the form. He mechanically answered the questions, fabricating answers that even he didn't believe. He felt himself becoming an empty symbol, being mercilessly devoured by this form.

Seven days passed quickly. Mr. K's form was still incomplete. He received a second letter, the content almost identical to the first, only the tone of urgency was more severe. He knew this was an inescapable cycle. He would be forever trapped in this form, filling out those meaningless items, until the end of his life.

He picked up the pen again, and in the "Matter to be Declared" section, he slowly wrote a few words: "Declaring my existence."