Yay, I finally stopped being lazy enough to write this chapter! :D (Now, if only I can get the same energetic, motivational boost to complete my assignments...)

Hetalia ain't mine, so I won't get money or fame for this…

As usual, the world conference was in total disarray. One would think that with a meeting of the nations, there have to be actions of complete importance and urgency done within the conference room's walls. What else could be important enough to pull Spain from his tomato garden, Germany from his morning training with Italy, Lietchenstein from her sewing, or Ghana from her soccer games? Surely it could be something like finding cultural unity and restoring humanity so that civilization wouldn't fall? Unfortunately, it is not.

Instead, the dreaded world conference started and dragged on in its predictable pattern: nations erupting in arguments about asinine views like America's burgers versus Italy's pasta or Poland's "kickass" cashmere sweater versus France's "magnifique" silk blouse, nations trying to beat the crap out of each other like Turkey and Greece, or nations trying to take over other nations like Belarus trying to get Russia or Russia trying to get control over the entire world. Nothing argued had any important substance to it that can challenge one's intellect. If one thought about it, there shouldn't be any arguments at all; the nations should be coming together to create solutions to global issues such as the deathly increases of worldly temperatures, horrid genocide, children's starvation, and much more. Yet here they were, faces red with frustration, voices hoarse from yelling, knuckles bruised and bloodied from physical fighting, and Russia cowering from his little sister. Only two nations had enough discretion to remember the purpose of these meetings, and one of them was constantly distracted by the need to protect his smaller, weaker companion from "bullies". That left one nation to mull over what's going on around him.

That nation was Canada, who was sitting at the farthest seat of the table, away from the silly commotion so that he can have enough peace to actually hear his own thoughts. With one hand balancing Kumajirou on his lap and another busily writing quick, neat notes in his idea notebook, Canada was taking quick glances up from his personal pages and shaking his head in frustration and embarrassment. Although he wasn't a man of great confidence and formality, he still found it foolish that the nations would waste precious time and resources acting like centuries-old children and tarnishing their statuses as countries. He rubbed soothing circles in his temple as he imagined a meeting where everyone didn't banter like immature brats, where England didn't try to shove his diarrhea-inducing food down people's throats, where France didn't try to woo every female nation and pretty male nation to get into their pants, where everyone can concentrate long enough to let him share his ideas and solutions. Where everyone didn't deny his existence to the point that he was almost physically transparent. Where his voice would stop failing him long enough so that he could speak up and make himself known, especially for something important like this.

Canada continued listing his ideas in his notebook to distract himself from the situation at hand, but it wasn't working out so well. He can already feel his mind being pulled back into the chaotic scene while he scribbled down a couple of ways to resolve wars in Third World civilizations, a habit that he formed since it was proper etiquette to pay attention in meetings. It was the only thing Canada could do because he could never say anything, really; every time he tried, his voice would just shut down. He didn't know why it would do that so many times considering the fact that his throat wasn't injured or infected; he was even able to talk really well when he was switching between French and English without stumbling on his words. So why was it so difficult for him now? Why was it that whenever Canada had something important to say, he can barely get two words pass his lips, if he was lucky to even get that much say in anything? The urge was there, and it burned like crazy, yet it wasn't a strong enough catalyst to get him to talk.

He glanced up from his notebook again just in time to see England use Norway's technique and choke France with his own tie while America was trying to stop him and it all just came flooding back to him. All those times where he was made insignificant, where his country was basically used as nothing more than a trading route which somehow depleted the number of his original people and depleted his original culture, like America's old situation except it seemed that America was more wanted and fought over than he was, like France and England were willing to put more time, energy, attention, and military resources in order to win America while he himself was just some additional piece to the "big prize". That could've been the time to prove his worth, to prove that he could be just as good as America .

Granted, maybe that would've a bad idea because no nation should want to be fought over in wars and have his or her original way of life completely changed for the worse (if the nation was unlucky enough), but back then, Canada was a young child who wanted to be seen as worthy, and he was able to see how all of those wars America witnessed and lived through changed him into someone loud, someone boisterous, someone bold, someone heroic, someone Canada wanted to be. Even worse, when a war over Canada's land did come, he had no say whatsoever in his dependency status, just like he was immediately silenced every time he tried to established himself more as a strong country instead of another colony. Even now, the world's schoolchildren barely knew his contributions to World War II, and it was just so frustrating!

When Canada pulled out of his reminiscence, the meeting's condition changed. With America able to diffuse the fight between France and England, he managed to grab a majority of the conference members' attention to reintroduce his global warming solution, the silly, childish "Globalman" monster that was supposed to turned the world away from the sun so that it wouldn't get overheated. As ridiculous and repetitive as America's idea was -because he obviously doesn't know that the earth's position was a delicate balance among the sun's orbit, and one tiny reposition could mean the rebirth of the ice age or the earth's imminent launch into the dark universe unknown- some nations were actually agreeing with him! Even Switzerland, after all those times he threatened to beat Japan with his Peace Prize for agreeing with America so quickly, nodded in agreement, most likely because he was just tired of hearing the same thing and just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible and get his sister out of there.

Maple, I'm surrounded by idiots, Canada thought as he rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.

"I'm glad to see that everyone has agreed that this idea will be perfect for destroying that horrible global warming that is killing off our polar bears!" America cheered. "I promise you all that this idea will be awesome once we get our genetic engineers at work!"

"If I may butt in, America," Germany said as he handed Italy some sausages to end his annoying whining, "I have to say that that is the most ludicrous, immature, and downright stupid idea that you have ever said and repeated again and again and again!"

"Well, I don't see anyone else jumping at us with better ideas," America pointed out, crossing his arms and turning his nose up indignantly. "Since you're so eager to shoot down my idea, do you have any of your own you'd like to share? No? Didn't think so…"

"N-no, Germany's…Germany's right!" Canada spoke up softly. He stood up in what he hoped was confidence, clutching his bear tightly to his chest. It was difficult to ignore the curious stares of everyone in the room, but he managed to do so. "I mean, well, uh, you have t-to think about it, America. I-I mean, uh, 'genetically engineer a creature to shelter us from the sun'? America, that'll be more dangerous than the climate danger we are already in!"

"Oh, really? Well, Canadia, tell us your brilliant solutions, then!"

Canada opened his mouth. It was at that time that he was supposed to tell America that his name is Canada, not "Canadia" and share all of the ideas he stored in his leather-bound notebook for years, letting them figuratively collect dust, not just solutions to global warming, but to gender inequality, racial inequality, crimes, failing European economies, and wars, but he didn't. His throat took on that same clogged, constricted feeling that pushed down his voice and his audacious words. His eyes widen in building panic and his clammy, trembling hands held Kumajirou weakly. He could feel his knees shake under him like weak support beams ready to give at any moment. As much as Canada wanted to speak and get some praise and recognition, he wanted to disappear from everyone's view, or maybe go back in time to stop himself from jumping up from his seat like some big idiot.

"U-um, I just…" Canada trailed off. He took a glimpse at France, who smiled at him encouragingly. He remembered what France told him a week ago, the only thing France ever said to Canada that was actually helpful and kind:

"Canada, when will you start speaking up for yourself, my friend? In every meeting, you do nothing but sit there and wait for someone to notice you, and it gets you nowhere. I know you, Canada, and I know that behind those beautiful, pink, pouty, silent lips are words of infinite wisdom and creativity! You should share that, or you'll just do the world an injustice and let opportunities pass you by!"

Canada hugged Kumajirou tighter, squeezing a soft "Eeek!" from the bear. He mumbled to himself, "I-uh, I just don't…"

"Cool idea bro, so can I continue?" America asked. An eyebrow quirked up impatiently.

Canada nodded and sunk back into his seat, burying his face in his bear's fur to avoid the stares of the countries that most likely didn't even know who he was, despite meeting together for decades. He moaned into the fur quietly, trying not to cry like a baby in front of the others and be remembered for that nation who tears up so easily. He definitely didn't want to look at France, who was most likely shaking his head in disappointment. He just wanted to get out of there and go home…

Unlocking the door to his hotel suite, Canada lugged his exhausted body, his briefcase, and Kumajirou into it, tossing his briefcase to the couch and sitting Kumajirou onto the table. He went to close the door and lock it before returning to the living room. He stood in the middle of the room, looking at his surroundings before letting out a soft scream and breaking everything in sight. He let out a stream of quiet obscenities as he tossed vases, fine china, and fruits all over the room and moved to his bedroom. Taking out everything in the miniature refrigerator, he used the food and beverages to coat the walls with his anger.

Where was this energy when he stupidly spoke out of turn and said that he had something to share? Why didn't this robust attitude come for every single meeting where he was sick of fading into the background and having to tuck away his thoughts and voice time and time again? Canada walked back into the living room, looking for something else to destroy. His eyes landed on the briefcase, and when he saw it, the rest of his energy instantly drained from his body and mind. He lazily flopped onto the couch and pulled the notebook out of the briefcase, flipping through the aged pages and smiling sadly to himself, letting the restrained tears finally fall down his cheeks.

Why am I never able to talk when I need to…?

Wow, this may be the longest chapter I've ever written for a character so far. It's always the quiet ones that have the most to say...