I walked in the black room, unsure of what I was going to do.

The room was dark, illuminated only by a small light bulb at the very center of the ceiling. Nothing was inside the room except for a tall round table draped with white tulle. Sitting lonely at the center of table was an old-fashioned telephone.

“Is this working?” I muttered to myself. I looked around for instructions but all I saw around the room were black curtains. I knew behind them were hidden cameras watching every move I make. And I felt frustrated knowing as the clock ticks by, I was becoming more and more idiotic here.

I was about to try if the telephone was working when it rang. I picked it up and slowly placed it next to my ear. “Hello?”

“Oh, why didn’t they tell me she is a foreigner?” someone answered. Looks like I was not the only one who was being ridiculed here. He, then, started to speak in english. “Hello.”

A smile crept on my face. I started to get a feeling that this one knew how to talk well—in english for this matter. But I needed to be sure, “Oh, you can speak in english.”

“Ah, yeah… yes. I know english quite well but I’m not really that fluent.”  His tone has a bearable Korean accent but a lot better than most of the Koreans when it comes in speaking english.

“Yeah, I know. People here in Seoul have difficulty in speaking in that language. But I’m glad you know how to,” I said and fought back a laugh. He would have the luxury of scratching head later when he learns that I can speak in hangul.

“Yes. Please be patient with me.”

“Not to worry. I should be the one asking you for patience. I’m not that acquainted with Korean customs,” I replied. Although I know some practices and habits of Koreans (especially having conversations with the elderly), I was not familiar with their dating norms. I just hoped he was not into couple shirts.

I detected a hint of concern in his voice when he said, “I hope we work well together.”

“Me, too.”

“So are you ready?” he asked after a short awkward pause.

On what? “Marrying you?” I bit my lip. Even hearing it with my own ears, it sounded too humiliating. I just laughed to cover my embarrassment.

He chuckled softly. “On meeting me first.”

“Oh,” I gulped. “Yeah, sure.”

After hanging the phone up, I let out deep sigh.

“This is going to be fun,” I convinced myself. At least I tried to.

oo000OOO000oo

I got a text message from the producers of We Got Married that I had to go to the other room. It turned out that the black curtains were also hiding a door apart from cameras. But even before I could go and find the hidden door, a man entered the room.

He was dressed in a light brown sweater and denim pants. His hair was dyed cool dark brown and styled majestically. I couldn’t believe Cho Kyuhyun was right in front of me.

“Hello,” he said. “I’m Cho Kyuhyun.”

I tried to compose my face and answered, “Hello, I’m Quinn Lee.” We shook hands and bowed to each other. If I was myself four years ago, I would have collapsed right on the spot. “I suppose you’re not my would-be husband?” I asked as politely as possible. If he was, I would have recognized his voice in the telephone.

He smiled and chuckled, hiding his smile behind his fist. “No. But I do wish I am.”

I just laughed, unable to respond.

He continued, “Anyhow, I am here to you to the other room.”

I smiled a little. “Why? Am I not capable of sending myself in?”

“Of course you are,” he said and I got a feeling that he was fighting back a laugh. “But we have some kind of code to know if everyone’s ready.”

“A code?” I asked. Then, a series of knock sounded from the wall.

“I think they’re ready.” He started to walk towards one corner of the room, right of the door he came in—where I came in. He stopped short to ask me, “Are you?”

“Bring it on.” I faked a smile to hide the nerves threatening to pop out of my skin.

“Just so you know, they all know you cannot speak in hangul, so I suggest that you carry on speaking in english,” he said with a grin. He didn’t have to tell me. But, what—

They?

As soon as he pulled the curtain and opened the door, we were greeted with a loud chorus of “Annyeonghaseyo” from the four guys in tuxedos. Just like the room where we came from, the walls of this room were also covered in black curtains. I wondered where they got the concept of anonymity for this segment. They all introduced theirselves to me with a nametag and handshake. I suppose they planned this so I wouldn’t hear their voices and wouldn’t be able to tell to whom I was talking in the telephone.

I recognized all their faces. Changmin of DBSK, Suho of Exo, Jonghyun of CN Blue and Minho of SHINee. Kyuhyun stepped in before I could even introduce myself. He explained that before I could introduce myself, I had to guess first which one was going to be my husband. And yes, he explained it all in his most pathetic kind of explanation in english.

I studied their expressions. Changmin was smiling at me confidently, showing his suave aura. Minho was being too obvious wanting to be picked. He was bouncing at the balls of his feet, trying to act up like cool and nervous. Jonghyun couldn’t contain his giddiness; he was smiling from ear to ear. And, Suho. He couldn’t make an eye contact to me. Every time I caught him looking at me, he would drop his gaze and look at his feet or in the wall or would notice unnecessary things around. I really didn’t get the idea why they had to do this. And why they had to zip their mouth for me not to hear their voices. Their voices can be heard in every corners of South Korea.

“Do you have an answer now?” Kyuhyun asked.

“Yes,” I answered. Patience, I told myself, these idiots are being used as props. You have to be nice. “I think it’s Mr. Suho.”

“Why do you think so?” Changmin butted in, forgetting his not-to-talk scheme.

“Because he couldn’t look straight at me,” I answered honestly. “All of you are acting out a little bit peculiar.”

Suho laughed way too unnecessary while the others remained smiling. It appeared that only Suho understood what I said.

“Hyung, what did she say?” Minho asked, still smiling awkwardly.

“She said, you three are acting strange,” he explained, nervousness and giddiness were mixing in his voice. I noticed he didn’t include what I said first. The others laughed, making the scene more hilarious—though it shouldn’t be.

“Really!” Kyuhyun suddenly exclaimed, finally dropping the comical english sentence structure game. “She guessed it right. Now, before we let these two lovebirds off,” he turned to me, “please introduce yourself.”

I took a deep breath and speak in hangul. “Hello,” I bowed and they all had their versions of amazed-slash-shocked-omg-she-knows-hangul look. I laughed then continued, “I am Quinn Lee. I am half-Korean, half-Filipino. My mother is a Filipina and my father is a Korean. I spent most of my life in the Philippines and just moved here in Seoul four years ago.”

“Are you a student?” Changmin asked.

I nodded. “I am currently a fourth year student at Seoul National University.”

“May I ask you what did you take up as a course?” Jonghyun inquired. If I was not wrong, this was the first time he approached me this night.

“English Language and Literature.”

Just as when I thought revealing that I knew how to speak hangul was the greatest bomb I could have dropped for the night, I was very much mistaken. At the word ‘literature’, all of them went around Suho and muttered excitedly altogether. I was in no fit to understand what they were giggling about as they were all talking at the same time. I couldn’t help but to notice how pressured and harassed Suho was becoming as the time passed by.

Maybe it was in my expression that Kyuhyun walked over to me and explained what the commotion was all about. It turned out that a woman with literary interest was Suho’s ideal. I turned to him in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not,” he said, smiling excitedly.

oo000OOO000oo

“Where are we?”

I was not a fan of surprises and cliché romances but I was in no position to complain. After we bid good bye back in the black room (which was one of the unused rooms of KBS), Suho led me to his car. And the next thing I knew was that we were driving to Chungmuro.

He smiled, perhaps to the idea that the place was unfamiliar to me. “I do not know if you like flowers. Some girls wanted to be given flowers while some are not.”

We went inside the building—a cinema, and went directly for the elevator. Although he didn’t answer my question, which was quite intriguing for the sudden talk about flowers, I replied, “Well, I do like flowers, roses in particular, but I do not want them in a bouquet or in a vase inside my home. I wanted to see them as part of the nature where they truly belong.”

“Just as I thought,” he smiled thoughtfully.

“Since when?” I asked then added, “And why are we on a cinema house?”

The elevator door closed and he punched the 8^th floor button. “Since when you said you’re a Literature graduate.”

“Then why are we here?” I asked again. It may appear too repetitive but I really had to ask why we were on a cinema house when the clock was about to strike midnight. “And what’s with the ‘flower’ conversation?”

The elevator dinged and opened. The wind blew and I was welcomed by the fragrance of hundreds of roses with city lights at the background. The roses were stunning due to November breeze.

“Do I need to explain?” Suho asked. I could tell that he was feeling triumphant at the moment. Although I did not look at his direction because I was too overwhelmed by the sight, I could tell that he was smiling from ear to ear.

“No,” I replied in awed reverence. He offered his arm and I took it then led me to the nicest spot of the rooftop which was circled by rose bushes. I thanked him for offering me a seat.

When he finally sat on the chair opposite to me, a waiter came to our table and started serving the dishes. I couldn’t help but to notice that we were the only ones here. Maybe because it was almost midnight or WGM rented the whole place for the show. I was busy observing the whole scene when I heard Suho bursted out laughing.

“What are you doing here?” he asked the waiter, which appeared to be Exo K’s Park Chanyeol.

 Chanyeol, dressed up as a waiter, was trying to hold his laughter up. “Hyung, don’t you know I work part time here?”

“Since when?”

“Just now,” Chanyeol replied to him then turned to me. “I’m Park Chanyeol, your waiter for this night.” He held out his hand which I took and introduced myself. “If you need anything, Ms. Quinn Lee, just shout ‘Dobby’ and I will attend to your needs. The dessert will be served shortly after you finished your meals.”

“In short, you’ll be spying on us,” Suho said. Chanyeol just grinned and bowed down before leaving our table.

Now that there was no more distraction and the roses around us were being too shy to speak up for ourselves, the atmosphere suddenly became awkward. Suho gestured to eat up first and I followed obediently, silently munching my Alfredo.

It was he who broke the silence.

“So what kind of books are you into?” he asked.

It took me a minute to answer. “Usually, I read books from authors whose names are well-known in the world of literature: works of Haruki Murakami, Laura Esquivel, Amy Tan, and also the works Nobel Prize winners in Literature.”

It took him a minute to digest what I said. “Maybe sometime I’ll borrow a book from you,” he suggested.

“Like what?”

“What will you recommend?”

When recommending a book, I always thought of the background of the would-be reader. Aside from the fact that he was a leader of a boyband, I only knew so little about him. So I asked, “Are you fond of romantic novels?”

“Yeah,” he said, “sure.”

“Then I recommend, Laura Esquivel’s Like Water for Chocolate.”

His face lit up at the sound of the title. “Please give me a background of this novel.”

“Hmm,” I mused. “It’s about Spanish love.” His mouth turned into a shape like an ‘o’ hearing the word ‘’ which made me laugh. “I really don’t want to tell you the background because I might spoil you. How about you? What kind of books are you into?”

“I’m not really closed to any genre of a book. Basically, I read everything my hands could touch.”

“That’s nice,” I commented. “The thing about being a literature major is that I’m always being too critical on what I read. That is why I’m so picky about buying contemporary novels.”

“It’s not a crime to be picky on books,” he said. “You can choose whatever you want to read.”

The dessert was served by different waiter, Byun Baekhyun. Just like how Chanyeol appeared, he wore the same waiter attire and was beaming up from ear to ear. “Hello, Ms. Quinn Lee. I am Byun Baekhyun, your server of desserts for this night.”

“Server of desserts?”

He laughed. I looked at Suho who was shaking his head while laughing. Baekhyun said, “Yes, that’s right.” He then gave us each a slice of a dark chocolate cake. After that, he went closer to Suho and murmur, “Hyung, let me borrow the book.”

“No way,” Suho exclaimed. “It’s written in english, right, Ms. Quinn?”

I nodded and Baekhyun plastered a very convincing kicked-puppy expression on his face. “It’s okay,” he said. “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Quinn Lee.”

“Well, you can search if there’s an available korean translation for that book,” I said to him. He said he will search for it then bid good bye.

“He was just acting,” Suho said.

“I know,” I replied and we both laughed. “So when are you going to borrow the book?”

He took a spoonful of the cake to his mouth, drank his water from his glass the answered, “Would you like me to take you home?”

“I guess so,” I replied.

oo000OOO000oo

The drive to my home was filled with questions about my home, which irritated me a bit because I was not used to sharing anything about me to someone. And here I was, sharing my thoughts about home to the whole world. Suho was intrigued about the life I had in the Philippines before I came in Korea. As soon as the key was put in the ignition, I was bombarded with questions about the weather, the food, my education and the like.

“You know,” he said, “we had been in the Philippines for a concert once. It was nice there. People are so welcoming.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. Not to mention crazy, I almost added. “Filipinos are very welcoming and very hospitable people. It’s a very happy country. People always find ways to smile, to laugh.”

I looked out into the window. Everything in here was so much different from the country I grew up in. Sure there trees everywhere. But trees in Philippines were so much different.

“I bet you miss Philippines, aren’t you?”

I looked at him. His eyes were on the road. “Of course,” I answered, “who wouldn’t?” Hearing my own voice saying those words made me feel vulnerable. I missed the heat, the heavy traffic along EDSA lane, the sardine-type of trains. I missed my house, my piano, my drum set, my bed. I missed school, my friends. I missed everyone. I missed my home.

 He looked back. He looked way too longer to be seemed inappropriate—since he was driving. I snapped back to the reality. “Eyes on the road, sir,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized with a smile. “Maybe we can go to Philippines sometime.”

“Sometime,” I answered, not too excited about the idea. There was a certain reason why I chose to continue college abroad. Although there were a lot of things I missed about home, my heart was not yet ready going back. A long second had passed and a brilliant idea came hovering in the car. “Hey,” I said. “I was thinking about this marriage thingy.”

He laughed. “So what about this ‘marriage thingy’ you’re thinking about?”

I had no idea how to put this on a very simple sentence and the pressure of seeing my Kplace was getting in me. I had to talk. Now.

Suho parked the car at the front of the building. After killing the engine, he turned to look at me expectantly. I took a deep breath and let the words pile out. “You know, since we’re already talking about my home, I was wondering if we could somehow put some of my country’s tradition and culture into this,” I struggled to find the right word, “set up.”

I could see he was trying to figure out what I was intending to do like putting puzzle pieces together in a jigsaw puzzle. “How?”

“Back then, Filipino men are fond of making ‘ligaw’ to girls before getting into serious relationships.” I paused, letting him take every word in. I continued, “When you say ‘ligaw’, you’re going to court her in her home, ask her if she wanted to be your girlfriend. Normally, it’ll take a very long time to receive a girl’s ‘yes’. It’s a series of getting-to-know-each-other dates and stuffs. And once the girl finally agreed to be in a relationship with the guy courting her, then the rest would follow.”

“So you want me to make ligaw to you?” he asked.

I laughed awkwardly. “I’m not really demanding you to court me. What I want is to have getting-to-know-each-other dates with you before marriage.” I cringed at the last word.

His face lit up with comprehension. “So I’ll have to make ligaw to you.”

“That’s up to you,” I clarified. “There are more things other than having dates in courting. But all I’m asking for is a date.”

“Like what we’re doing now.”

“Yes,” I nodded.

He smiled. “But I’m intrigued how this ligaw thing works.”

“You have to surprise me,” I challenged.

“Just like what I did earlier?”

“Sort of.”

“So I have to make a lot of that?”

I laughed. “Not necessarily. I guess it depends on where this thing will bring us.”

He nodded, mostly to himself. “Okay,” he said and started unbuckling his seatbelt. I unbuckled mine, too. “I’m going to make ligaw but you have to lend me the book first.”

“Oh.” I almost forgot about the book. “Wait me here,” I said and got out of car.

It took me a few minutes to climbed up to my apartment, get the book, scribbled my phone number at the first page, and down again to the ground floor. He was out of his car when I returned. I gave him the book and thanked him for riding me home.

Around twenty minutes later, I received a message from an unknown number.