MINO

I glance at the minimalist digital clock on the bedside table. 11.32 PM. I surely sleep a lot last night. I stare blankly to the big rounded window against me, the view of the beautiful Gwanggalli Beach can be seen entirely from the 29th floor hotel. Then, as my eyes start to wonder around my mind stars to wanderer.

I’ve read something like ‘the wave is the same as the ocean, though it is not the whole ocean. Each wave of creation is a part of the eternal ocean of spirit. The ocean can exist without the waves, but the waves cannot exist without the ocean.’

It’s been two years since she left me and I am still the same me as ‘me’ two years ago.

If she was the ocean then I was her waves, how could I get over her as if the waves can forget the ocean when in fact, the waves cannot exist without the ocean.

That’s how I am right now.

“Oh, you’ve woken up.” I stare at the brown, long hairy girl in front of me. Kim Jennie, my manager has been budging me with two wake up calls. It’s becoming tiresome to ignore her. She folds her hand in chest. “I thought you’re dead.”

“Unfortunately, not yet.”

“Good. You’ve gotta milk a dollar out of every dime.”

I’ve been joining a huge music label since a year ago. It seems like God still manages to be kind for my career. Unlike the other things in my life, my career is the only thing I can call as doing well.

I choose to ignore Jennie and walking toward the refrigerator, she follows me behind.

“Your schedules are pretty packed today. I suggest you better get ready now.” She mutters as she keeps checking her iPad.

“I know. Magazine photoshoot, followed by an interview about the album, fan sign event, live performance at 8 PM, then go back to Seoul, get to the studio again and…”

Those events are kinda like the bookends of what my life has become these past two years: making music, which I love it, and talking about Song Mino and his life, which I loathe.

It is pretty funny when many people want to know about your life when you basically have no idea whether you’re okay or not at the moment.

“Okay, you don’t need to mention everything. That’s my job.” Jennie grabs the beer from my hand. “How could you drink a beer as soon as you wake up?”

I chuckle at least, knowing many people care about me is enough right now. It is enough.

“I’ll take a bath. Wait a moment.”

“Your friend, Jihoon will return to Seoul today. I’ve fixed your schedule, you’re free this weekend.”

“Thanks Jennie.” I smile.

“Get something fun with him. You look like a dead man.”

*

On 12.00 PM I finished a brunch—pretty late to be called as brunch, I know, it’ll be more appropriate if I called it with lunch and very late breakfast, after that I get dressed and make my way down the service elevator—out of the main elevator. The hotel manager has kindly provided me with special access keys so, I can avoid all the people—or paparazzi parade in the main lobby.

Out from the hotel, I get a nice greeting by a blast streaming of Busan air. The ocean breeze was the first thing you can feel here in Busan, the weather feels more hotter than in Seoul, the temperature can be up to 30 degree, and when winter comes, it may feel pretty cold.

Unlike Seoul I love Busan more, you don’t have anything to hate about Busan. You got the beaches, which amps up the quality-of-life factor immensely—I think. Though, it will be literal writhing masses of human beings in the summer, but it’s a fun time. However for me, I’d rather love Busan in the winter. For me, Busan’s beaches are best seen in the winter, when the air is clear and the sun reflects off the cold, blue water. The beaches are nearly empty this time of year, you can bundle of up and stroll around in the chilly winter sun, taking in the salty air and almost always feeling a little bit better about whatever’s on your mind.

That was Busan for me.

In the chilly winter sun, at least you can feel less quiet, less voices, and less people—to be alone without anybody trying to intervene your life.

It is miraculously very comforting, in a strange way’s possible.

Five minutes later, a black van arrives. Jennie opens the window and asks me to get in. “Quick, we’re late.”

“Here we go again. My ed up life.”

*

It takes two hours straight to wrap up today’s photoshoot. After that, they led me to the Italian restaurant for the interview. There, in one corner of this restaurant, they might be roasted me with another question about ‘how is Song Mino doing’ again and again, because if they’re all really dying to know what did I do all these year, I only know one definite answer and if only I can state it, it would be this one: missing Kang Seulgi.

“Hey, Mino-ssi.” Says the interviewer girl, looking with a full excitement, like we’re an old-long lost sibling. “Can I just say I’m a huge fan? Your newest album is lining up in the chart!”

“Well, thank you so much.”

“That’s why I’d like to return the favor by writing the best damn profile of you. Can we get blow this thing right out of the water?”

What the are they trying to blow the right out the water? Do people even understand half the crap they’re buying is sometime other’s people privacy?

“Sure.” In the end, that was the only thing I can say.

“You know, we’re supposed to be talking about your new album here.” She begins.

I frown, that’s exactly what we’re supposed to be talking about. That’s why I’m here, not to exchange secret, not trying to be an old-long lost sibling whatever it is, I’m here to talk about my album not about my ing life.

“Song Mino-ssi, we would like to know is there any story that inspires you when made a song, something like your muse?”

I clench my fist. “No I don’t. I just write it that way, based on life experience or people around me.”

“Come on, Song Mino! Seeing your songs, it seems like you’ve been through a lot of things in your life. I’m not forgetting to mention that, all your tracks are masterpiece, I just know there’s something more about it.” The interviewer continues, pushing me forward against the edge of the cliff.

“You’ve obviously got your theory, Missy.”

Her eyes flash for a quick second, I think I’ve pissed her off. “Do you want to know my theory?”

No, I don’t. “Spill it, your tea.”

“I’ve compiled all your late SNS account and I’ve talked to some people you went to high school with.”

I freeze in my place, soft matter hardening into lead. It takes extreme concentration to lift the cup to my lips and pretend to take a sip. I even nearly choke up.

“We’re finding about you and a girl, name Kang Seulgi.” I can’t comprehend everything that going on as I hear a word ‘Kang Seulgi’ coming from . She continues, “You know Kang Seulgi? She’s a well-known advertising advisor and a brilliant art columnist in some magazines and newspapers.”

The cup shakes in my hand. I need to use my other hand to hold the cup to keep it from spilling all over me. All the people  who really know what actually had happened back then aren’t talking, I know, but rumor has it, even true ones, are like snowballs: they will eventually getting bigger. It’s no use to deny anything which was true, the more people dig it, the more it becomes out of control.

“Kang Seulgi is my dear friend.” I finally say.

“Dear friend?” She sounds a little bit suspicious.

I sigh, an image of Seulgi flashes before my eyes. Kang Seulgi, two years ago, those dark eyes full of love, intensity, her scents, her smile, her giggly laugh, both her warm hands, , magic, and grief, all are gone.

I was so undeserving, and yet she was so relentless.

I pushed, she pulled. I wept, she embraced. I bled, she repaired. I faltered, she shushed. I was a disaster, the worst of its kind and yet, she still had the audacity to let me know that she loved me.

She’s the only thing worth writing about.

She’s always been my muse.

“Can you tell me about the detail of your relat