It feels odd writing you a correspondence in this day and age. Do people still write letters? Do people still write anything? I swear, every time I go to lecture, I’m the only one who has a notepad and pen with me, everyone else just takes notes on their laptops. The funny thing is, although they have the internet at their fingertips, I think I’m more distracted than them every time. Something about having a pen in my hands makes me automatically write to you, even though I rarely have anything to say. I rarely have anything to say to anyone anymore. I hope you’re at least getting these letters. They might not be much, but they’re still something that I want you to see. I hope your mom isn’t just shredding them. She loved me at one point, anyway. I hope she stops being angry at me, even just for a moment once a week, and gives these to you. Even if she reads them, I’m fine if she just passes them on. Even if she doesn’t let you respond, I feel a little at peace knowing that these empty words on this crumpled paper is reminding you that I exist, and that I’m thinking of you always. 

 

Yours, 

 

Jisoo. 

 

“What are you always writing?” Jennie wrinkled her nose and tried to read a brief sentence from the notepad. I tore the sheet out and folded it before she could. She pouted, but only for a moment, before going back to her phone. 

I didn’t bother answering her. I knew she wouldn’t hear me. Jennie lost interest as quickly as she gained it, it was just who she was. That’s why it still surprised me that she continued to be my friend, despite our interests seemingly growing further apart as the days went by. Maybe she only wanted someone to listen to her endless droning and provide her with shelter at a convenient distance from school, and a few snacks every once in a while. I was happy to oblige, as long as it meant I would be spared from talking too much. 

Jennie let out a squeal that caused me to swivel my chair around and face her as she was sprawled out on my bed. 

“Check this out!” she exclaimed as she scooted closer to me and held her phone to my face. I readjusted my focus only to look away immediately. The screen was filled with a picture of an erect male , one that wasn’t particularly good looking at that. I winced as Jennie continued to giggle and hold her phone out to me. “Isn’t that just absolutely vile?” 

“Absolutely,” I repeated. I didn’t let her know just how repulsive it was, though. I tried to hide my nausea and shortness of breath from her, because I knew it would just result in the interrogation that I had been putting off for so long. 

“Isn’t that annoying?” she continued, preparing herself for one of her infamous rants. “You sleep with a guy once, and suddenly he thinks you just want to see his junk 24/7. What am I gonna do with this? Did he think I’d see it and suddenly not be able to contain myself, running to his house wearing nothing but a trench coat, ready to be his little lap dog as soon as I walked through the door? I mean, at least make the mis en scene look nice! This was clearly just taken at a desk, no artistry at all.” 

I grunted in agreement, still not wanting to open my mouth or make any sudden movements. 

“It’s the same with these text messages they always send! ‘What would you do if I was there?’ or ‘Thinking about you has got me so hard, tell me how you’d take me right now if you could.’ What a bore! If any of these guys were here right now, I’d probably be talking to someone else because none of them are even interesting enough to even make me want them anywhere near me!” 

“Wow, these sure are some legitimate problems you have, Jennie,” I said, once I regained my composure. She rolled her eyes at this statement. 

“C’mon, don’t give me that. Everyone else already does when I try to talk about these things. A girl at work, from Thailand, even pretends she can’t understand me when I start talking about it, even though I’ve heard her speaking to other people, and know for a fact that she’s lived here for at least 5 years!” Jennie was now facing me, lying on her stomach and resting her face in her hand, her charismatic eyes piercing right through me. Even though she was a friend, I would always cower at that same gaze. 

Jennie was just that kind of girl, the kind that enchanted wherever she went. Everyone seemed to drop what they were doing as soon as she walked in. Guys wanted her immediately, and girls didn’t seem to know whether they wanted her or they wanted to be her. Being around Jennie took a lot of the attention off of me, and maybe that’s why I kept her around so much. Not to say that I got much attention on my own, but even when we were out, she’d have to remind guys that she had a friend with her, to include me in the conversation; I was content knowing this, knowing they wanted nothing to do with me as long as she was in the room. 

“I don’t do that anymore,” I finally said, swiveling my chair back to my desk, ready to address another envelope. 

That. 

I didn’t know what else to call it. Sleeping around? Self objectification? Hoeing myself out? Having contact with any males at all? They all sounded too heavy, so I preferred to stick with that. 

When I met Jennie, that was our combining factor. People would whisper about us in the bathrooms, something I assumed would be left behind in high school. I guess even the large population of a public university couldn’t stop people from minding their business and spreading rumors whenever they had the chance. I had been sitting in the canteen, alone, debating on whether I should embrace the whistles or go home to put on a longer skirt. Jennie sauntered up to me, and held her hand out. 

“So you’re the other school , huh?” she had asked, a smirk plastered on her face. We had been friends since. Alone, people would whisper and snicker, ask loudly how loose everyone thought we were, or tell others to take caution not to catch anything when they were around us. As soon as we were together, it seemed that it shut everyone up. Everyone was suddenly afraid. Afraid that we would steal their boyfriends, afraid that we’d leak any explicit pictures they had sent us. Maybe even afraid that we’d fight them, I couldn’t be sure. I couldn’t really be bothered to care, either, as long as they were no longer slandering me. 

We did what we did for different reason. Jennie loved attention. She thrived on it. She was almost disappointed when people stopped gossiping about her. She loved being wanted. She lived for hearing people say that she was the best they ever had. It wasn’t like she didn’t know it, she just liked hearing it be repeated often, and loudly. 

I did it because I hated myself. That kind of attention was the only way I knew how to communicate with people. It became a solution to lapses in conversation. It became a reaffirmation that it hadn’t been me who had sent him off all those years ago. One day in particular, it must’ve been the 6th guy I had slept with that month, something in me cracked and I had shown up to my childhood best friend’s doorstep a few cities away, no recollection of how I had gotten there, no way of knowing how long I had been away from my own house. After a long conversation about how much I hated it, being caressed by a different, disgusting man every night, I decided to stop. It wasn’t easy. I still found myself frequenting night clubs even though I didn’t like dancing, and I still found myself eagerly replying to texts asking if I had plans that weekend, knowing full well what they really wanted. It was still strange, walking across campus and coming to the realization that at one point, I was in so many of these guys’ beds. That so many of these people had seen me , or heard me beg for them. 

But I didn’t do that anymore. 

Jennie never questioned it, mostly because I didn’t give her the opportunity to. Or maybe she truly didn’t care, as long as I would still accompany her to bars, even if it meant leaving by myself at the end of the night. 

Before she could respond, she shot up quickly, giving a quick “oh no” as she scrambled out of my bedroom and to my living room. 

“I’m so fired” she huffed, grabbing her jacket and bag, giving me a quick kiss on the cheek, and scrambling to put her shoes on before running out. 

“See you!” I called after her, closing the door behind her. I walked across the minuscule space back to my bedroom, retrieving my own jacket and the letter I had addressed to Jinhwan. For all the hell I gave it, my apartment was not too terrible. My upstairs neighbors didn’t know how to walk quietly, and the heater never worked, but it was across the street from my school, which meant more than anything else. Everyone assumed I was rich because of it, not knowing that I had worked my off for years to get enough scholarship money to afford this school, and to be able to live comfortably. Really, this place had just been sold to me at an incredible rate because someone had died in this unit, an old man, I had been told by the neighbors, but I couldn’t be too sure. Apparently no one could stay in this unit after he perished, and they had gone through five tenants in a single year. They lowered the price every time someone moved out, and even at the cheapest, no one wanted to move in once they got word. It didn’t bother me. I was paying at least half of what my neighbors were. All I had to do was burn some sage as I was moving in, and assure whoever was or wasn't there that I would stay no matter what. I was too poor to get out of my contract, and I was already miserable as it was, I had said while waving around the burning incense, not even sure if I was doing it right. I hadn’t had any problems, and it was coming up on my fourth year in the building. 

The walk to the mailbox was always a long one, even if it was just downstairs, in the lobby of my building. My heart always increased its speed as I walked down the stairs, knowing that as I dropped the letter off, I would have to check to see if I had received anything. The thought of one day opening my mailbox and seeing Jinhwan’s dark, capital letters spelling out my name was enough to make me dizzy. It never happened. Again, today, it didn’t happen. I would just dump my letter to be sent, and take a walk around the neighborhood, letting the city’s sounds drown out my disappointment. 

Usually, I’d go to school and sit on a hill overlooking our largest library, ignoring the picnics and chatter around me, opting to carefully examine every blade of grass I came across. Today, something led me around the block, to stores I never intended to purchase anything from. Occasionally, I’d buy coffee at the shop Jennie worked at, but I’d never stay too long. I’d let myself window shop in the stationary stores, sometimes wandering into the boutiques and gingerly touching frilly skirts that would never look good on me. Today, I went inside the thrift store, hoping that the smell of old and worn would be enough to stop the impending disappointment I had felt coming just a few minutes ago. 

I greeted the man working the counter, feeling sorry immediately that I didn’t even have my wallet on me. He seemed so nice, I felt awful that I wouldn’t even return the kindness with a purchase. Still, I tried my best to look as if I was trying really hard to find something, pulling out t shirts and pretending that I was unsatisfied with the material, looking excited to have found a cool piece only to deem it too worn out to justify the price tag. I wondered how long I’d have to keep going, suddenly exhausted with my own charade. I had gone through three rows of clothing racks, picking out at least 8 articles of clothing that I put back nearly immediately, before deciding that I was getting more stressed out than I should’ve been, when my intention was to come in here and forget. I was going through the last few jackets I had settled on, getting ready to flash an apologetic smile and leave, when I came across what made my heart stop momentarily. 

This was Jinhwan’s jacket. I was sure of it. I couldn’t forget something like that. 

He had made me spend hours with him, waiting in an internet cafe, hogging an entire row of computers to ourselves waiting for it to become available. It was a collaboration between his two favorite brands, something that was completely lost on me. To me, it had just looked like any varsity jacket, with designers advertising their names as an embroidery. I didn’t question it, though, as soon as the purchase went through on a computer that I was supervising. He was so happy. He spun me around as we both cheered loudly, earning us a combination of glares and interested glances. He wore it every day over his uniform. He had never been more proud of anything. There had been only one hundred made, and he swore he was the only one in the country to own it. Even when the style was no longer desired, when people stopped giving him impressed nods and instead begged him to stop wearing such an outdated jacket, he refused. It was his badge of honor, anyone who questioned it just didn’t understand it. 

And now, here it was, in a thrift shop for $53. My hands went over the embroidery, trying to remember anything about it, a jacket I had seen every day for so long. I wondered, if I brought it up to my nose, would it smell like him? Would he appear before me and say, “finally, you found me.” I clutched the jacket, walking up to the man. 

“Could you hold this for me? I forgot my wallet. I live just up the street.” I asked in a shaky voice. I’m sure he could tell that I was trembling, no matter how I tried to hide it. 

“I’m about ready to close up for the day, you can just come back tomorrow,” he said, taking the jacket from my clutches. 

“What if it’s gone?” I exclaimed more than asked, surprising myself with the worry in my own voice. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I just got it today, I don’t think anyone will have much interest in it anyway.” 

“Do you remember who sold it to you?” I asked, my voice cracking and my eyes growing wider. I could tell that he was ignoring my interest in favor of not getting too invested. 

“He comes here every Wednesday, always buying or selling something,” he grunted, a slight worry washing over him as he probably wondered whether it was a good idea to reveal that information to a seemingly obsessed girl. 

Today was Tuesday. My only class free day aside from the weekends. Tomorrow, I had class from 9 in the morning to 7 in the evening. I assumed from the way he was practically kicking me out now that this shop closed at 5 PM. I would skip all of my classes to wait here, it was decided. 

“What time does he usually come in?” I asked. He squinted his eyes at this one, but again, decided he didn’t care enough to protest. 

“Anywhere from noon to now.” He shrugged, finally taking the jacket from my hands. 

“Thank you,” I said, breathlessly. “I’ll come back tomorrow.” 

I was in a daze as I walked myself home, fear and euphoria battling it out inside of me for who would be my dominant emotion tomorrow.