Dear Friend,

I'm writing you this letter because...I don't know what else to do.

There's no way I could ever express the feelings I'm feeling out loud. I would be ridiculed. Certainly I would be ridiculed, not only for being so sensitive, but also for my deep concern for whom this letter concerns.

I'm writing to you now because I know you will not judge me. At least, that's what they told me. I'm not so sure I believe them, but the way I see it, I have no other option.

So promise me, dear friend, that you will keep my letters hidden from the eyes of your own friends and that every word, every secret of the heart I share with you, will be kept in your own memory, locked away from anyone else's awareness.

Make me this promise, dear friend, and I shall be forever grateful to you.

I need you to keep our communication confident, dear friend, not only for me but for her.

Yes, these words must be kept a secret from her.

I love her, you see.
I love her in a way I have never loved anyone else before.

To me she is perfect. To me she shines brightly, like a candle illuminating the darkness of the world surrounding it. To me she is the embodiment of heaven itself. She is all these things and more to me, but for some reason, anonymous friend, she cannot seem to recognize her greatness.

Her unmatched beauty suffocates me in desire and strangles me in obsession,
And yet, she does not see the same beauty within herself that I unmistakably see every time I look at her.

Oh friend, it drives me mad - knowing that she does not, cannot, will not see herself through my eyes; the eyes of the man who loves her. Truly loves her.

What more can I do to make her see, friend? What more can I do for her?
The only thing I want is for her to feel as beautiful as I believe her to be.
She deserves to feel that way. At least for a day, for a week, for a month; she deserves to feel that way.

This fact is irrefutable, my friend - I am in love with a girl who can never love me back - Not until she learns to love herself.

And that is what frustrates me.

-Kang Dae Sung

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Wake up.
Drink coffee.
Work out.
Eat too much.
Go to school.
Come home.
Eat again. Still too much.
Start school work.
Eat something else. Complain.
Give up on school work.
Go to sleep frustrated.

Every day the same routine.
Nothing ever changes.

Still the same old me.
Everything stays the same.

In the morning I try my best to avoid the mirror - I never wish to see myself. In fact, my greatest fear is my own reflection. I am most afraid of what I will see looking back at me.
But as soon as I succeed in passing the mirror without stealing a glance at my reflection, the self-doubt kicks in, and in an attempt to mask the doubt that has accumulated, I force myself to glance back at the mirror, just to pretend that I'll be able to tell myself "this time it's different."

It never is.
Everything stays the same.

And as I stare at my reflection in the mirror, I feel myself shrinking, growing smaller and smaller beneath the grand Creator of whose hands my physical being was made. He must have made a mistake in his proportions for my design - there's no way a person could be as misshapen as I.
And after I finish my rendezvous with the mirror, I proceed to continue the rest of my day in discomfort, knowing that all eyes are on me - staring me down, tearing me apart with their critical stares and shallow judgments. But this feeling of discomfort is what I have come to know, what I have come to expect. And no matter how hard I try to shake it, the feeling always finds a way to come back. And I have no choice but to welcome it back again with pressured hands.

"Hello again, dear enemy. Have you been well? I've been miserable - but you know that.
Let's stay together awhile. It's not like we have a choice."

And everything stays the same.

I still over eat at every meal,
I still have to search for years in the store to find my jean size,
And I still have to endure the silent laughter protruding from the eyes of boys and girls alike.

Every day I look the same - unattractive and undesirable.
And every day the only words that are etched into my memory are the ones I create out of my own desperation:
'Fat. Hideous. Unlikeable.
Imperfection at its finest."

And every day I hear the unspoken words of the spectators around me:
"Thank God I don't look like that."
"She's a real looker, isn't she? Yes indeed. She is."
"I feel sorry for her. Really, I do."

And I'm tired of every day being the same.

Yeah, that’s for sure.

I’m tired of every day being the same.

_____________________________________ღ_____________________________________

4 January 2008

It all started the moment I first looked into her eyes.

The rain had been falling down for hours, falling slowly at first, but gradually gaining strength and intensity as time began its tranquil slumber.

I was on my way home. I had been singing on the streets again. My cap had been settled on the street, awaiting in anticipation the loose change and occasional crisp bills of the passersbys, just as it did every other day of the week.

I had no job at the time. I had no incentive to get a job, either. I knew what I wanted in life and I was going after it. My goal at the time was to become a singer – to leave behind the lackluster world of the common folk and rise above the crowd; to become an idolized super being.

That was the goal, and through showcasing my talents in front of my peers and fellow critics, I felt as if I was coming ever closer to obtaining the almost unthinkable dream.

But it was on that day, the day I was returning to my lonely home amidst the falling rain, that I saw her for the first time.

She was running through the park – the park that I routinely walked through to reach my home.
She was holding a paper-covered text book over her head to shield herself from the pouring rain.
Her long hair was whipping back and forth, occasionally sticking to her cheeks out of stubbornness and refusal to remain exposed to the cold droplets of falling water.

But it wasn’t this image of her that made my heart stop beating in my chest for a few precious moments of time.
It was the moment she slipped on the grass and hit the ground that my only thoughts, my only concerns, became centered on her and on her only.

I rushed to her the moment I witnessed the sudden spectacle out of the corner of my eye.

As I rushed to her, she held her spine in a fragile fashion, as if in a pathetic attempt to keep herself from falling back down to the ground.
And just as her delicate back gave way to the overbearing force of gravity, I reached her side.
I reached her side just in time to capture her shoulders in my hands, keeping the front portion of her pale body aloft.
And it was in this moment that I tilted my head to look at her face.

She had the most beautiful face - more beautiful than that of any woman I had ever seen before.
Her skin was smooth and glowing, seemingly radiating rays of celestial brilliance unmatchable by any other human being on the face of the earth.
Her carnation-pink lips were slightly open, revealing beneath them a row of straight, pearl-white teeth.
And the way her hair framed her face gave her the appearance of a Roman goddess, one of the finest and most sought after females in all of human history.

But what struck me the most were her eyes.
Her entire soul traveled through her irises and invaded my heart and mind in a simple glance.
And the feeling of the invasion was intoxicating.

Her aura become a soothing aroma, a contagious disease, an intoxicating drug.
Her entire life’s purpose and the concealed contents of her heart shone in her eyes.
And just in looking at those big, brown eyes,
I became her advocate.
I came to know who she was - who she truly was.
I came to know all that her life entailed.
And, most importantly, I came to understand my erratically beating heart.

I recognized the feeling instantly.
It was a feeling that I had read about in story books;
A feeling I had seen many times in movies;
A feeling I had previously thought to only exist within the minds of the unfortunate;
A feeling that until that day had seemed far out of my reach and impossible to attain.
And when my heart finally slowed to the point of inactivity, I knew my previous intuition had been correct.

I knew in that very moment that I had fallen in love.

I had fallen in love with an angel of a human being, and I was determined to capture her essence within every fiber of my being so as
To keep me company and keep me sane,
To keep me absorbed in the burning feeling of passion and deeper satisfaction,
And to keep me madly, desperately, hopelessly in love with her
From that moment on and for the rest of my life.