Chapter 03 – promises & paintings

        I promised didn’t I?

         My own words hit me right back in the head. What was I going do to? I stuck my head over the bridge and stared into the water. Who was I kidding I didn’t even know how to swim….

           It wasn’t like me to get entwined into other’s troubles. Not even close. But it had been my silly misunderstanding that had caused this troublesome event. My interference. My presence. The tiny piece of warmth that was left in my heart.

          But a promise was a promise. And there was nothing more I hated then broken promises - Even if it involved the bad-tempered boy that had stolen my heart. My mind knew he was a sarcastic rude boy who thought he was on top of the world (he was easy to see through). But my heart was a rebel who acted on it’s own accord

         I stared back at the scribbles on my arm. The numbers were almost illegible: he probably had the worst handwriting I had ever seen. But that wasn’t the point, the point was that I could still feel his cold touch on my arm – as if he had a ghost that lingered behind. I could still remember his hostile glare and how even that made me feel like I was dancing in a field of sunflowers. It was simply ridiculously and I just hoped he didn’t think I was too crazy….

       If I were a guitar er- in a river- where would I float to?

(IU / Lee Ji Eun)

       The rain drops quietly patter down my window panes. When I was a child I use to give each rain drop a name and race them down the glass. I would cheer them on until they made it to the finish line and then be saddened when they parted.

        On rainy days, there were many things to do. I would starrify the walls with paper cut stars in adoration until they overlapped. I would lit my lollipop shaped candles with a friendly flame and hush the lights. Then squeezing my eyes tight, I would immerse myself in fanciful daydreams and wake up smiling like a fool, a happy fool.

         Sometimes I dreamed of peaches, they were my favorite fruit. But most of the time I would dream of Wooyoung, the twinkle in the eye when he looked my way and the peasant aura he always gave. It would take me back that melancholy summer day in the youthful fourth grade year when I first moved to Busan –when I hopped down to the lovely creek just a mile south of my house, armed with homemade boats of cloth & straws. I loved the way the boats would float so daintily and divine. I remember the time I almost fell in but was saved by a warm hand of a little boy. I would never then forget his smile that he gave and his soft voice that asked me if I was alright. I would see him a few times after, flying kites and munching on little cakes his mother gave him. Sometimes he would offer me some of his cake and I would gleefully accept. We would eat by our creek and I would tell him funny stories about fish. It took his mind off his grandfather who had just passed away at the time.

           It was my summer fairytale that ended as fast as it came. We went to different elementary schools in the fall and I’m pretty sure he doesn’t remember me after that. Though it’s a persisting one-sided love that seems to never end, I’m sure that my summer fairytale will come around again.

         It was a lonely day. I baked peach tarts (and packed some for Suzy for tomorrow), knitted a blanket for my neighbor’s cat, and counted the paper stars in my room. I even raced the raindrops about 87 this time. But still with even all this to do, it was lonely. I missed Suzy and I wondered what she was d