« day one »

“You have the entire semester to find the answer to your prompt,” said Mr. Lee as he stood behind the podium at the front of the classroom. “This is a cumulative assignment and will be in conjunction with other ones. It doesn’t matter how you format it – essay, journal, poster presentation – as long as you put effort into it. Is that clear, class?”

“Yes, teacher,” the students chorused back to him. They each had a slip of white paper on the desk in front of them.

“You may now turn your prompts over and look at them.”

Kim Myungsoo reached for his and scanned the words on it carefully. As groans and talking erupted around him, he stared down at the words printed on the small piece of paper in his hand.

Mr. Lee cleared his throat to be heard over the noise. “This project is not meant to be a chore.” He looked over the entire room. “Instead, I want it to make you think. I want it to change you. And most of all, I hope it will make you see things differently.”

Myungsoo did some quick mental math. A semester was a little over four months. Eighteen weeks. One hundred and twenty-six days.

“Though some of these may seem deceptively simple, please keep in mind that it isn’t the answer itself that I’m looking for – it’s the process of how you reach it. I would also like you all to forget about the student-teacher boundaries for this project and be as explicit and personal as you wish.” Mr. Lee beamed at his students. “I know that you will all do a phenomenal job.”

Myungsoo looked down at the slip of paper again. What is love? it read in ordinary black letters.

-----

“I can’t do it,” muttered Sungyeol as the two of them filed out of the classroom with the rest of the students at the sound of the dismissal bell. “Do you think Mr. Lee gave us these prompts on purpose?”

Myungsoo peered over at Sungyeol’s slip of paper: What is family? He considered his friend’s words and raised an eyebrow. Sungyeol’s parents had divorced just over a year ago, after his mother found out about his father’s affair. To say that Sungyeol didn’t feel all that happy at home was a bit of an understatement.

But Mr. Lee was Myungsoo’s favorite teacher, and he had told him once that his greatest goal in becoming a language arts teacher was to help his students grow as people. Myungsoo couldn’t imagine him deliberately choosing prompts that would hurt or force his students to confront things they’d rather not.

Shaking his head, Myungsoo said, “I bet he’ll give you a different one if you ask.”

Sungyeol nodded, slipping the paper into the pocket of his school uniform. “I’ll drop by his classroom after school today,” he decided. He nudged Myungsoo. “What’s yours?”

Myungsoo silently passed his over.

Sungyeol took it. After he read it, he nudged Myungsoo again, waggling his eyebrows. “Love, huh? Are you going to write about Jiyeon?”

“Why would you say that?” he asked with slight annoyance, snatching the paper back. The two of them arrived at his locker.

“There’s obviously something going on between you two,” drawled Sungyeol, leaning against the locker next to Myungsoo’s.

Myungsoo shook open his locker with a grimace. “Will you and Sunggyu stop?”

“Come on,” said Sungyeol. “This is Park Jiyeon we’re talking about. Can you really say with one hundred percent honesty that you have no feelings for her at all?”

“Just because I’m tutoring her doesn’t mean I’ve fallen madly in love,” Myungsoo pointed out. It was true that Jiyeon had legions of admirers after her and he had to admit that her big eyes and cherry lips lent her a traditional beauty, but there were no sweaty palms or stuttering or rapid beating in his chest when she was near. He simply felt nothing for her, and he wished his friends would drop the subject.  

“I don’t know, Myungsoo, they say that the first step of acceptance is denial.”

“I’m about to hit you.” Myungsoo was only half joking.

Sungyeol held his hands up. “All right, all right, I’ll stop.” He grinned mischievously. “But it won’t be long till you admit it!” With that, the tall boy darted away before Myungsoo could retaliate.

Myungsoo watched his friend weave left and right in the crowded hallway with a sigh. He reached down for his English book and slammed his locker shut. He was glad that he had an independent study hour next period, because he could use some time to think about the project. At least he already had one answer for his prompt: Love is not something that can be told to happen.

-----

That night, after Myungsoo had eaten dinner, he went out to the nearest stationary store. He picked out a leather journal that was small enough to fit in his pant pocket and a black felt-tip pen to go with it. Then he returned home, tore off the plastic wrapping, and opened his new notebook to the first page.

He had given the assignment quite a bit of thought during the rest of the school day. Finally, he decided that he would carry a notebook around with him and jot down any answers that came to mind. That was the most organic, most genuine method Myungsoo had managed to think of to document his next one hundred and twenty-six days. Then, at the end of the semester, Myungsoo’s plan was to read through his journal and put together one big, all-encompassing answer based on the culmination his thoughts.

Myungsoo picked up his new pen and wrote down his first answer from earlier that day.

Love is not something that can be told to happen.

He looked at those words and thought of Sungyeol’s constant prodding. With a dry smile, Myungsoo brought his pen to the page again.

No matter how much someone may love another person, that love will not protect them from getting punched in the face if they deserve it.