Y O O N A

We ran out of groceries again. I can’t believe my parents allowed me to live with a glutton of a brother. Seriously, why can’t he let a box of noodles last for at least a week? That was why after he left for school, I found myself rushing out of the house that afternoon to get to the market, crossing my fingers and hoping against all odds that the groceries would last for at least six days.

Ever since I graduated college, I had to move in to an apartment in the city with my younger brother. I took a job as a saleslady in a bookstore. Work starts at eight in the morning but it doesn’t end.

Nope. Not at all.

Because when I get home at five in the afternoon, I have to clean up the mess my brother made, sweep the floor, wipe the table and cook dinner. Then, I have to spend at least fifteen minutes after dinner trying to persuade my brother to clean up the table because I’d be too busy washing the dishes.

Oh joy. What a life!

Going back, we didn’t have a car so I have to take the bus to get into the metropolitan area. All throughout the ride, I was making a list in my mind about what to buy. As I was getting off the vehicle, I was still wondering how much paper towels I should nab when I felt someone tap my shoulder.

I looked behind me.

And I looked up.

Boy, was this man tall.

“Yes?” I said in English, knowing automatically that no Dokbayonese could look like that. Apart from being tall, this man’s skin was as white and fair as baby powder. He had clean, angular features and fiery orange hair that fell stylishly on his forehead, almost touching his eyes. He was wearing shades and white earphones were plugged into his ears. His outfit was another thing. I’m no fashion expert but I could tell that he was wearing no ordinary clothes. These were definitely designer. I assumed he was from some Asian country up north. China or Korea or Japan. I couldn’t tell. They all look the same to me. 

“Do you know where’s the subway?” the foreigner asked with a thick nasal accent.

I nodded, a bit bewildered. “Just go straight ahead,” I gestured down the road with my arms. “Then turn left at that corner. Walk until you see an intersection. Then turn right.”

The stranger looked like I just gave him a set of difficult algebra problems to solve.

“A-again…?” he asked.

I didn’t want to explain it again because I was rushing and because he still might not understand me anyway so I said, “Just follow me.”

This foreigner must be thankful that I was also going to the subway or else I would’ve just shrugged at him and left him all lost and alone. Then he would’ve found someone else who’s not as nice as me and give him the wrong directions. I smiled to myself and decided that I should go back thinking about more important matters.

Now, my brother uses the paper towels to wipe the mess he often makes on the kitchen countertop instead of the rag because he’s such a germaphobe.  I should get four giant rolls instead of two…

“Do all women here always let old women sit?” It was the foreigner.

I gave him the same confused look he gave me before. “What?”

He stopped walking and thought about how to explain it. I thought about it too.

Old women? Sit?

Oh. That.

This dude probably rode the same bus as me and was wondering why I gave that lady my seat.

“She looked tired,” I shrugged.

“You should let men give her the seat,” he said.

I narrowed my brows at him. What’s his deal? I turned around and started walking quickly, hoping to get to the subway station as fast as possible. This foreigner tagging along and asking me weird questions is the last thing I need today.