I: A Silent Life

Silence is a source of great strength. Lao Tzu was right when he made that comment. Unfortunately, I had to learn it the hard way.

Ever since I was told that I would never be able to speak again, life took a drastic turn for me. Friends and relatives vanished from sight like vapor on a warm summer day. My dreams turned into dust, piling before my feet. Scorn and mocking laughter surrounded me wherever I went. It seemed like a mute wasn’t very well-accepted into the community. It didn’t matter what I said –or rather what I did. I was an outcast, disabled and pathetic.

So, surviving the past six years without a fundamental way of communication has taught me more than if I was able to converse. I mean, there was a time in my life where I believed that I could never read, write, or even go to school ever again.

If it wasn’t for my older brother who managed to pull me out of my depression, I’d be dead by now. In short, I went to school. I went to a school for special people. I continued my education and did better than I did before the accident. I learnt sign language and for fun, I learnt how to read braille. I volunteered at the special shelter where children of all ages, diseases, and misfortunes lived, playing with them joyfully every day. I guess being around innocence does lift one’s spirit.

“Script!” A shrill voice hollered and I jumped from my chair backstage. Rushing to the indignant actress, I held out a thick stack of papers with thin lines on them. She snatched it away from me and glanced at the page, searching for the line she was forgetting.

“Ah,” she cleared , tossing the script into my hands snootily and facing the male actor across from her. “But, Johnny, that’s impossible. Our parents will kill us if we elope.” The irritated tone transformed into one of bewilderment and doubt. I slowly made my exit, not wanting to interfere unless I was needed.

Yes, I was a backstage manager. I handled props, scripts, costumes, makeup, and basically preparations for the entire show. And on the side, I get paid extra if I handle coffee and refreshments as well. I was glad that JeA was gracious enough to give me a job once I turned sixteen and decided to save up for college. Working as a backstage manager was tough but it was considered a luxurious job in comparison to others.

The theater I worked at was owned by JeA and they regularly have performances. Ranging from musicals to political speeches, the theater was always packed with people from all sorts of backgrounds. And I was the one conducting everything. I had to make sure that a light wouldn’t fall all of a sudden during a performance. I had to make sure that the props were all ready and done. I had to make sure that the costumes were bought and ironed. I had to make sure that I had a makeup and stylist team on deck. I had to make sure that there were extras ready if an actor or actress couldn’t show up. And there were so much more on my to-do list.

JeA never overworked me though. She knew when I was about to break down and curl up in a ball to sob. I adored JeA and I would do anything for her. In her thirties, she acted unlike her age. She dressed according to the latest trend and listened to the hit groups. She was practically a Kpop guru with an ability to list out all the names of a group that even I never heard of.

“Good job, everyone. We’ll continue rehearsals tomorrow. I hope everyone gets a good night’s rest for tomorrow's full dress rehearsal.” The director of the play wrapped up the rehearsal and soon, everyone began to exit the theater. I sighed and grabbed my backpack, switching off the main lights and exiting through the back door.

As I exited the theater from the back like I always did, the smell of spring and dewy grass hit my nose and I grinned as I locked the door and walked out to the sidewalks towards the bus stop. It was in the middle of spring and it was the best time of the year, especially since the air became fresh and fragrant of flowers and grass. When it rained, it rained hard but it made the spring feel more fulfilled. When it stopped, the scent of after-rain and a small breeze was a perfect refresher for one. In a huge city like Seoul, it meant a lot to the folks who rushed here and there trying to put food on the table for their loved ones.

I lived alone in a small two room apartment above a coffee shop in Hong Dae. The neighborhood was beautiful and perfect, filled with youth and vibrancy everywhere. I knew almost everybody on my street and fortunately enough, they were all very nice to me despite knowing my conditions.

The owner of the coffee shop was a nice, young and pretty woman in her early thirties named Miryo. She was kind and definitely willing to rent out the top housing to me. She was also my legal guardian as she took me in after I found that living in the dorms was too cramped and suffocating. The people who lived around my area had amazing stories about each of them. Some are gossip and some are rumors, however, most are very true.

The thing about Miryo was that she was a famous underground rapper, who was destined to debut into the Kpop industry. She did and she was very successful, managing to produce hit songs and albums and garner many fans as a solo artist. But a huge scandal destroyed her career and she left the industry, only to settle down here in Hong Dae. She opened a coffee shop with the little money she had left and kept her stage name Miryo. Sometimes at night, I hear a rapid sound of a female rapping away about cheating men and money and fame; I knew it was Miryo reminiscing about her days as she watched the old videos that were taken of her.

The bus arrived and I quickly got on, tapping my card and shuffling to the back window seat. I especially liked it there because it was nice and quiet and there was so much to see through the window. The bus began to move forward and I directed my gaze outside the window just as I spotted a tall, young man about my age with onyx hair and snow white skin rush towards the bus, shouting and waving his arms for it to stop. My eyes widened as he managed to catch up to the bus as it slowed to a stop and the door swung open.

The young man clambered up the bus with huffs and puffs, muttering a quick apology to the bus driver and the passengers aboard as he tapped his card and made his way towards the back of the bus. Upon closer look, he was wearing a navy jacket, which had a crest on its pocket, over a white dress shirt, which was half tucked into long, baggy khaki pants. His red tie hung loosely around his neck, the top two buttons and the cuffs of his shirt and jacket were ed, his belt holes were absent of a