.:*~•Planetarium•~*:.

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I liked dreaming.

Because in my dreams anything is possible. 

Because in my dreams I can see her.

And in my dreams I can experience the world other people live in, one full of astounding colours. 

The girl in my dreams resembled another. She sat on the edge of the world and spread her fingers to the stars. And at one simple motion of her hand, or a twirl of her silky strand of hair, the universe would open to her. This dimension was not restricted by time, trapped in a place between the sea and sky, everything exists simultaneously. She never noticed my gaze or felt my presence, but it was alright. Her eyes were deep, hidden with a layer of sadness from long ago. Together, in this crater of some unknown origin, she rests her chin on her hands and sings softly.  This girl's hair was wine-red with natural curls falling around shoulder-length, finished off by one neatly trimmed fringe, just above her crescent eyes. Her attire polished by the baby pink, frilled one piece dress.  Her eyes flicker to me briefly and she smiles coyly to herself. 

She was ordinary but also extraordinary at the same time. The dull beating of my heart could not describe. Much like the spring rain that renews the earth, or like the glow of the fireflies that are long gone, or perhaps like the water trickling out between two ancient boulders.

She is much like that. 

The way she tilts her head and opens signals that she wishes to say something to me.  

But before I get to hear her ethereal voice, I wake up again. 

- - -

I never realised Tiffany existed. 

She wasn't the typical girl who spoke and messed around with her friends. I dare say she had no 'real' friends. During breaks, whilst we joked around and laughed, she sat silently in her seat, flicking through the same notebook, over and over. I never believed she was a 'bad' person, she was just a bit different. And in humans, difference is intimidating and hard to approach, if little effort is made, communication is lost. Perhaps that was what happened. She simply faded into the background. Though little words were exchanged, there was an unspoken agreement that we would pay little mind to one another. She was a rather ordinary, unmemorable person, or so I thought. 

She was in a spare classroom with projected stars. It was the last lesson of the day and neither of us had any intention of attending anymore classes. The curtains were drawn and little light managed to penetrate the old drama room. I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw her. She resembled the girl in my dreams. Tiffany glanced up briefly and whispered a "hello". 

I did the same. 

They were alike but definitely not the same. Was what I thought. 

I liked this old drama room. It was used as a storage room for most teachers, as well as our little spot for skipping classes. Often the rare books from the library are stashed here, in a bookshelf with one thin layer of white dust. Whilst Tiffany sang softly in her little planetarium, I sat in the opposite side of the room, where there was light, reading another depressing classic novel. By the first half of the year, we became tolerant of each other. After six months, we could hold small conversations. I often found my gaze travelling in her direction. She is the girl of my dreams, in a different form.  

"What are you reading?" she asked me one day out of the blue. I peered up from my novel. She was leaning down, one hand tucking away the stray hair behind her ears. She was ordinary, even so, my heart could not settle. 

"Wuthering Heights." 

She frowned to my curt answer. "That's a sad story, isn't it?" 

I shrugged coolly. "Tragedy is something prevalent throughout all of history."

Tiffany just nodded slowly and returned to her side of the room. Time continued and I got the urge to hear her voice again. 

"Are stars really that interesting?" I blurted out later that day. The girl just smiled at me, as if she had heard this question countless times.

"If you understand them, they are." 

Again. That weird presence she gives off. 

The next day I didn't feel like reading a book. Instead, I flipped through an old sketchbook and redid some of my previous drawings. I was concentrating hard, for when Tiffany approached me, I did not hear her until she spoke. 

"You draw really well." Tiffany said with a small smile. "Are you planning on becoming an artist or something?"

I shook my head and kept my eyes pinned on the drawing. "They're just sketches. It's impossible to be a good artist with work like this."

"But it looks amazing. Plus, with just a bit more time you could become really great." 

I just smiled, the way I always did when people made similar remarks. 

"I'm colour blind."

Tiffany looked at me, not in pity or sympathy, but just something I could not explain well. 

"I'm tone deaf." 

I wasn't sure exactly what I felt back then. I just knew she was urging me on. It became a habit to skip classes on Wednesdays. We would stay in the drama room until teachers came to kick us out. Little by little, we began to speak to one another. I knew nothing about stars, nor could I remember their position even after reading hundreds of books. But Tiffany didn't mind, she just patiently told me about what she knew. She said she was from Seoul, there, it was almost impossible to make out a speck of light in the sky. This is why she loved Jeonju. On clear nights, the sky is full of stars. She told me about her dreams and aspirations, of her fears and of her troubles. I could not give her any advice on the spot, but she didn't mind. I liked that carefree side of her too.

Some part of me wanted to dash her hopes. But I could never dilute her childlike vulnerability, belief and hope with the bitterness of reality. So I said nothing and listened. Tiffany was initially meant to be low-key, unimportant, just another…  But she was different.  She watched the projected stars in peace and was unafraid of expressing her feelings. Before I could comprehend myself, I begun to become a little more optimistic. What they say is really true. Birds of a feather flock together. 

Then when I returned home, I gradually began to draw again. My skills had decreased shockingly over two years, but I was comfortable holding a paintbrush or a pencil, and it only took me a few months to return to the standard I was already drawing at. 

"Can I draw you?" 

"Sure!" Tiffany smiled and posed for me, but I shook my head. The girl frowned, "didn't you say you want to draw me?" 

"I did, but if I draw you according to this now, how is it different from a photograph?" 

"Well you're drawing it!"

I just laughed to her simplicity.  "It's alright. Just act natural." 

So she did, she smiled playfully and laid down, singing one of the songs from my dreams. 

- - -

Day by day, my skills were improving. As exams came up, we saw very little of each other. Beside the drama room, I had no excuse to speak to her. We weren't friends or anything of the sort. I paid more attention during classes and returned home early to work on my portfolio. My old art teachers were pleased to have me back, despite having been inactive for two years, my name was still included in the club list. So my life continued, stressfully, as I prepared for the admission into an art college. No matter how busy or tired, I always made time to start on the watercolour painting. 

Regardless of what happened, I always seem to dream of her at night. They are different dreams though. It is almost as if we are bound together. 

One Wednesday, I entered the old drama room and saw Tiffany.  The girl lifted her head up from one of the books I recommended her. She greeted me with a warm smile.  "It's been a while."  I could tell from the composition books on the ground that she had been studying music and theory. I sat in my usual spot and picked out another book, written by a Japanese man. "The Tale Of Genji".  By the fiftieth page, I could no longer concentrate. I set the book down and watched as Tiffany scribbled something down in her theory workbook.  The afterglow effect again. The sun crept in from the curtains, washing this room in a calming orange light. The dust seemed to rise to the ceiling like fireflies. 

"Do you ever dream of me?" 

Tiffany stops midway through her textbook and glances up. Our eyes meet and she ponders over her response. My heart was pounding wildly. There was just something about her that made her different from everyone else. 

"I do."  she finally answered after a prolonged silence. 

"What am I like in your dreams?" 

"Seriously?" She frowned to the difficult question but responded anyway. 

"You are pretty much the way you are now.  Really happy, bright and you give me the feeling that I can do anything."

"Hmm…" I mull over her words. I was hoping she would say something along those lines. 

She tossed the question back at me. "Do you ever dream of me?"

"Yes." I said, with a light blush. 

The blush did not go unnoticed. Tiffany raised one of her eyebrows. "And?"

I bit my lip and thought it over. The girl on the other side of the room twirled her hair and watched me intensely. 

"Compared to the dreams, I think I like the way you are now better." 

"That's insulting!" 

We both laughed at her outburst. The room fell silent again and Tiffany spoke. 

"Do you know one thing you said to me in my dreams?" 

I shook my head. 

"You said that if the stars were to go, you would paint them on for me again." 

I curled up my fingers and shivered. "That's so cheesy."

"But it seems like something you would do." she added with a smile. 

Soon it was five o'clock and I had to leave to catch the bus. We said our informal goodbyes and parted ways. Not until the next day. Just until night. When we can dream of one another again. Looking back now, I believe I enjoyed those meaningless conversations the most. I believe all of this could have continued, if I had not said those words to her the day we walked back together.

- - -

I looked her in the eye and felt the blood gush to my head. 

"I like you a lot."  I said softly, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Her eyes softened, another effortless eye-smile that melted my heart. I slowly embraced her, she did not resist, instead whispered into my ear with her husky voice.  "I like you a lot too."  her frame was small and delicate, but her skin was soft and smooth, awfully feminine, like mine. I could feel her breath on my cheeks and her racing heartbeat. Her scent surrounded me and her warmth settled my nerves. It felt right. 

I leaned in toward her. 

"But I can't do this." she murmured, gently pulling away from my embrace. 

Why? 

As if she had planned this all along, with timely precision she smiles apologetically and takes one hasty step back. I was wearing my heart on my sleeve.  "It's okay."  I managed to utter out before she was repulsed by me. I didn't understand. I searched her eyes for answers but all I saw was the same hidden layer of sadness. Identical to the grief I sensed from her in my dreams. 

My whole body resisted the phrase. My heart knew it was not okay. My heart knew it wanted to burst this second. I knew I wanted to dig a hole or hide under a rock. Looking back now, my actions made no sense. But the heart's language is not rational or logical. Then, I could only force on a smile and bite back the pain that was raiding my heart. 

Fool. 

She believed my words, much like a child that never questions her parent's actions, and turned around, continuing down the usual path back home. Never once did she turn back. I stood and watched as she disappeared from my sight. The whole time, a part of me wished for her to turn around and come running back. I waited for twenty minutes. Every time I decided to return, a thought popped up that she could be coming. Her child-like qualities were infectious. So I waited for another hour, until the sun set and the streets were overrun by lights. 

As I dragged my wearied body home, I kept checking back to see if she was there. 

She wasn't. 

Fool. Fool. Fool. Fool.

I heard the soon-to-be-adult side of me say. So I made a promise. 

Never again. 

- - -

That night when I returned home, I took out my sketchbook and tore it apart. The anatomy books, the perspective books, the still-life books, everything. I ed all the paintbrushes, paint, pens, pencils onto the floor. I looked at the watercolour picture I started. I slammed the easel down harshly, knocking over the carefully picked out colours.  My room was littered with sketches, finished and unfinished, oil paintings, watercolour paintings, sketch dumps and hundreds of unused pages. My mother yelled for me to keep quiet, so I purposely slammed the door and turned off the lights. For the first time, I felt as though my room no longer belonged to me. A stranger's room, bare and empty. I crawled into my bed, not bothering to change, and too confused to cry, fell asleep. 

I spent the day in my bed, crying quietly. My mother came into my room to pass on some meals, but besides that, left me alone. For the second time in my life, I felt ****. Absolute ****. As though I had hit rock bottom and could see no good in anything anymore. That made me feel ridiculous, that I let my happiness rest on someone else. That if Tiffany wasn't here, I could not be myself anymore. That feeling sickened me. My head was screwed up with contradictions, my heart was weakened and my ego took over. If I had not met her, then I would had been fine the way I was. I didn't need to become an artist. I didn't need to become so conscious of my colour-blindness. I didn't need to feel these disgusting emotions. 

The third day, my mother forced me to return to school. 

I did not go to the drama room again. I busied myself with perfecting my portfolio, and not once did I speak to Tiffany. 

 I wasn't surprised. Once again, as quickly as it started, Tiffany faded into the background. That was the end of our friendship. That unfinished canvas, I never managed to throw out.  And like all uncommitted encounters, the day we graduated, was the last time we'd ever see each other. Surprisingly, I was okay. A part of me already knew this would happen. Where she went, what she's doing now, I am unsure. Though Tiffany no longer invades my thoughts, once in a while, she does emerge again. There are days when I long to see her, to know what she's doing, to hear her voice, to feel her presence close by me. To be able to sit in that old drama room, not really doing anything, just passing time together. 

There are nights when I wish I could dream of her again, in that crater on the edge of the world, filled with everything. 

My life continued on, uneventfully. I entered a college, a bit further away from Jeonju. I never managed to go far, homesickness always got the better of me. I took on an art major, though I am unsure of what is to come and what I want to make of my life, I found it impossible to give it up. 

"Taeng!"  

I was greeted by my enthusiastic friend, Sunny, who was a 3D design major. The girl smiled happily and gave me a warm hug. Today, the art exhibition had opened and many people from around the area would be visiting the college. Whenever it is possible to earn some extra cash, the clubs go all out, turning this into a small celebration for the completion of the new building. It was still quite early in the morning and no one has arrived yet. 

"Did you see? Your watercolour painting was put in the top three!" 

I just smile. 

"It's not the best though. From a few years ago, I think." 

Sunny just muses over my comment. "You also have another piece don't you?" 

I nod curtly in response. 

"You should really tell me what that piece is about! The one in the top three. Like what does it symbolise and all that fancy stuff, you know, stuff English teachers get worked up over." 

I just nod absentmindedly. The shorter girl frowned and brushed aside her bangs. She knew I was tired and typically not a morning person. After cramming three nights of assignments and exams, I barely got any sleep. I didn't need to tell her this however, as it was already present on my face. The girl tapped me lightly on the shoulder, "I need to go help out." 

I dip my head again in response. I hear the sound of her heels becoming further away. Before she exited, she called out to me. 

"By the way, I took up on your suggestion of a planetarium." 

My disbelief must had been on my face for she just grinned, clearly satisfied.  "Down the hall, to the very left, you are very welcome." 

I sighed to myself. Before I could even take a step Sunny came back in, "Also, one of the guests got freaked out by your painting."

"Thanks."  I respond rather sarcastically. Sunny took none of it to heart and happily left the building. 

Left alone again, I wandered around, admiring many of the seniors graduation pieces. I am slowly beginning to be able to recognise certain colours, but anything digitally done I have little clue. I liked how each artist had their own style, their own way of communicating their thoughts of that time to the viewer. Though often, pieces have no meaning. They simply 'be'. I stopped by my second entry. A piece I rushed this year to complete on time. If it wasn't for Sunny warning me about the colour of the skin, I would have painted the child red and the plush toy dark green. I wasn't particularly pleased with this piece. A child held onto a plush toy, on the beach, with her feet in the waves, completed by the hundreds of clouds that waft across the sky. I continued onwards, toward the 'best' pieces. My watercolour piece is there. Perhaps it was something to feel proud about, but for me, Art, like literature, will always remain subjective to culture. 

In comparison to my current style, I do believe this older style possessed a certain aspect that my current style had lost. The old style had rough , imperfect dimensions and was just too simple. Maybe in the progress of searching impatiently, I have forgotten what the purpose of 'art' is, so this rare flaw was lost. I sighed again and looked away. This piece took me four months to complete. Not that it was particularly difficult, but because I was overwhelmed with nostalgia. If I stared at her face for too long, I would be overrun with regret and desire. Feelings I do not want to experience anymore. I would long to dream about her again, to hear her song in my dreams and to see that pure smile. I examined this work for a few seconds before I averted my eyes. 

The Tiffany in my dreams have not aged. But the real Tiffany has. They are not the same people, I have to constantly remind myself. 

After exploring the gallery, two hours had passed and people were slowly filling in. I decided to investigate the planetarium Sunny told me about. Following her directions, sure enough, I found myself inside a large planetarium. I was quite impressed with the overall structure and the projected stars. As I half-stumbled across in the darkness to find a comfortable seat, I heard a song. It was pitch black so I could not see properly, but the tone of voice and the lyrics undoubtedly were the ones. The ones I've heard countless of times in my dreams. 

Together, under this imperfect sky of stars, she sings, barely audible. Her voice is hard to describe. It sounds familiar but is fresh, it is innocent but it is pained, full of contradictions. The lyrics are abstract and make no sense, if you were to analyse them, they just become more confusing than they already are. But it sounds right, because it is the language of the heart. 

I don't think she noticed my presence.

But something told me that this was Tiffany. 

I shut my eyes and listened, opening my mouth to the next line of lyrics. What felt like an eternity in those fantasies, only lasted a few heartbeats. No words were exchanged, no eyes met and surely, no hearts connected.  After that short song, she exited.

I was left with the stars again. I took in a deep breath and looked at myself. There are times when you need to be patient and wait for the answer to arise within you. And for some reason, I felt as though I knew now. Those feelings, the words I wanted to tell her. 

"Say," I began to myself in complete darkness. "I might just be in love with you, Tiffany."

I closed my eyes and sighed, running my fingers through my long hair. I could hear the same words in her perfect voice playing through my head again. 

A husky voice responded. 

"I think, I might just love you too."

Tiffany. 

- - -

"Where the heck is she…" Sunny sauntered around the art exhibition, now bustling with people. This was her chance to read exactly what Taeyeon wrote on the art submission form (which usually is attached beside the artwork). Squeezing through tight gaps, Sunny eventually made it to Taeyeon's work. People came and went, when the opportunity was right, the girl elbowed her way to the front. If you had not met Taeyeon before, it was definitely unconvincing that she is colour blind. It is hard to find any flaws in her choice of colour, in fact, her palettes are often more effective than those who can see colour perfectly fine. Regardless, having seen this work in progress for many months, each time Sunny was astounded by the strong emotions that were given off. 

Her piece was a girl, pretty young, vermillion coloured hair that fell shoulder-length, a neat fringe and crescent eyes. Behind her is the universe, she smiles eerily life-like, with outstretched hands, as if beckoning for you to join her. A gentle afterglow of fireflies and her pink dress, illuminated by the stars. 

Sunny read the note beneath it. 

"A girl of my dreams.  Regardless of where she is now, what she is doing, may she always hold an important place in my heart. May she continue smiling, shining like the brightest of stars, never losing that brilliant afterglow." 

-Taeyeon.