I’ve been here in Seoul, South Korea for almost two years. I came here in hopes of a new life, a fresh start. I found a job at a little American based restaurant. Yes, I’ve met several of Korea’s top artists, each asking if I’d like to join their companies. I, of course, turned them down, I’m not here to be social really.

I’m trying to forget my past, forget him… I shake my head, trying to get these thoughts from me. I look up, getting ready to greet the new customers as they walk in, when I see it’s nine girls. Each is beautiful in their own way, each has their own personality just by looking at them. I become self-conscious of myself, I’m still chubby from being in the States, but at least I lost my ’pregnant’ belly from all the exercising I’ve been doing and these girls are thin, well built.

"Hello," I say, bowing a ninety degree angle like my boss taught me.

They say it back, some in English, some in Korean. I smile.

"If you don’t mind," one of them says, she must be the leader, "we’d like to keep ourselves from being recognized."

"Don’t worry," I tell the girls, smiling, "you’re safe here. We don’t," I take them to a table big enough to fit all of them, "have many fans coming here. If we do, then this is where we seat the artists. Enjoy."

I lay the menus down in front of each girl, it’s written in English as well as Korean, and tell them that I’ll be back to take their orders. I go and get their drinks, not thinking of anything but my work now. I’ve shown several Koreans that I can hold my own when it comes to big orders, I used to work at a resort at home…

No, I think, that’s not your home anymore, this is. Stop acting like you’ll be back there.

I sigh, then collect myself, putting my smile back on my face and take the drinks to the table. I set the drinks in front of the owner, each girl amazed that I remember.

"Ready?" I ask the girls, getting out my pad and pen.

They each order, I quickly write down the food the girls each name off. I look carefully at each, like what they’re wearing, so I can make sure that the plates will be placed in front of her. This is how I was taught back there and it’s stuck. I nod, take the menus, and walk to the cook. I read off each of the orders, him nodding and taking the paper.

I walk back to the front as the owner comes in, his six year old running over to me. I laugh, picking the girl up and hug her. I then put her down as Dad comes over to the counter, trying in vain to take his jacket off. I laugh again, helping him.

"Here you go," I tell him, giving his jacket to him.

"Thank you," he says, taking it.

He looks around, sees the girls, bows and nods his head.

"Been busy?" he asks.

I shake my head.