Jongin

And we'll all float on anyway. - Modest Mouse, "Float On" 

In the back of my mind, I always considered Wednesdays the worst. When they rolled around, I never failed to at least attempt to convince myself that they weren’t so bad, but now, sitting in the silence of my dinner table, it was obvious that they were actually horrible. 

Wednesdays were the one day of the week both of my parents were home at the same time, and the one day of the week we had dinner as a family. My father didn’t have office hours or a late class to teach, and my mother wasn’t teaching a late class at her studio. They had free time on the weekends, too, but being a respected professor at a prestigious art university called for my father to spend his weekends attending events, performances, and galleries. My mother was always more than happy to accompany him. It’s not to say that I didn’t love my parents, because I did, but I loved them more when I was a kid. 

“So, have you thought about any colleges?” My father asked, breaking the silence that was enveloping the dinner table. 

When I was a kid, they didn’t do that. When I was a kid, I was oblivious and danced because it was a fun thing to do, because they encouraged me, and because I was always guaranteed a shiny, first place trophy. If I could go back in time, I would gladly warn my younger self that what he called fun would be used to fuel his misery in the future. They used my skill to taunt me, to force me to make choices about my future. 

It was funny; artists typically faced their parents molding them into a conventional role, while my parents kept forcing my conventional self into an artistic mold. 

“Uh, no, but I was thinking about looking into schools with a good business and financing program to apply to.” I spoke slowly and carefully, pushing food around my plate, being sure to keep my eyes as low as possible. I didn’t want to see the look on my father’s face. 

“Really?” Was all he answered. I should’ve known it was a trap, but I looked up in shock anyway. My father didn’t like having conversations with people’s body parts, and would only insist on speaking, confronting, even, to people when they were looking at him in the eye. And his trap worked, letting him stare me down. 

“Yes, really.” I replied, with twice as much caution as I displayed the first time I responded. 

“Because I would’ve thought my son was raised as a rational, resourceful adult who knew when to use his connections to his advantage.” His voice was stern enough to make Kangin flinch. It was too late for me to peel my eyes away, so the only thing I could do was take the lecture. 

“I just thought stability would be the better option for me.” I answered as softly as I could. 

“You have stability, Jongin. You shouldn’t let your fear of the future restrict your artistic capabilities.” The look of disappointment was clear in his eyes. “We are a family of artists. Artists don’t care for stability.” 

I’m not an artist. I wanted to shout back at him. I hadn’t been an artist for years. I hadn’t been an artist ever since my inspiration had fallen, thanks completely to my disillusion. They thought I hadn’t been dancing because I was busy, but I haven’t danced because I can’t. Every time I step into a studio, my body refuses to move. I’m unhappy, and the whole “tortured soul” act doesn’t do anything for me. I’m not like those people that can only produce good art when they’re unstable, in fact, I’m quite the opposite. If I’m unstable, I’m uninspired, and I’ve lost my voice. I wanted to tell them all of this, but I would just be told that I was making excuses, that I feared my own capabilities. Instead, I tried to derail the conversation. 

“If we’re a family of artists, why aren’t you forcing Kangin to be a painter or some crap like that?” I demanded. I felt slightly apologetic for throwing my little brother into the battle without batting an eyelash, but I also wanted to get the attention off of me any way I possibly could. 

“He’s an artist in his own respect, I suppose.” My father answered, but seeing my look of dissatisfaction, he sighed, readying himself to get blunt. “Frankly, Jongin, it’s because Kangin has found something he excels at, something that is unfortunately out of our realm of expertise, but you-“ 

“I don’t excel at anything.” I answered for him, biting my lip to refrain from saying any more. 

“You excel at dancing.” My father added, after having his lips pursed in a thin line for some time. “You have the letter of recommendation of a reliable staff member, you have awards and trophies to prove your skill, you just have to focus on your audition. It’s an easy admission to a great school.” 

I didn’t say anything more. I looked back down and proceeded to take small bites of my dinner. My appetite was gone, but it was my way of showing the conversation was over. My mother, bless her heart, noted this. She cleared , changing the topic. 

“So, this is going to be the last Wednesday family dinner we’ll have in a while.” My mother sighed at the lack of response from everyone, so she repeated her statement. 

“Oh?” Was all my father said, suddenly very interested in the meal in front of him. 

“New classes begin next week, and I’m afraid I’m scheduled for a Wednesday evening class. Intermediate modern dance. I could really use a hand.” She didn’t even try to make her request sound like a general comment; she directed her worry straight to me. I tried my best to keep my eyes down, to avoid falling for any of her guilt trips. 

“I’ve already got one assistant, but I’m afraid I’ll need two. Do you remember Kim Minseok? The boy who was in all of your dance classes growing up? He continued dancing, and volunteered to help teach.” I dropped my utensils at her lack of subtlety. 

Why don’t you adopt Kim Minseok then? I wanted to spit at her. But I had respect for them. Not that I had any favorable opinions for them right now, but I still had respect. 

“You two were good friends, weren’t you?” My father chimed in, obviously thrilled at the opportunity I was being given. 

We weren’t good friends. Minseok and I were in tons of photos together because we happened to be in all of our classes together, but our relationship was hardly deeper than that. I still saw him sometimes, mostly alone, but definitely happier than I was. We never connected because he had a passion that I never had. Even as a kid, it was intimidating and enough to make someone feel inferior. I’ll admit that there was no question as to who was better at dancing technique wise, but the advantage I had over him in that area was easily overshadowed by his sheer artistry. 

I didn’t want to explain this to them, so I grunted in response. 

“The best, if I remember correctly.” My mother, who obviously didn’t remember correctly, answered in my place. 

“I think it would look great on your application, Jongin. And you can brush up for your audition in the process, since I’m sure you’re rusty.” I looked up at my father, wanting to protest. But I knew there was no point. I was going to be forced into the arts whether I enjoyed it or not, so I might as well not exert any energy on protesting. I shrugged at my mother, who was delighted. From the corner of my eye, I could see Kangin looking at me apologetically. 

It must be great for him, being good at what he likes. Being good at something that doesn’t need the constant approval and pushing of an outside force. 

My food went untouched after that, and as soon as my father finished his meal, I excused myself to relieve my stress, and get my mind on something more pleasant. 

Wow, what a surprise. 

I sent the message to Natalie, hoping that it didn’t come off as terribly douchey. I was just happy that she happened to be online when I wanted to distract myself. As much as I enjoyed talking to her, her consistency for being available was definitely off. I had no idea what she did with her spare time, so I couldn’t complain. 

I know! I have some time to breath, I’m surprised myself. 

I wanted to ask her about why she left so abruptly during our last conversation, but it seemed like it wasn’t my place to impose. The curiosity was driving me nuts, though. 

Should we continue our game? I asked. 

Something tells me I don’t actually have a choice, so I’d be (obligatorily) delighted. 

I chuckled, acknowledging that I was very much into how subtly cheeky she was being today. She must be in a good mood, which made me excited for an odd reason I didn’t want to try to analyze. I thought it best not to analyze my internet relationship with someone, and to just enjoy the small bursts of joy it seemed to give me. 

Well I’ll be delighted, by choice of course, to answer your first question. It’s your turn. 

I waited anxiously while she typed her question. Part of me, if not all of me, hoped that she would honor the promise we made to keep this an innocent game. I was terrified that she would ask something about relationships, because I wasn’t exactly proud of my past. And even if the possibility of lying was very much available without consequence, it still felt like it wouldn’t be right in any respect. 

But then again, she had no reason to ask about relationships, and I had no reason to fear her disapproval. I knew, and I’m sure she knew, that we were just being friendly. 

Right? 

The ding of the computer made me snap out of my thoughts before I read too much into her responses, and my own. 

Do you prefer sweet or savory snacks? 

My chuckles were progressively shifting into loud laughter with every oddity she seemed to come up with. 

Really, Nat? 

Yes, Really! I think it says a lot about people! 

Well, I prefer sweet snacks. What does the psychoanalysis report say about me, Freud? 

It says that your taste buds are way messed up. 

As I protested and she insisted that the only sensible people were the people who admitted that savory snacks were the best snacks. It was lighthearted, not to mention adorable, but as much as I laughed, I couldn’t get the less than favorable dinner out of my mind. When we decided it was my turn to ask the question, I think my anxieties took over the keyboard. 

What do you want to do with the rest of your life? 

That’s a little bit of a shift, don’t you think? She commented after what seemed like a long while. I agreed that maybe it wasn’t the smoothest transition, and that maybe I was selfish for dragging her into my anxieties, but I just wanted to hear that someone was just as confused as I was about the standing of their future. 

It’s still a question. 

The longer she took to reply, the more I felt at ease that she too was racking her brain, searching for the answer. But then it set in that maybe, just maybe, I had provoked some sort of existentialist crisis. I was surprised to see that she pretty much had everything laid out. 

First, I have to study. The way things are going, I’ll be able to get into Seoul National. From there, I’m going to focus on my General Education requirements before I really decide what career path I want to take. My choices of study are either law, or pharmacy. Either would be fine with me, but I know that when I have things settled, I’ll want to be very focused on philanthropy. So I guess that’s where my life is going. 

She seemed very certain about it, but still, behind the text, I could tell she wasn’t thrilled about it.  It seemed like a robotic example because it took no contemplating. Even those who are sure they found their life path are a little hesitant about the future. 

Is that your dream? 

No. She replied. I just sort of adopted it. 

From your parents? I asked, slightly too eager to hear of someone else’s parents imposing on their life. 

More or less. Less than more really. 

So, what do you want to do? 

Anthropology. Cultural, physical, forensic, linguistic, I don’t care. I just want to learn about people. 

Then this friendship isn’t a weird field study, is it? I joked, trying to lighten the dark mood I feel like I set. I wanted like crazy to ask whose dream it was if not her parents, but once again, I knew that if she wanted to tell me, she would. I didn’t want to exhaust the admitting of someone who seemed to be reserved. 

Darn. You caught me. 

I chuckled, sensing that her tone meant it was appropriate for me to pry again. 

What’s stopping you? 

Being filial, I guess. We’re not in the best financial situation, and despite having high expectations and little external love for me, I still think I need to pay my parents back for all of their hardships. 

I was a bit sorry I asked. Fear was stopping me, but a duty, a respectable sense of debt, was stopping her. I suddenly felt weak and like I didn’t deserve to complain. 

I can tell you asked because something’s bothering you. You can tell me, if you want. She added quickly after her reply. I was a tad bit confused as to whether she offered her shoulder genuinely, or if she did it because she knew I would take it and stop asking questions. Either way, in my confused and upset mentality, I couldn’t afford to refuse. 

It’s nothing too serious. My parents are pressing me to go to an art school as a dance major. I’m too afraid to tell them that I can’t dance anymore. 

I’m sure that’s a problem so many kids would want. But before discussing how I’d love to have parents that urged me to do something artistic, why don’t I ask the obvious question. Why can’t you dance anymore? 

And this is where I enjoyed this relationship. She couldn’t judge me too harshly through a computer screen. She couldn’t see my pathetic face as I admitted things to her, and I couldn’t see her giving me any pity, which was something I hated receiving. I could vent to Natalie, and feel like I was talking to someone and no one at all. If I tried to tell any of the guys this, they’d say it was a good thing because the type of dancing I did wasn’t exactly their style, but they’d counter it by saying that I was wasting my talent on not getting as many girls as I could. I was beyond grateful for a friend who was logical, even if they were in the form of a computer screen. 

Because I don’t have the motivation to. I’m not an artist anymore, and what good does it do to have talent that I can’t release? I don’t like doing anything anymore, and while some people use that to their advantage, I can’t. I have to like my life to able to perform well, and I haven’t liked my life for a long time. I may sound like a complete brat to some, complaining that my parents want me to take an unconventional career, complaining that my biggest problem is my angst getting in the way of being able to perform, but they’re still problems. They’re problems that I want to rid myself of, and until I rid myself of them, I won’t be able to perform with my heart. 

I waited, feeling relief and nervousness settle in every possible nook of my body. Relief, because I don’t remember the last time I had told anyone what I was truly feeling, and nervousness because her response to my feelings could mean that I would never tell anyone what I was feeling again. 

Why don’t you find something you love? She responded.

It seemed like an obvious solution, but it was admittedly something I never thought about. My mind was always so focused on making my life bearable as a whole, I never thought that finding one light would definitely illuminate all of my life. So the quest would begin to find my light. 

Happy Friday, all! 

I hope you enjoyed this update! I also hope you're enjoying the little music tidbits I include before every chapter. They come from some of my favorite bands/songs, so you're learning a little bit about me as the story progresses. Please leave your thoughts in the comment section below, or maybe some predictions or hopes you have for Kaieun interactions in the future. Don't worry, the face to face interactions will be coming soon enough. 

Subscribe, comment, tell me how your day has been, your favorite food, or even anything you're excited about. I'm excited that I finished my first year of college on Tuesday, and that I'll be going to see Epik High in concert next Thursday. I'd love to hear from all of you! 

J