08.24.2007

I knew it was already worse when I started finding her. After completing my French class, I find myself looking for her in the crowd. She can get easily mixed up since she’s always wearing simple clothing, while her face is free from make-up. With that, you can guess she’s mastering misdirection or something—like my favorite animated character. She never even liked the idea of crowds, according to Pierre, whom she talked briefly during the time she went to my house. And I am surprised myself to actually remember all the things about her, even the simple things she does during the review. Was this really the hook to my heart? More importantly, why is Pierre considering my heart like a fish?

Friday night, I was dragged into one of the usual college parties held by the frats. I am not in my usual self: I push away the girls trying to flirt with me, while the idea of them touching me no longer fascinates my subconscious, and I reserve myself into not talking to anyone. When the frat leader noticed my indifference, he told me to go outside to get some fresh air because I was not myself. He might as well told me to get the out because I am not the ing Jiyong he knows. And I know, I don’t know me too.

I reached the veranda in a matter of seconds after dodging the girls on my way. I just prop my elbows on the railings and sigh. Truthfully, I am indifferent for the couple of days and I have no idea why. Maybe it was Pierre’s words, or maybe hers. I don’t know. I’m too clueless or naïve to even think about it. And even though I am smart, which I have bragging rights, I don’t know anything.

Just as I am clueless about the answer, then, I saw her, walking on the pavement, holding a plastic bag on one hand. Her other hand is still covered by bandages, and she’s still wearing our university hoodie. I’m starting to think it’s her favorite shirt—or her only shirt. She always wore that during our reviews.

I subconsciously called her name.

She turns immediately, pushing down the hood of her jacket to show me her make-up free face. Her face looks so pale, if not plain, as if it’s molded from or by the moon. She greets happily, as if we’re friends. “Hi, Kwon Jiyong right?”

I smiled even though she purposely did that. I don’t even know why. Maybe because she’s trying so hard to make us strangers. “What are you doing outside?”

She walks closer to me, turning our distance to a meter, and answers, “I bought a few things from the market to help me study for the night. Soju, instant jjangmyeon noodles, kimbap and fritters.” She spares a look behind me, peering curiously. “I should be asking the same to you. What are you doing here? It seems you are missing a lot of things from the party.”

I walk down the steps, closing in our distance to half a meter. She isn’t bothered by this but she shifts her weight to the other side uncomfortably. I find the action cute. But she’s always trying to hide her embarrassment and restlessness by acting tough. And that itself is cute.

I shrug, heaving a fake sigh. “I don’t know. I think I’m not myself. I stopped flirting with girls and I stopped talking to anyone I don’t know. My friends thought so too and told me to get fresh air from outside.”

She presses her lips, her eyes deep in contemplation and she crosses her arms while pondering. Maybe this is not the answer she’s looking for after telling me I don’t have to try. “Have you thought for a while that instead of not being yourself, you are being yourself?”

I stare at her, dumbfounded. She stares back, determined.

She shrugs. “I don’t know for sure. Every one of us don’t know our true selves completely but we realize a part of us in the most sincere parts of our lives. When we love, when we’re hurt or when we’re happy—those moments spark our true selves. Have you felt any of those to cause you indifference?”

You. I try to say but my words are stuck in my throat. The more I stare at her, the more I am convinced that she’s already part of my life and that she has called out to my true self. Whoever Kwon Jiyong that is.

“I need to go.” She announces, turning her heels. “My mom’s going to kill me if I stay too long outside. I hope you find your reasons.”

“Sandara!” I called, stopping her before she jogs off. She turns her head momentarily. The perk of her eyes, her pale skin, her long eyelashes, her small thighs and arms, her sweatshirt and her small hair bun—I want to see them badly again. I don’t even know why.

But as she said, I want to find my reasons.

“Thank you.” I sincerely smile and she returns it back, making my stomach churn unexpectedly. I watch her jog out, her back slowly turning small.

“What are you looking at earnestly?”

I jump from my spot, cursing under my breath. My junior from the basketball team comes into my view, his wide eyes blinking with curiosity. “Minho,” I narrow my eyes at him, moving my face away as our lips are centimeters away. “You’re too near.”

“Oh! Sorry hyungnim.” He gasps, jumping far from me. “I was calling for you numerous times but you were talking to some dude—“

“She’s a girl.”

Minho’s face brightens up, showing me his teeth in just one smile, and says, “Ah, I see that’s why you were dodging the girls because—“

“Yah!” I glare at him, giving him all the murderous aura I can give. “Don’t continue. I’ll not let you play.”

“But hyungnim.” He starts, shifting his weight to his other leg and shoving his hands inside his Polartec jacket. “You look like—“

I put my arm around his shoulders and pull him closer, trying to change the topic with skinship. “Just shut up.” I order, putting my free hand inside my pocket. We both stare forward, into the illegal double parking of cars. But it occurs during parties, and the locals don’t bother reporting it due to the influence of the frat leader.

“Hyungnim—“

I groan, tightening my grip on his shoulder blade. It’s a sign he should take that he needs to shut his trap from all forms of teasing. “Just shut up.”

Minho puts is arm around my waist and complains, “Hyung, you don’t let me finish talking!”

“What do you want to even say aside from teasing me?” I whisper, rolling my eyes and comfortably hang my arm on his shoulder.

“They’re opening up the auction in a few minutes. One of them is selling their black Peugeot 208 and white Peugeot 308.” He reports, the excitement not hidden in his voice. “You told me you wanted a new car—“

I immediately remove my arm from around his shoulders and dash inside, hearing him shout, “You didn’t even let me finish my sentence yet again!” before I enter the house completely.