When I was a child I could still see and hear, but one day I was left with nothing. I couldn’t see anything anymore, I couldn't hear anything anymore.

It to be me. I hated this world. I wanted to die.

But my parents just loved me so much, they gave me a reason to live.

And when Jongin came, the more I wanted to go on.

So here I am now in front of my braillewriter, preparing my fingers to write about him. I am still waiting for him, because I know he’ll come back.

--

“Jongin! Wash the dishes!” her mother madly shouted.

Jongin obviously couldn’t hear her. He was sleeping on the floor, hugging himself, huge blues on his arms and face, dried blood on his cheeks.

Even if he was awake, he wouldn’t hear her because he couldn’t.

It was January 14, 2004. Jongin’s tenth birthday. But his mother didn’t remember it, and he would never know that this was supposed to be a day to celebrate.

She glared at his son, clenching her fists as she rushed towards him. She stumped her foot on his chest. “Wake up and wash the dishes! I’ll go to work!”

Jongin jerked from the floor and quickly stood up. Suddenly, she slapped him. He didn’t know what he did wrong. Maybe because he slept so she hurt him again. He just stood up, not even shaking anymore, because slaps, punches and stumps all became normal to him.

“Wash the dishes!” she repeated.

Jongin looked at nowhere, and that very sight of him not keeping an eye contact irked her more. “You’re so disrespectful, ,” she grabbed his hair and pulled him to the sink.

That was actually what Jongin was waiting for—for her to pull his hair so that he would know what he must do. When he fumbled on the things in front of him, he found the plates and utensils. With that, he already knew what to do. He started to hold the sponge and spoons, and then he d for the faucet to make the water flow.

When he was done, he d in the air, waving his arms repeatedly in space, checking if no one was around.

He instantly smiled after finding out that his mother was gone now. He searched for the bed and shook his body in joy as he lied down. He hugged his only friend since he was young, the only friend he could play with and cry onto—the pillow.

He giggled as he cuddled his soft friend. He gently patted it against his head, pretending that the pillow was trying to comfort him from the pain he got when his mother pulled his hair. 

It was okay with him. Although he had always been hurt, he would just smile because he could bear it. He never understood why he had to be hit with a wood or drowned in a basin, but he did not mind those anymore because playing with his friend was more important than crying about the same things over and over again.

He understood it. He understood that in this world, he would always get hurt. He thought that maybe, that was the reason why he was living-- to get hurt and then find the comfort with his friend.

Being with his friend had always made him feel so happy.

--

I didn’t know much about Jongin’s childhood. What I knew was just he came from a poor family and he only had his mother to take care of him. Yet my parents said she did not really take care of him, but instead battered him every day. It was only when he was thirteen when a social worker discovered his condition. His mother was jailed, and he went under the orphanage’s custody.

At the orphanage. That was where we first met. Or was ‘met’ the right term?

I was fourteen at that time. It was our family’s tradition to do new year charity works. Maybe I could also find some friends there, my parents said.

Friends? I could only laugh. I didn’t want any because no one really understood me. No one knew the feeling of not seeing or hearing anything.

But then my mother talked to me while I was sitting. Maybe I was along the corridor then but I didn’t really know. She did tactile signs on my palm, and her message made me excited.

I could still remember the exact succession of signs she made on my hand to form the message. Meet Kim Jongin. He’s also deaf and blind like you. You’ve been wanting someone like him, right? So we suppose you’ll like him as your friend.

And then she gave me Jongin’s hand. It was soft and cold. I shook hands with him although his hand was already shaking. It seemed he was scared of something, scared of me, yet he didn’t pull his hand from me. I examined the features of his hands with mine—he had thin fingers, gaunt knuckles, and although the touch of his skin was smooth, I felt small and big bumps. Those were scars and scrapes. I d further for his arm and felt the same things. He was still cold and shaking so I thought of comforting him.

I laid his palm flat and did signs to tell him, don’t be afraid, I’m your friend.

My mother suddenly gripped my hand and said, He won’t understand you, baby. He doesn’t know tactile signing. He didn’t go to school. He can’t talk.

My heart broke with what she said. I thought I could talk to him. I thought we could be great friends. But how could we do that if we couldn’t talk to each other?

And my heart broke more with his condition. How could he express what he was feeling inside? How could he tell other people how much pain he was dealing with?

He broke my heart.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

The air was filled with nothing. Everything was black. Feeling was all I had. Feeling that my new friend was beside me, holding my hand, the warmth of his body interlaced on mine.

And I supposed that was all he could sense as well. In his world, there was also nothing but his feelings. He didn’t even have words in his world.

What could he be thinking right now? Could he know that we were the same, deaf and blind and desperate to see everything?

Finally, I found someone who was living in the same world I had. I wanted to talk about a lot of things with him. How was he feeling? What was he thinking?

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

The time flew with only silence and warmth between us.

We already came back home but Jongin was left stuck in my mind. I tried to sleep, but to my surpise, I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop thinking of him. The memory kept replaying—we were sitting beside each other, I could feel his warmth despite his cold and trembling body, I was groping his arms, shoulders, neck and face to remember his features. I ran my palm on his jawline and it was beautiful. His lips were thick yet soft, his nose was round and perfectly-shaped. His cheeks were soft and I supposed his eyes looked so wonderful.

We stayed together for a long time. A long time…perhaps we spent the whole of our day just beside each other. We walked together, ate together, danced together. Yes, we danced, and that was the first time someone other than my parents interlaced his fingers on mine, wrapped his arm around my waist and gently held me side to side.

I suddenly wondered how he learned to be that smooth and graceful. I wondered how he could grab my heart that instant.

We had no exchange of words. It was just us holding each other’s hand, just us touching each other’s heart.

Jongin was so wonderful. How I wished I could see his face.

The next day, I couldn’t help but grab my father’s hand and tell him what I want.

Father, please let Jongin be my classmate. Also, please let him come here. I’ll teach him how to do signs. I’ll also teach him braille.

He ran his palm on my head and replied, He can come here, baby. But, we can’t teach him. He’s a total deafblind, he can’t learn the signs unlike you who can still hear a little.

I ignored the other things he said. What me was that he promised he would let Jongin come. Jongin will come?! Jongin will come?! My fingers signed so fast.

Yes was my father’s answer.

--

I was lying on my bed when I felt someone touch my hand.

I jumped from my place the moment he touched me. It was Jongin. I was sure it was Jongin.

Here’s Jongin, baby. Just tell me what you’d like to do and I’ll assist you, okay? My mother said.

What I just really wanted to do was to be beside him. We could be anywhere, we could do anything. I just wanted to be by his side.

I wanted to let him know that I liked him. So since he couldn’t understand signs, I hugged him...tight, and long.

I felt his heartbeat; it was fast. And he was shaking again, though not as hard as before. Maybe he was still a bit afraid, but I’d prove to him that he had no reason to fear when I’m by his side.

Jongin hugged me back, and then I felt some drops of water fall on my shoulder. I fumbled for his face and discovered he was crying. I wanted to ask why. I wanted to know why. But no one could know. Not even me.

He hugged me again, tighter than I did. As the seconds flew, the answer was slowly coming to me. Remembering what my parents told me about him, I thought I knew the answer to my question. He was crying because I hugged him. He was crying because he felt so happy, because he felt loved. He was crying because his mother did not let him feel loved and because the children at the orphanage didn’t either. Maybe I was the first one to hug him. Maybe I made him so happy.

Jongin almost didn’t want to let go. We’d been hugging each other for long and my arms were beginning to ache. But I just let him do so. He could hug me for days if he wanted to, because I liked him.

I could feel the time fly, and we were just sitting, holding each other’s hand. I thought of doing something else. Maybe we should play with something, perhaps papers to crumple and throw wildly in the air. So I floundered for some papers so we could entertain ourselves.

I grabbed one and harshly turned it into a ball. There was no sound of it, and I didn’t know how the paper turned out to be. I threw it anyways, not having an idea where it landed.

That was fun though.

I took Jongin’s hand and put a paper on his palm. Then I closed his fist and guided him to toss it in the air. But then I discovered he didn’t throw the paper. His fist was still closed and he was holding the paper tightly. He didn’t understand what I was trying to make him do.

I tried to get the paper from him but he didn’t even want to give it to me. He pulled his hand and hid his fist behind him. I reached for it but he was taking his arm farther.

I went annoyed. I punched his arm.

When I did that, he opened his fist.

I suddenly got guilty with what I did. I just hurt him. I got afraid he would punch me back hardly like I did.

But he did not.

--

Jongin was really filling me with so much wonder.

My father said Jongin was battered and that he had been mistreated since he was a little child.

I was wondering how he could be this harmless. He was so calm and behaved. He was just always beside me, either tickling me or holding my hand or pinching my nose. My mother told me Jongin wasn’t giving them any problem aside from breaking things he accidentally bumped onto.

I wondered how he could be that good despite all the things he’d been through.

Didn’t he hate the world? Didn’t he hate the people? Didn’t he want to return the pain everyone gave him?

I couldn’t know the answers because Jongin couldn’t talk. But even without words, he was telling me that he does not. He was telling me it was okay, like it was his fault and he couldn’t be angry. That was what he was telling me in the midst of his silence.

He was again hugging me right now. And then he stood up and tenderly pulled me with him.

He s his arm around my waist again. With that, I already knew what he wanted us to do. To dance.

I smiled, and I took his hand to let him touch my lips so he would know I’m happy. Then I put my arms on his shoulder and let him take me wherever he wanted to.

To nowhere, nowhere and nowhere.

I didn’t know where we were heading, but there was one place I knew we would lead to, and that was to each other’s heart.

We bumped on the wall at the side, then I felt my mother assist us to the right direction where we could dance again. I shyly smiled because I knew that my mother had been watching us all the time. I wondered how we looked like and I wondered what she was thinking. But I thought she could see that I was happy around Jongin. I hoped she could see that I wanted Jongin to be always by my side.

I asked my mother if Jongin could stay at home in the evening, but she said he needed to go back to the orphanage because they were not his guardians.

The next thing she said made my heart jumped. She said they were thinking of adopting Jongin.

I couldn’t agree more with that idea.

When I woke up the next day, I suddenly realized that adopting Jongin could be wrong. Because if so, he would be my brother and it would be forbidden for us to marry.

I went crazy over that thought, and I knew to myself how insane I was for thinking that we should marry.

But then I thought that if adopting him would be the way for us to be together forever, it would be more than okay. What was important was that I could love him all the way.

--

One, two, three.

I was trying to teach Jongin braille. I guided his fingers on the dots, and then I put my index finger on his palm, emphasizing that those dots meant the count of my finger on his palm. One.

Just like us. We were one. And he was the one.

I let him touch the paper again and landed my finger on his hand. One.

But did he understand it?

Two. I added one more finger on his palm, then I pulled his finger to the next set of dots. Two. Just like us. The two of us together at this moment.

Jongin didn’t seem to understand. And I knew he couldn’t understand. It took me years before I understood this thing, and I was just angry that it couldn’t be learned right now.

This was useless, I thought. I tossed the paper away, and I wasn’t able to control my temper, I pushed Jongin away from me.

Three. I slapped him three times when he came back beside me.

--

Four, five. I was counting the days since Jongin had been going here at home. This was the fifth day we’d hang out together again.

As we walked along the garden, I floundered for a flower. Any flower would do, as long as I could offer it to him. When I was a child I had the chance to see the beauty of a flower, though it was so blurred and I didn’t witness its details.

The very first flower I touched was a daisy. I picked it up and put it on Jongin’s palm. I closed his hand as he held the stem and I did signs to tell him my message.

This is for you, Jongin. I like you.

But then I remembered that he couldn’t understand it. I got frustrated. I wanted to tell him exactly what I feel. I wanted to let the words touch his heart.

And then I also realized he wouldn’t appreciate the flower. He never saw how it looked like. He didn’t know how pretty it was. He didn’t know what a flower meant.

It . It to be Jongin. I could not imagine myself being in his place, unable to understand anything, unable to know anything.

I stumped my feet on the grass and kicked the air in frustration. I was mad. I was so mad for Jongin.

I threw tantrums for the rest of that day. I did not want to be with Jongin because he was frustrating me. I was trying to teach him the tactile signs for a flower—I put the sign for f, then l, then o,w,e,r, and afterwards I let him touch the flower so he would associate it with the signs. I repeated it many times and I ended up angry of him…of myself. I kicked him, I slapped him again because he was dumb.

I cried. I cried because I thought I was the most ill-fated person in the world. I had always hurt my parents, I had thrown everything I touched and kicked all things I bumped, thinking why I should be like this. I had always thrown my food, I had tossed the plates to the floor, because I couldn’t understand why I was living.

But then there Jongin was, a person who had worse than me, yet he was not trying to hurt the people around him. I was waiting for him to hit me, to kick me or to punch me back, but I ended up being gently embraced. I was anticipating that my mother would tell me he was throwing things as well, throwing temper and doing mad things like I did, but my mother never said anything like that.

She just told me that Jongin was crying at her, pulling her to nowhere, and she supposed he wanted to be with me again.

I shook my head. I told her to take him back to the orphanage and never to let him go back here again. I didn’t want him to be my friend anymore. He was plain dumb.

--

I told myself I would not search for him again. This morning I just stayed on my study table and re-read our lessons in English. I fumbled on the embossed dots on the paper and acted as if I didn’t want Jongin to come.

But I wasn’t really reading. I was denying instead that I didn’t want Jongin. I closed the book and d in the air to find my mother.

Upon reaching her, I swiftly signed, I want Jongin.

Sure, my mother replied, and as usual, waiting for him was making my heart anticipate in joy.

I tried to read braille again to kill the time and to somehow ease the uncontrollable excitement I was having. I ended up sweeping aside the papers and simply sit, imagining the moments we were about to share again. I missed his playful pinches on my arms and nose, his random pokes anywhere, and the tickle of the air from his nose whenever we shared laughs. I missed the feeling whenever I would touch his lips spreading wide, and what I missed the most was his warm cuddle that only he could give me.

Without words, he made me love him.

I loved his innocence. I loved the way he could display a wide grin in his dark world. I loved the way his spasmodic laugh glided on my pores whenever we would tickle each other. I loved the way he touched and embraced me.

I loved the way he could do all those as if he understood everything. Perhaps he understood more than I did. Perhaps he understood this world more than anyone did.

He was leaving me in utmost awe.

--

Jongin spent the whole night shaking and silently crying. His nights in the orphanage had always been like that.

Six. There were six of them in the room, yet he was always alone.

“Hey fool,” his roommate called.

“Jongin freak! Jongin dumb! Jongin trash!” the others laughed.

Jongin couldn’t hear them, but why was it that he was feeling pain inside.

With tears still flowing on his cheeks, he stood up to find his way to the toilet. As he fumbled forward, he was thinking of the person he had always hugged, the person who hugged him back so long. He couldn’t forget him. He couldn’t take him off his mind, because he was the only person who had caressed him endlessly, without hesitations, and with all his heart.

Jongin knew it. That was what his heart was telling him. That was what that person made him feel.

He was crying because he did something wrong and he didn’t know what it was. He was crying because he liked that person—Kyungsoo-- but Kyungsoo hurt him because he did something wrong.

As he walked, Jongin felt something fall. He accidentally shoved his roommate’s mug on the table.

“What the?!” his roommate jerked. He glared at Jongin.

Suddenly the boy pushed Jongin to the wall, strangling him with a tight grip on his neck.

Jongin tried to take his hand away, but he couldn’t.

“That mug was the only thing I had from my mom, and you broke it you piece of !” He threw Jongin to the floor.

Jongin peed on his shorts. He wasn’t even able to reach the toilet.

He shook more, because he sure would be beaten again for it.

--

Seven. If Jongin could count, he’d know this would be the seventh day he’d go to Kyungsoo.

A worker came to give him breakfast on his bed the next morning. She was the one who was taking him to and from Kyungsoo’s house, and she was the only person in the place he trusted. He would often hug and kiss her because she had always treated him well, and then he would begin shaking again whenever she would leave. She couldn’t stay with him all the time because she also needed to take care of other kids.

She fed him so that things would not be messy, and afterwards, she left him in the room.

Jongin was well-behaved. In fact, he didn’t want to leave his bed. He was just there, waiting for her to come again, waiting for them to go to Kyungsoo again.

Jongin was smiling by himself. He remembered how squishy his cheeks felt, how round his face was and how cuddly he was. He slid his arm in the air, imagining that Kyungsoo was right next to him. He lifted his arms side to side, grinning because they would do it again later.

His heart pounded, and this was something he never felt ever before. He put his hand in his chest, wondering what this feeling could be.

Love. Love was what abled people call that feeling.

It was the seventh day, and I was waiting for Jongin again. I had much fun yesterday, especially when we took a bath together.

This day, we must bake a cake. A chocolate-flavored one. I wanted it to be heart-shaped, and then I would slice a bit and feed him just like the past days.

This day I wouldn’t try to teach him braille or signs. I didn’t want to get angry, and I didn’t want to hurt him. I should control my temper from now on. Jongin didn’t deserve pain so I must change.

Maybe next time I would teach him again, or tell my mother to teach him like she did to me.

But today, we must bake a cake.

--

Eight. Kyungsoo gently guided Jongin’s hand to form the number eight with the pen. His arms were around the younger, and Jongin liked the sensation of creating friction with that thing against the thin surface. Kyungsoo let go of him for a while but Jongin softly gripped his arm, making him hold his hand again to guide him with the pen. Kyungsoo smiled nevertheless, glad that Jongin liked what they were doing.

Forever…Kyungsoo thought. Eight was a sign of forever. He was making themselves write it on paper so they could have a forever together.

Together...that was what Jongin only wanted…to be together with him. No one had spent this much time being with him, being really with him. There was something he had in mind, something that he couldn’t name but hoped for so badly.

A forever. A forever with Kyungsoo. That was what Jongin hoped for.

--

Nine, ten. It took Jongin ten steps when he bumped onto someone.

He shook, anticipating a slap or another hit from that someone. He knew he was in the place where many people hurt him—in the orphanage—and he breathed irregularly as he lowered his head, trying to protect his face.

He didn’t realize it was Kyungsoo. Kyungsoo came to fetch him.

When that someone touched his hand, Jongin’s world lightened up.

Eleven. Kyungsoo traced two parallel lines on the wet sand with his long stick. They were at the beach, sitting cross-legged in front of the sea, and those two lines signified him and Jongin. But the waves came and erased the lines he drew.

Silence.

Darkness.

The waves didn’t have a sound, and the sea wasn’t blue. Jongin knew they were in a different place, because the powdery thing was all stuck at his feet and the air was something he tasted only now. His eyes were big as they walked further and further while holding hands. He kept stepping on the sand and he thought this was a weird place, especially that the water kept coming and going at his feet without him turning a faucet on.

Someone—Kyungsoo’s mother-- guided them towards somewhere, and he attempted to run back because as he stepped further, the water was swallowing his body up and then a strong current would flush him right at his face. He displayed a not-amused face when he accidentally swallowed the salty water.

But Kyungsoo held Jongin’s arm tight, and he embraced him.  Trust me, Kyungsoo wanted to say.

Jongin shook because the wave kept splashing on him, and oftentimes the water would enter his nose that it would get hurt. He wanted to take Kyungsoo away from here because it was dangerous, but then Kyungsoo was still, hugging him on the water.

Trust me, Kyungsoo wanted to repeat.

And from there, Jongin held him tight.

Minutes passed and Kyungsoo gradually let go of his embrace from him. He held Jongin’s trembling hands, and they walked further on the water.

Jongin, meanwhile, was slowly getting comfortable with it.

Indeed, he trusted Kyungsoo.

--

12 January 2008. It was my fifteenth birthday.

I blew the candlelight in the morning. I supposed my parents were singing a birthday song, a song which I last heard when I was little.

I wanted to see the cake, to see the number ‘fifteen’ written on it, yet I came to be settled with just tasting it. It was chocolate, my favorite flavor, and it was delicious. I couldn’t wait to let Jongin taste it.

Before, I was thinking of braille books as my birthday gift. I want many of them, so that I would learn a lot about things.

But now, what I want was Jongin. I wanted more time with him, so that I would learn a lot about him.

Darkness.

Darkness.

Darkness.

It was all darkness until Jongin came beside me again.

This was the best birthday ever, I thought.

For this day I asked my parents to bring us to the park, to my favorite mini-park.

It was my favorite because that was the last place I saw. That was the place where I always played around.

I remembered when I was a child, a butterfly landed on my shoulder while I was running on the grass. I remembered the butterfly was a beautiful mixture of black, white and red, and the lines and shapes on its wings were blurred yet I supposed they were in perfect symmetry.

And then the lines gradually faded away…and away…and away, and the colors were erased until they were gone.

Black. I only saw black since then. The beautiful butterfly was the last beauty I saw.

But although that was where I lost my sight, I didn’t hate that place. I still loved it. I loved it because the air felt so fresh there. And while that was where I lost my sight, that would now be the place where I would take someone I found, someone I found who was as beautiful as the butterfly.

I wanted to bring Jongin there. I was sure he would enjoy the gentle scent of the flowers too.

--

They said thirteen was an unlucky number.

But it was not.

Today was 13 January 2008, and I was the luckiest person because I had Jongin.

“Jongin should just die. He’s useless anyway.”

“No one wants him, that’s why he’s still here.”

“Who will want him anyway? He will be here in the orphanage forever.”

Perhaps Jongin’s deafness could be considered as a blessing sometimes. With that, he wouldn’t hear the words as sharp as blade which could tear him to pieces.

And now his roommates were throwing coins at him because he would be adopted by a rich family.

“There! More money for you gold digger!” one remarked, hitting the big coin at Jongin’s face.

Everyone’s eyes were at Jongin. They stared with obvious envy, because tomorrow Kyungsoo’s parents would take him to his home…for good.

When Kyungsoo heard what his post-birthday gift was, he cried in joy.

And when Jongin came to him again this morning, he hugged him so tightly.

Finally…Kyungsoo screamed in his mind, we can be together…forever.

This would be the last day Jongin would go back to the orphanage. For the next day, after all the papers were settled, Jongin wouldn’t need to go back there again.

Jongin and Kyungsoo played at the park once again. They ran in the midst of nothing, and just like every single time they were together, they were holding each other’s hand, not letting go.

Kyungsoo suddenly stumbled, and because their fingers were interlaced, Jongin also fell in the process. Kyungsoo laughed, and he took Jongin’s hand to let him feel how hard he was laughing. And so Jongin laughed too, and Kyungsoo d for the younger’s face to know if he was laughing as well.

Jongin ram his palm on Kyungsoo’s face. It was warm and soft, Jongin wanted to touch it forever.

Jongin felt his heart beat so fast again. And he wondered if Kyungsoo’s heart beat was the same. So he landed his palm on the older’s chest, and felt that the beat was the same. In fact, their hearts were in sync, beating at the same time…beating for each other.

Jongin wanted them to remain like this for a long time. He let his hand stay on Kyungsoo’s heart longer, wanting to touch it forever.

This dawn would be the last time his worker noona would take him back to the orphanage. Jongin actually didn’t know why she was always talking him away, but since he trusted her as well, he just followed without any protest.

Even if he would ask, he could never know the answer, Jongin thought.

Kyungsoo felt a pang in his heart again when Jongin left. But thinking that no one would take Jongin away anymore for the next day, he jumped so wild.

--

14 January 2008.

This would be the fourteenth day Jongin would come back here at home, and from this day forward I wouldn’t count the days anymore because he would stay here forever.

And this day was Jongin’s fourteenth birthday, so I’d make things special for him.

On the other hand, Jongin didn’t know that this day was supposed to be special.

But every of his day became special because of Kyungsoo, so he anticipated that his noona would take him again to him.

Even before the dusk came, he was already sitting up straight on his bed, eyes wide awake, imagining happy things about to happen…together with Kyungsoo.

As he waited, he played with his teddy bear.  Suddenly, a basketball hit his face.

Jongin trembled, crawled to the corner and tightly wrapped his arms around his legs. He didn’t mind the blood flowing from his nose because what was more important was to protect himself from more pain.

“Hey freak! You’re trembling again?” one boy whispered.

Another boy poked Jongin on the shoulder, which made Jongin push himself harder to the corner. “Why so scared, deafblind?”

“So, shall we start?” the third boy asked.

There were six of them surrounding Jongin. They were children from the other room, and they were here to have their revenge.

Their leader grabbed Jongin’s shirt and spit mumbles on his face. “You know your offence, deafblind? You bumped our food and spilled all of them on the floor!”

“Did you know how hungry we were because of you, huh?!” He pushed him hardly. Jongin’s head made a loud sound against the wall.

Jongin couldn’t do anything but curl into a ball and cry.

His roommates woke up with the sudden noise, witnessing how the others surrounded their roommate. They looked at each other, silently asking themselves what to do.

Jongin’s roommates ended up sitting still, simply watching Jongin.

The boy slapped Jongin and he was thrown to the floor. All of them began kicking and stumping on him.

One pulled Jongin’s head up with his hair and threw a punch right at his face. More blood flowed from Jongin’s nose, and blood began flowing from his mouth when someone stood on his abdomen.

“Freak,” another boy grinded his teeth, stumping his foot repeatedly on Jongin’s face. “Die, freak,” he whispered.

The leader straddled on Jongin. He him on his chest with his fists, again and again, and again and again.

Jongin’s blood slowly crawled on the floor. Jongin also crawled to nowhere, trying to escape from them.

But he simply couldn’t escape every hit and strike.

Jongin went numb, until he couldn’t move his body.

And then, he closed his eyes.

“Wait, stop, stop,” a boy halted, eyes widened because Jongin wasn’t moving anymore.

Everyone stopped.

“Is he dead?” one asked.

“I don’t care. Let’s go,” the other said, and they ran outside leaving Jongin sprawled on the floor.

Kyungsoo’s parents called the worker, asking why Jongin wasn’t around in the orphanage.

The worker didn’t know what to say. She was in the emergency room with tears falling on her cheeks. Jongin was lying in front of her, covered with a white blanket.

“The…the doctor said,” she stuttered on the line, “it was blood clot.”

“Uhm…what are you trying to say?” his mother asked.

“Jongin…can’t come to Kyungsoo anymore. Jongin’s gone.”

--

At the fourteenth day, I waited in my room…for my parents, and for Jongin.

I waited…

and waited…

and waited.

I supposed the fourteenth day had already ended. I lied down on my bed, still waiting for them.

None of them came.

The next day, I woke up waiting for my mother to assist me to the sink. She would give me a glass of water and my toothbrush, and as I would brush my teeth, she would brush my hair with her fingers.

But she didn’t come.

So I thought my father would be the first one to come. I waited for him to take me to the table, and then I would smell the dish he cooked, and I would eat, he would kiss me on my cheek.

He didn’t come either.

So I thought they wanted Jongin to be the first one I would hug this day. Maybe it was a surprise they prepared. Maybe they were just playing with me, so that when Jongin would come beside me again, I would be the happiest person in the world. Yes, that would be their surprise, because once Jongin would come, he would not leave.

I waited. And as I let the seconds crawl, I imagined how high I would jump the moment Jongin would hold my hand.

I waited…

And waited.

I just felt a stranger take my hand and do signs on my palm. I was taken aback with the person. It was the first time I encountered her, and she was here, right inside our house.

Kyungsoo, I’m your aunt.

I didn’t know to react. What was going on?

I came from the U.S, she said, I instantly flew here, hearing that your parents met an accident. They’re gone, Kyungsoo.

I pulled my hand from her. I didn’t like her. I pushed her away.

She hit me on the shoulder and grabbed my hand. I don’t have much time. I need to go back as soon as possible. We’ll go to your parents’ funeral and I’ll take you to U.S.

I kicked her. I hated her.

--

Jongin.

Jongin.

Where’s Jongin?

Find Jongin.

Every time my aunt would come to me, I never failed to put every letter on her palm. J, o, n, g, i, n.

And every time, she would reply, He’s doing good with another family. But he can’t come here. I’m too busy to find him.

She would immediately leave after less than a minute of visiting me.

So I just waited.

One, two, three…it had been three months since I last embraced Jongin.

Slowly, my heart healed, and I was coming to the point of fully accepting my parents’ death.

But Jongin…Jongin would come back. One of these days I would wake up with Jongin beside me again, cuddling me tight.

But four, five, six…that day didn’t come.

Seven. I counted the papers I randomly took from the ream. These would suffice, I thought. I put one on my braillewriter and prepared my fingers to write…

about Jongin…

about how tender his touch was, about how warm his heart and soul was, about how wonderful he was.

I spent the day writing about him. The seventh paper was already full…full of Jongin, of how wide his grin always was, of how happy I was whenever I would find him laugh.

So I pulled another paper. It would be the eighth page…and maybe I would pull another for the nineth, because I was not yet done…

of showing how much I miss him…

of saying how bad I want him…

of expressing how much I like him…

of telling how much I love him.

But I didn't pull for the nineth one, because our story was so short...it couldn't continue any longer.

Ten. I had ten fingers to interlace together. I knew I was just playing with myself, but I ended up still convincing myself that my right hand was Jongin’s hand. I locked my hands together and smiled, because I was holding Jongin’s hand again.

And as my hands remained locked together, I prayed to the heavens for the fourteenth day Jongin would come back.

Eleven. Eleven months passed. I prayed again, but Jongin wasn’t coming.

Twelve. It had been twelve months, and it was 12 January 2009, my sixteenth birthday.

The only gift I wished for was for Jongin to come.

Maybe by now he had learned some signs. Maybe he could tell his family that he was looking for someone. For me.

Twelve months. That was one whole year. Two counts left and I would reach fourteen. But it seemed Jongin would take some more time to come, so I needed to go back to one.

One. Another year passed.

Two. I was still imagining the two of us together.

Three. I had three words to tell him: I love you.

Four. A number almost similar to fourteen.

Five…

Six…

Seven…

I was slowly losing my hope.

Eight. The sign of infinity. I gained my vigor. Jongin would come back to me.

Nine years passed.

Ten years passed.

Why was Jongin not coming?

Eleven. I gave him so much time to master tactile signing. By now he should be able to tell his family that he was searching for someone. For me, Do Kyungsoo.

My heart crashed. For eleven years, I fooled myself that he knew my name. Jongin didn’t. He never knew my name.

I was such a fool.

But twelve. Twelve years passed and I was still waiting. And I would wait…because we were meant for each other.

Thirteen. I had kept believing that.

Fourteen.

I was fourteen when I first met him.

He would be fourteen the last time I had him.

I am stuck with the number fourteen.

Fourteen.

It has been fourteen years.

And I am waiting for the fourteenth day he’ll come to me.

I can wait for fourteen more.

And fourteen more.

I can wait for Jongin forever.