Entry 16/7

I have been waiting for summer break since last semester, patiently going through weeks and months, wasting my time on projects and assignments I didn't (and still don't) fully care about. The thought of breathing easy whilst strolling through the city was enough to invite constant dreams of the holiday.

But now that it's in front of my face, I'm not as thrilled about it as I had been two months ago. I dreamed too much of paradise. Palm trees, sunshine, and beaches or books, cafés, and people. I was certainly not thinking of being alone in a foreign city and having to stay in a cheap youth hostel.

Saturday. The train station was busy, just as what father had told me this morning. The air was incredibly stuffy; I had trouble breathing. I wanted to go back on the train and sleep, nevermind books and palm trees and people. I mean, I can do that. But I won't.

So I marched through the bustling lobby of the building, trying to squeeze my way through the pathway full of tourists (I'm also a tourist). I'm abnormally tall, so I was able to see the main entrance immediately. The sun smoldered my sweat-showered body as soon as I stepped outside. 

I waved for a taxi.

The driver was an old man with graying hair and a warm smile. He wore a simple black jacket which was zipped all the way to the top. He greeted me good morning and asked me where I was going. I told him I was going to the Jeongshim Youth Centre. He told me young people doesn't usually go to that neighbourhood, but he didn't explain further. I didn't pry; I was too distracted by my cell phone. Mother told me she would call me about Yura as soon as she gets the news.

I was also anxious. I'd never travelled far from home, completely alone. I did join a students exchange program to Germany back when I was in junior high, but it was different. I had a plan. Now, I don't.

Once the taxi arrived, I paid the old man, retrieved my suitcase and backpack from the luggage, and entered the youth hostel cautiously.

The first thing I noticed was the front desk lady. She looked a little older than me, probably just finishing college. Her white shirt was tucked neatly-ish into a pair of black trousers. Her hair was cut short, like a boy. The nametag attached to her shirt read "Amber Liu".

I walked over to her and said along the lines of, "Hi, I've reserved a place here. Park Chanyeol, called this morning."

"Park Chanyeol," she muttered as she scanned the computer screen in search of my name. "Here we go. Room 215."

The front desk lady Amber rummaged the cabinet behind her for the key to room 215. After she found it, she handed over the key to me. Then she launched into a half-angry half-tired speech about the rules and how she will hurt me if I mess with the girls. I'm kind of offended that I was yelled at about manners, especially because I consider myself quite a gentleman (round of applause), but the look on her face screamed that this kind of thing has happened before.

Room 215 was occupied by two men already. The room was spacious enough for people to move around. There were three bunk beds, separated by small gaps for people to walk, an end table in the middle of them against the wall, and a little space in the corner of the room for baggage.

I noticed that one of the boys eyed me from hair to toe when I walked in. The boy beside him greeted me, flashing a smile whilst nodding. He had his blond hair in a quiff, stiff with hairspray. The other boy had darker skin and plumper lips. His hair was brown and middle-parted.

I soon found out that the blond was named Taemin and the brunet Jongin. They are both from Goyang and goes to the same high school, though I doubt they grew up in each other's company. Taemin looks and acts very differently than Jongin.

That afternoon, Jongin's eyes were droopy and unfocused. His face was a little green. His left hand was holding his stomach.

"He's kinda out of it. Heavy hangover," Taemin explained. I had a hangover this bad not a long time ago. I had to stay at my friend's house because my parents would kill me.

Why am I telling you (or me?) this? The only person who's going to be reading this is me anyway.

Nothing much happened today. I think I did a pretty good job recapping all that. Good job, me.

- Chanyeol

Entry 17/5

Good morning (or afternoon or evening). I slept 'till 8. Taemin was not there when I woke up this morning. Jongin was playing Tap Tap Dance on his phone on the lower part of the bunk bed next to mine. His deep, brown eyes were focused on the game.

I asked him where Taemin went and he answered, "Oh, he's walking around, finding inspiration, as he has done since high school. Apparently he thinks being a photographer means staring at random people on the streets like a lost boy trying to find his mum."

According to the small talk I had with the two last night, Taemin likes photography and Jongin likes performing arts. For me, writing. Also, I found out that both Jongin and Taemin were just starting college, which makes them a year older than me.

I took my bag of toiletries, a towel, and my outfit then marched to the male shared bathroom at the end of the hallway. Some guy was in one of the stalls. He sang Travie McCoy's Billionaire for the whole length of his shower. His voice was nice. Very nice. I love people with pleasant singing voices.

I figured it would be awkward for me to strike up a conversation in the middle of his shower. Imagine two strangers buck and in the shower, one trying to talk to the other. What a weird situation. Anyways, I decided to call him Gold, short for Golden Voice. I'll probably ask about him some time.

He walked out the bathroom before me, humming to a different song. I think it was Jason Mraz's I Won't Give Up, but honestly, I'm not sure. 

Taemin returned shortly after I had bathed. He took off his grey baseball hat, revealing his damp hair, wet from sweat. He told me that the air was hot and that I should put on a cap when going outside, then he tossed Jongin today's newspaper. I took a glance at it. I couldn't read the headline before Jongin stuffed it under his pillow; something about the struggles of South Korea's economy.

When I went outside, I wanted to curse. It was so hot that I wanted to go back, but I would be wasting my money by only laying around and doing nothing. The pair of circular glasses sitting on my nose kept threatening to fall. I sincerely regretted not taking Taemin's advice and putting on a cap, but what the heck. I gripped the straps of my backpack and marched on. 

Despite the summer heat, the streets were busy. There are not as many people here in Bucheon as in Seoul, thank god, and I imagine the air not as hot as well. Seoul can get pretty hot. Still, I wish I had picked to go to the countrysides. Something about visiting less crowded places appeals to me, but here I am. 

I found a vintage store around the block. The street where it was located was not crowded but there were still a few people checking out the stores and window shopping. There was also a little café at the end of the street, though I think business was not going very well. 

The word THINK TANK painted on a piece of wood in block letters was in front of the vintage store, just above the wide windows that showed a collection of top hats, gleaming oil lanterns, and porcelain dolls (some were sitting on the table beside a small wooden rocking horse). A sign printed on paper stuck on the window reads, "Buy and sell retro goods here!". I could see a man standing behind the counter, probably no more in his early 30s. He was reading a book; I'm not sure what it is. 

I walked in. A bell rang, indicating my entrance. The man behind the counter looked up, his eyes hidden behind dirty glasses. There was not one other customer in the shop, though I didn't mind. The man greeted me good morning and I greeted him back.

The place was a swirling pot of goodness. There were glass wind chimes and books with yellowed pages and retro rotary phones. I saw stacks of playing cards and record players. I've always wanted a record player. Not because I have songs I want to listen to on it but rather because I want to feel the satisfaction of collecting those vinyl records.

"Do you have a particular item in mind, young man?" the man asked. "We've got some stuff in the storage if you want to look at more."

I lifted my gaze from the fascinating vinyl record players to the shopkeeper. "It's alright, sir. I'm just here browsing." I flashed a smile. The man had an attractively styled hair, black and parted to the left. I noticed he had a scar just next to his lips; it was a small cut and I wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't worn my glasses.

Perhaps he sensed that I was interested in the record player and talked about it for a while. I nodded whilst listening. I told him I can't buy it today. It's just my second day here, anyway. He understood. Instead, I bought a gold-coloured brooch shaped of a horse.

Not long after, the bell rang and in came a boy. He was shorter than me (but everyone is) yet I feel that he was in the same age range as me. His tousled hair was a little brown on some parts. He wore a baggy grey tee paired with jeans and worn sneakers.

He approached the man and asked for the horse pin; he seemed to be very familiar with the shopkeeper. At that point, I was getting ready to leave. The man explained that it had already been bought (he called the boy by his name, which I didn't quite hear at the time) and pointed to me. I felt like a deer in the spotlight, and I must have, considering the short boy was stomping his way to me and dragging me by the arm away from the shopkeeper. 

"I'm really sorry but I've had my eyes on that pin for a while now and I really would like to have it." Alright, I could see he had manners, but I wasn't one to not put up a fight. His eyes were dead on mine, staring into my soul, judging. I felt uncomfortable being stared at.

"Yeah? Well, I just bought it," I answered. Quite a douchy response. Regretted it for a second. He then persuaded me to go outside. 

"I need it. My brother asked me to buy it and I can't let him down. Please."

"Not so fast, brother. I can't just give it to you."



"Then ing sell it to me." 

At this point, I was already frustrated and couldn't wait to go back to the hostel, or anywhere with air conditioning, actually. The sun was still as hot as ever, or more even considering it was past noon. "Fine. For 18000 won? Yeah."

"18000? That's bull. The price was 16500." 

"Do you want to disappoint your brother or no, kid?" He agreed to buy it but he didn't bring enough money with him. He certainly didn't expect to meet a guy such as me and buy the pin he longed for for 1500 Won more than the original price. to be him.

"Let's meet up tomorrow. At that café." He pointed at the café at the end of the street. "My name's Baekhyun, by the way. Byun Baekhyun." 

"Park Chanyeol." 

- Chanyeol