The worst feeling isn't being lonely, it's the fear of not being remembered by the people you'll never forget. 

Quote by unknown

The autumn weather in Paris was crazy. There had been sun in the morning but now it was raining and the sky was grey. The weather forecast could never be counted on. His mood was influenced by the sky and the clouds, the sun and the rain. It was in constant change.

In the morning, or well, after getting up around noon, he had a great breakfast with a croissant, baguette, cheese, sausages and fruits. So many good things and a very nice coffee. He just ate what he wanted. The doctors had recommended that and he could as well enjoy this. He couldn’t remember a time when he was able to just eat whatever he wanted and deeply enjoy it. They even encouraged him to do so!

Later he messaged his hyungs to meet up in the evening and go to a bar somewhere at Montmartre. There were lots of nice places and he was looking forward to meet them, drink and talk and watch the people. Every day was a small adventure and there was so much to do and see, if he wanted to. But he was also free to stay at home. There was so much freedom.

He sat down with another cup of coffee on a chair near the window where he could feel the sun on his face. Just sitting, closing his eyes and feeling his body being okay with not doing anything which was an unusual behaviour for him. What a warm and welcoming feeling. It felt like being consoled by the sun. It felt like he was comforting someone else as well. Like there was a connection. How nice it would be, if that would be possible. She was not there and the connection was long broken, wasn’t it? A part of him hurt and the other felt pleased. He felt like he would soon be able to love again.

He changed to the sofa to play the guitar for a bit. Trying some melodies and writing some of them down to get back to it later. Then, in the afternoon, it started raining, the sky went grey and he started to think about lyrics.

Working on the lyrics, melodies and himself was exhausting in an odd way. Dealing with oneself was hard work.

He wasn’t falling into a deep depression, that was never the way he dealt with himself. He was the type to confront himself instead of falling.

He always felt like there was a him and another him behind a wall. They liked each other and seemed like twins but one was conscious and the other was kind of unconscious or disconnected. That one was hard to get a hold on and he couldn’t be controlled. He also disappeared from time to time without a warning. This two parts of him knew each other and communicated quite well most of the time but the wall between them was made of a special kind of material. It was like glass that filtered the sounds of their voices when they communicated. It filtered information and some things got stuck in the wall and wouldn’t come through like fine dust darkening windows. It was like this two personas sometimes needed an impulse and a tool to rid the wall of all the dirt. After cleaning it, they would be able to see each other and hear each other again. And the dirt was like memories. Some disappeared afterwards, some went back to their original place, somewhere in the air of his mind.

What he had learned here in Paris was getting rid of the wall completely and it was very new to him.

Consciously taking time to deal with oneself was like practicing a spell to make the wall disappear for a short period of time. Removing it wasn’t easy and there was a bit of fear. Talking both sides of himself into a deal to exchange information was exhausting.

It was hard to describe. Sure, he often thought of hurtful situations in his life when he wrote lyrics in the past. But he never actually dealt with himself with the intent to heal himself like this.

It was strange, sitting in the room in the evening, listening to the sound of the city, hearing the raindrops and getting ready to think about memories of the past.

Things he often put aside because he didn’t want to deal with them.

Things, situations and people.

Like once important friends he lost contact with.
Experiences he knew everyone made, but which still hurt.
Times and situations which made him feel ashamed.
Stupid things he said.
Stupid things he did.
Secrets he kept to himself.
Rejections.
People he lost.

There was this one friend he lost when he was still young. When he was a teen. A friend who visited his mind often, in times when he had to be brave. When he had to be strong. When self-doubt came to visit him and he bravely ignored it and kept going even though self-doubt screamed at him to stop and be still.

A friend who met self-doubt and depression and fell in love with them. Sadness could be tempting.

They were good friends at that time, Joon Young and that guy. They weren’t friends for a long time but they somehow had a great connection. When all the others went to the beach, they stayed at the fire and talked while watching the stars. He was a great teacher, that friend. He’d told him then, to ignore or fight self-doubt and fear depression.

It was as if he could hear his voice.

“Don’t let them into your mind. They will come to you and tempt you. They will want you to take them into your arms. They will go to bed with you, stay by your side all the time and then, they’ll steal your heart.”

He had looked at his friend with big eyes. The other had laughed. He always seemed happy and sad at the same time.

“Of course, sometimes you’ll be sad, that’s okay but you need to fight sadness after some time. Be brave and end it. Work and try and fight to make it stop. If you fall in love with sadness, you might die.”  

It was one of their last conversations. He had seen his friend fall in love with sadness. In the end, his friend wanted it, graved for it and searched everywhere and in everything for it. In the end, his friend had forgotten how to be happy and couldn't find his way back. He tried, by god he tried so much but he was lost. In the end, sadness suffocated him, took his breath away and ended his life.

He didn’t know what his friend saw in him that evening by the fireplace. Why he told him this that night, under the stars in front of the fire. But Joon Young took his words and carefully placed them in his heart. And when he was hurt by this sudden encounter with death, he learned from it. He learned that hurting oneself only hurts the people whom one wants to protect. With time, it made him value his own life more and protect it. He believed that with this, he was able to bring something good out of the worst.

He also learned something that he tried to teach to others. Killing oneself to take revenge will hurt the wrong people. 

Joon Young took his pen and started to draw the memories of that time, his friend, the conversations, the wounds. He wanted to mend broken hearts. His own heart and hopefully others as well. 

>>>>>>   <<<<<<

Why was it so hard?

Why was it so hard to express his feelings. Better, why was it so hard to talk about it. He had no problem to express them while singing. He was able to talk through his music but telling a person about himself and his feelings and what was going on in his mind was so fu**ing difficult. Well, from time to time when someone asked him, he would say some short words about himself but he would always end it with a joke or a stupid comment. He was always awkward when it came to himself. He became nervous even seconds before he started singing a ballad song because he knew, he needed to open up to the audience. After the first tone, it was okay. He even liked that feeling now. Expressing himself through his songs was easier because it gave just a vague impression. Talking was more precise and that might have been his problem. To speak out loud what was going on in his mind. As soon, as you put it in words, it evolved from a vague thought to a real situation. Also, quite often, he didn’t even understand himself and his feelings. So, when he felt sad or when he was in a bad mood, he didn’t even know why. That might have been one of the reasons it was hard for him to talk about himself.

Putting his mind into precise words was difficult for him.

Saying them out loud was as difficult as giving them a form. In fact, talking about it was most difficult.

Maybe it was also hard for him to open up because of the experiences in his youth. When he finally was able to make friends and feel at home, they often had to move a short time later because of his fathers job. They had to move from city to city and from country to country. As in everything, there was a good and a bad side to that.

The good side was his knowledge about cultures, languages, freedom. It had made him into a free spirit. He knew that there was no fixed rules in the many societies of this world. Things being presumed polite in one place seemed to be a grave mistake in another place. Rules and regulations also changed from place to place. The law was different and religion too. In some places religion even was the law. So, he stopped to take things too seriously at one point. He started to count more on the souls of people. Because all people he met, in their basic needs, they were the same. He couldn’t point a finger on what that basic needs were. It was just a gut feeling he would listen to. We are all human. That was the conclusion he came to and that was what set his mind to peace. And all those humans were so beautiful. That made him become a person full of tolerance and sympathy for foreign things. A person who had a strong mind, a strong will and a free spirit. Someone who set his own rules for himself. He was glad about his experiences now. He was pleased with the way he was. With himself.

But there was also a bad side. Moving meant losing friends. He lost so many of them. People so dear to him. It broke his heart every time. As result, he stopped to share information about his feelings. He learned to express himself through other things and his music. It was a mechanism of self-protection. He didn’t do it knowingly, it just happened. He changed as time went on and would not engage in deep conversations. He made friends, of course, but he tried not to share too much about himself with them, so he could keep the friendships superficial. So it would not hurt so much when he had to leave them behind and move on. That somehow became part of his personality. And he often covered it up with jokes. It was now a regular part of him he couldn’t control anymore. He couldn’t get out of this skin anymore.  

He remembered, there was this guy, a classmate when he was still in elementary class of some international school. He wouldn’t talk even though he had a voice and was able to speak. His parents told the teacher, that it was because they moved too much. That he would speak at home, but was mute in society. In school, the boy was sitting at his desk like a shadow. Not talking to anyone until all his classmates lost interest and he became a ghost in the room. No one engaged with him. The teachers wouldn’t ask him questions. He couldn’t understand it at that time. But he knew now. It was the same self-protection but with a different consequence.

Of course, he did lie to himself. Such behavior never helps. Not sharing his thoughts didn’t make it an ounce easier. It just made him lonelier.

But here in this bar in Montmartre, together with friends of the past and present, things suddenly came out of him. Maybe because he was drunk. He talked, he shared, he drank some more. They nearly cried.

It was good.

He started to change.

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The chapter isn't complete yet and will be updated.