24 days till Christmas.

My mother was a storyteller. Since my younger days, I grew up with her telling me enthralling fairy tales; of magic and castles and fire breathing dragons, the unsuspecting princesses stumbling upon the love of their lives coming through woods and sweeping them right off their feet. As a little girl, it used to be my favourite part of the day, when she tucked me into bed at night and uttered her marvellous stories in her sweet, lowly voice, her slender fingers running gently through my hair until I fell asleep. I could still remember how I used to fight sleep every night so that I could hear her stories to the end of them. But there were nights when it was too cold or when I was too tired that I had unconsciously drifted away. Those were the stories that I had never heard the end of, because every single day, it was a new story; there wasn’t a single one which was repeated again.

My mother was a story teller, so much so that she sometimes seemed to be living in a fairy-tale herself. As much as I loved her unconventional abilities of coming up with hundred different stories every single day, twenty-five-year-old me hardly had the patience to tolerate her. She believed that every single person had their own fairy-tale. As herself. Out of all the stories that she loved to tell the Twenty-five-year-old me, there was this one in particular that she loved to tell the most. It was her very own love story. She and my dad had met in some strange situation where she had walked into the wrong karaoke room where she’d found my dad drunk and miserable after a bad break-up, and miraculously it was the same night that she had had a break up with her then-boyfriend herself. ‘It was almost as if god had planned it out for me!’ She would never forget to add whenever she recited her story. What disappointed her the most was that I, her only daughter had no excitement in her life. I had no story; I had no love story to tell my children and grandchildren every day of my life. And for this reason, in a fruitless attempt to convince herself that I wasn’t of the unfortunate percentage of eternal singletons, she tried to create my fairy-tale herself.

The thing was, though, despite their rather exquisite story of chance encounter, my parents hadn’t the happiest marriage in the world. It wasn’t like they weren’t happy or anything. But there were certain things about them which worried me, which kept me on toes and up in the night as they always struck to me as odd...for two people who claimed to be so much in love. At times, for me, it appeared as if my mother was exhausted of being herself. Every morning she woke up to my father yelling after her and her responding to every one of his beck and call. I had seen her running across the hall with his coat and lunch in her hands, preparing breakfast every morning only to have him walking away without even telling her goodbye. It almost seemed as if it was only her who did her part to keep their marriage from collapsing around them, my father doing the bare minimum himself. All he did was yelling and complaining when he wasn’t bossing my mother around; and his behaviour towards her had consecutively made me feel that he was convinced that he was entitled to do that to her just because he had a big voice and a stronger stature, as if the way he treated her was anything to be justified. I asked my mother once, when we were making dinner one night, whether she was happy living her life like this. She looked over at me, baffled as if it was anything that I should even ask. “Of course,” She told me, shrugged, and turned back to concentrate on her vegetables. “I’ve married the most perfect man, haven’t I?” And I had stared at her for a moment too long, my hand clenched at my side lest I allowed my words on lose.

I supposed the reason why I had never written my fairy-tale was because I was afraid; afraid of ending up like my mother one day.

It was somewhere later in the year that she started setting me up on blind dates. She would float into my room, all happy and excited to announce that another one of her friends, or a lady from a charity event or a business dinner wanted their son to meet me; and the next think I would know was that I was being transported to a fancy Seoul restaurant in a car that my dad has sent in, on my way to meet the handsome stranger that would possibly sweep me off my feet. It’s been a couple of months now, and I had been on couple of dates myself. The handsome stranger who’d sweep me off my feet was yet to be found, and my fairy-tale didn’t show the prospect of writing itself. I was tired. I had met and dated more men than I had shoes in my closet, and at some point, I had decided that I didn’t want to acquaintance men anymore in my life.

But that didn’t mean there was any stopping to my mother. She lived as if she had the complete control of my life, and to some extent, I suppose that she did. I felt trapped in a life that I didn’t want to live, that no longer felt mine. My mother decided when I should meet a man, whom I should meet, down to what I should wear and what I should say when I actually meet him, and that, for me, felt suffocating. I strived for an ordinary life of an ordinary girl who met people in sweaty crowded busses and busy streets, who had lukewarm coffee spilled down her shirt in a busy commute and returned home after an eventful night out and a surreptitious kiss from a man I barely knew. Perhaps that wasn’t the kind of life the ordinary girl spent. I wouldn’t know. I couldn’t tell. But that was the carefree life that I wanted to spend. I didn’t want to be like my mother. I wanted to escape.

Which brought me to now, to tonight, to when I stood out in the busy Seoul streets, attempting to flag a taxi with a day-bag in my hands.

It was Christmas eve, and the roads were unsurprisingly crowded for the festivities of the night. It was cold out, and my skin felt numb and frozen by the wind. Behind me were unsuspecting nightly street-goers; couples hand in hand, groups of friends laughing boisterously among themselves and drunkards struggling to find their ways home through the crowd. The line of shops behind me were mostly closed, except for the shady karaoke bars and the kind of clubs which stayed on business all night long. And almost all of them were brilliantly decorated for the Christmas night.

A couple of taxies passed by, none giving even a slightest glance at my direction. One slowed down, took in the sight of my day bag and drove off, another one from which a woman climbed out rather rudely snapped at me that he was done for the day. It wasn’t easy flagging a taxi in Gangnam, especially on the Christmas eve. A part of me was dubious already as to why I decided tonight was the appropriate time to do what I had planned, and a part of me didn’t want to push it behind. I tightened my hand on my bag even tighter and lifted my wool scarf high enough to cover half my face. And then I stuck my hand out to the vehicles hurriedly passing by. Giving up was for the cowards, running away was for the cowards too, but sometimes, running away, for some people, was the bravest thing to do.

It took me a couple of fruitless attempts before a taxi finally pulled in. With a great big sigh, I hauled my bag into my hand and moved towards it. “The train station” I informed the driver over the rolled down shutter and made it to open the rear door when suddenly, a second hand reached for the door past me.

“Excuse me” I said as I stepped back, realising that it was a man who had bequeathed me with his company. He looked down at me, his eyes glimmering slightly under the decorative lights, yet furious. “I’m sorry, but its mine” He said to me.

“What do you mean yours? I flagged it” I returned. I glanced down at my watch, fifteen minutes before the train boarded and I had speciously underestimated my time. It was one of those classic situations of running for the same taxi at once, yet, as I was running late to my train, I was in no position to entertain a man who wanted to claim the taxi which was mine.

“Because I called for it. Over the phone” He raised his brows which nearly reached his hairline. “Now, if you excuse me”

“What’s happening out there?” Called the driver, sticking his head out the shutter. I glanced down at the driver, a kind looking man with droopy eyes, and by the corner of my eyes, I could see the photograph of a young girl stuck to his dashboard.

“Nothing. Just a misunderstanding” Said the man exasperatedly. “I called for you, so-,”

“Where was it you said you wanted to go, miss?” Asked the driver, interrupting the other. I glanced over at the man, he looked down at me and then tried to move past me towards the door. “Oh for god’s sake”

“Pardon?” I went at the driver.

“Can we please move? I don’t have time for this” Said the man behind me.

“The train station was it?” Asked the driver, not paying slightest attention to the man. I realised that I was doing wrong, wasting someone’s time; and if he had called for the taxi previously, I shouldn’t be standing here the first place. By the looks of it, the man had somewhere to be. A Christmas dinner perhaps? A family occasion? A date that he’d been excusing himself for getting late to? But then again, there was the driver who appeared genuinely concerned, and I felt it was rude to just walk away. And on top of that, I hadn’t enough time.

“I am going to the train station; can we please move?” Called the man again, who had now comfortably seated himself in the back seat.

“I know!” Yelled the driver, and I took a step back, baffled by the old man’s tone. “But I can’t leave behind a young lady by herself, surely!” The man groaned frustratedly from inside the car, followed by a ‘For god’s sake’ a second time as the driver turned to me. “Since we’re heading there anyway, I suppose we can take you along” he said.

“Oh, that’s-!” I started uncomfortably glancing at the fuming passenger. The driver smiled at me, a warm fatherly smile and I glanced at the photograph on the dashboard once more. Bowing in gratitude, I made to the backseat, but the angry passenger remained glued to his seat, his eyes fixated on his phone as he cursed under his breath. It was almost as if he couldn’t even see me there, as if I was an invisible form of a being that he could merely shove off his sight. A typical male specimen, I decided with a sigh. It was an ideal situation, surely; a win-win for both. We were both going on the same direction, and the taxi driver was actually willing to take us both, and it wasn’t like I was capable of physically harming him, and I didn’t have the likes of someone who’d mug him, surely? A typical male specimen, entitled and so full of himself. The truth was, I would have moved, I would have flagged another taxi if it wasn’t something he could help with; but this was a situation where one could actually be empathetic, even the slightest if you were a complete fool. I didn’t suppose this man was a fool. He didn’t appear to be. He was being a man, it was all.

“Excuse me-,” I started as politely as I could, but the man interrupted me, his eyes still focused on his phone, the shine of the screen reflected in the angry flames; “Not something that I consented to”

I opened my mouth, and then let it shut. A conceited, entitled man. It was for a reason that I steered clear of his kind.

“What is the problem now?” The driver called, yet again, and pushed himself between the two front seats. We were beginning to gain unnecessary attention from the fellow commuters around us, and was certainly running out of time. I began to shift on my feet, wanting to escape. The man lifted his eyes for a moment and glanced at the driver. “I didn’t say I agreed with you”

“Well, it’s up to you but I ain’t not going to leave a lady out in the cold.”

“And I’m in a desperate hurry” I interjected, glancing at my watch once more. I knew that I despised this man at first glance, I knew that I certainly didn’t want to be cramped inside the same car with him. But desperate situations led people to do the unthinkable. “Please? We can split the fair”

“And she’s asking nicely” Said the driver, tut-tutted and turned back to his seat. “Young men these days...”

The man looked even more exasperated, perhaps by the accusation and appeared at a loss between his pride and moral values. He glanced down at my day bag, up at my face, and I smiled pleadingly despite wanting to throw daggers in his direction. Then he let out a sigh. “Oh, for god’s sake” He repeated once more and then slid to the other side of the seat. “Get in”

Triumphant and relieved, I pulled the bag tightly into my hands and climbed into the car, closing the door behind me.

❄

They said that running away was for cowards, but it certainly wasn’t for me. For years, being raised as the only child, I had spent my life living up to my parents’ expectations. I educated myself, I groomed myself well, I behaved polite and lady like, never got involved in unnecessary trouble, dated the men they wanted me to date, hung out with the kind of friends only they approved of. I’ve never committed a crime, not even a small one like running a traffic light. I followed their desired path and graduated with a college degree in medicine, I trained as a nurse, and I didn’t even keep a pet at home, despite being frightfully lonely sometimes because my mum was allergic to them. But there were things and situations where I didn’t want to comply to. Things I knew, if I did, would destroy me. I read it somewhere that it was wrong of parents to control their children’s lives. They said that it would condition us to think that our sole purpose was making them happy, and I had believed so for some time in my life, myself. But I didn’t want to do it any longer. I didn’t want to be married off to a complete stranger and slave for his every call and desire. I didn’t want to be mum.

It was because of her that I decided that I wanted to steer clear of men for the rest of my life. I didn’t want to be dependent, as being dependent made us weak, and our weakness gave them the power. It was what my mother never realised as she hopped at every word my father spit at her. She was convinced that it was all out of love. She believed that women were fragile little roses that need to be consecutively cared after, and the men in their lives were the ones responsible of doing that. For her, we couldn’t exist on our own; it depended on the existence of a man, and I supposed she believed, as I hadn’t a man myself, that I was one of those little roses which was slowly withering away.

It was the bravest decision I made, to escape the sheltered, suppressed life that I had lived. As uncertain as it was, the escapade actually felt like a breath of fresh air to me. I felt the freedom at the tips of my fingers, being able to find a life of my own, away from the world that I once belonged to, away from my father’s relentless control and my mother’s worries and complains. And most importantly, the freedom of being able to live without a man whom my parents had supposedly decided suited me, a man who’d most definitely turn me into one of those women my mother turned out to be.

The taxi ride was quick and quiet. The man, still fuming, was deeply engrossed in his phone, and I was convinced he was a businessman or a busy government worker awaiting an important call or something along the line; but then I saw the reflection of his phone screen on the car’s shutter. He was concentratedly playing a game. I almost scoffed and rolled my eyes. Despite him acting all stuck up and thick skinned, he was just another ordinary man who found it necessary to set his tail on fire at every moment he thought he should.

As we arrived at the train station, both the man and I pulled out our wallets. The taxi driver looked over at us through the rear-view mirror and announced the taxi fare. I counted exactly half of it and pulled out a couple of notes. But when I offered my share of the amount, my grumpy companion had paid it all off on his own.

“You didn’t have to” I told him, the bunch of notes still crumpled up in my hand. He didn’t spare a glance at me as the taxi drove away. He returned his wallet back into his pocket and shrugged in response. “It’s fine” He told me and turned to leave. I looked down at my hand, the money still in it and then at him. It didn’t feel right to let him pay for it on his own. “Excuse me” I called, and he turned back to me slowly, appearing exasperated. I held out my hand. “Thank you...for your help. I really appreciate it” I told him with a bow.

“It’s fine, no problem” He muttered with a nod.

“And I didn’t mean to trouble you” I went on, crumpling he money in my hand. “I was just really late and desperate”

“I see” He returned, shifted on his feet and glanced over at me. “Well, it was nice meeting you, hope you’d have a good night””

“oh, uh yeah...” I replied, slightly intimidated by him. He wasn’t much different from before, only a little nicer, and I felt that he was one of those straight-forward, no bull men. I wondered what his story was. I wondered what sort of a person he truly was. And then I crumpled the money in my hand even more. “And uh...” I addressed him once more and lifted my hand to return the favour. “I was really hoping to split the taxi fair...so uh...you should have my half...I think”

He glanced down at my hand and took a step back as if my hands scalded him. “Oh no, it’s totally fine, it was my...err...pleasure”

“But that doesn’t really fit with me” I responded and pursed my lips. I wasn’t about to budge, nor was he. For a quiet moment, we both stared at my hand, the money scrunched in between my fingers as if it was a decision so hard to make. The time was ticking behind me, and I was running late to board my train.

“Please” I muttered.

“It’s...okay, really” He replied. We stared at the hand for even longer, and then it all happened so suddenly. Someone passed by, a dark looming shadow which soon disappeared among the crowd, and the wallet that I had tucked under my arm was no longer in my grasp. It took me a moment for the realisation to hit. My wallet was gone, all my money, my cards, everything, gone. I looked at my arms where it once was, then at the floor and then behind me. My acquaintance acted faster than I could even find my voice.

“Your wallet!” He yelled, and I gasped as he pushed past me and ran across the hall after a man who had already disappeared into the crowd. For a moment it was absolute pandemonium. The stranger war running through the crowd, the thief hurriedly swarming among them and taking off in a run. I was right on my feet after them, breathing, panting and heaving for breath, my feet hurting in my boots and definitely falling behind. I paved my way through the uncooperative commuters in a crime scene, and finally managed to locate the stranger who was standing amongst a swamp of undaunted people, looking around urgently, breathing hard and frustratedly pushing a hand through his hair. His hands were empty, and the thief was no where in sight. I felt a cold prickle down my skin which soon morphed into an unrelenting fear; the world started to collapse around me.

My money, all my money gone just like that. All the money I had to survive the rest of my escapade; gone.

“I... couldn’t...find...him” The stranger approached me, speaking breathlessly as he did. “I’m sorry”

I gazed up at him, noticed the way his eyes crinkled, almost in apology and pressed my palm onto my head. “Oh , oh ”

“I think we should tell the police” He suggested helpfully.

But I couldn’t possibly. I was running away. I was supposed to have disappeared by the end of today, come next morning my family realising that I was gone, then frantically searching for me high and low while they tried to keep the news from slipping out lest it affected their work. But now, with all my money gone, I couldn’t be sitting in the police station, going all the way back to square one.

“No...no I can’t” I told him mindlessly as I stomped in circles, my hand in my hair. There had to be something I could do, something. I could take money from he ATM without the card; I’m eligible for that, or...or I don’t know, there was no other way to get hold of money other than from the bank...but then I realised, I emptied them all out except for my credit card, collected all the money I had and it was all in my wallet except for a measly dollar lost in my bag. I had left all the cards at home in case I accidentally used them. I had strategically planned out my escape so that they took longer to find me. But I hadn’t been strategic enough. I had missed the most crucial details.

“Why not?” Asked the stranger, and I realised that he still hadn’t gone off my radar.

“I... I just can’t, okay?” I snapped at him return.

“Whew, fine, I was just trying to help” He said and then fell quiet, curiously scrutinizing me. “Well, then at least you should cancel all your cards” He said.

“Huh?”

“Cancel your cards” He repeated, emphasizing on each syllable. “The banks are probably all closed right now, but I’m sure they have-,”

“There’s nothing in the cards” I said without thinking twice, my fingers threaded through my hair.

“Pardon?”

“There’s nothing in the cards because I took it all out. I can’t have them tracing me...oh , !”

There was silence, and I realised what I had done. I looked up at him, my hand covering my mouth, and he gazed at me curiously, his eyes scanning me as if he could quite possibly find anything on me that would tell a better story. “I’m not quite following you” He said.

I looked at him for a moment, searching for any warning signals. He could be anyone behind that careful gaze and unsmiling lips. He could be a policeman, someone who worked under my father, anything. I couldn’t let myself out, not like this. Not just yet. But then I realised that I had outed myself more than enough, I’ve lost all my money and here was a man who had involuntarily walked into my own mess. I had nothing to lose. This was, perhaps, the last time we would ever see each other after he would leave me behind, knowing the truth. We would never see each other again, and this would be the chance encounter, the kind of a story I had heard when I went to bed, the stories of which I never heard the end.

“I... I’m on the run, okay?” I told him, my voice lowly, so unlike myself. “I can’t go to the police or anything because I can’t let them find me. I can’t...I can’t go back either....” I can’t go back. That’s what it would come down to. I had escaped, I couldn’t possibly go back, but I also had nowhere to go. “Oh god” My feet felt numb, my head felt heavy, and I felt myself slowly sinking onto the ground, the world spinning around me.

“Woah hang on there” said the stranger and he carefully reached out to me. “Let’s sit down first”

Despite himself, he helped me towards a bench and sat down beside me. The rest of the world passed by around us, the night continued. I glanced down at my watch and I realised that my train had left just about five minutes ago. It wasn’t like I could have taken the train anyway. How could I? Having no means of surviving for the rest of my time? My hands were trembling, tears prickling my eyes. I thought I had it all planned well. I had overestimated myself, too confident of my abilities. What I hadn’t realised were the crisis situations, the fact that it would be the whole vast world against me. I pressed both my hands onto my face and let out an involuntary sob.

“Listen” said the stranger and I peeled my hands off my face. “I’ll...I’ll get you a coffee or something, and we’ll see what we can do”

I looked down at the duffel bag by his feet and I shook my head. “No, I’ve kept you long enough...It’s okay”

“It isn’t” He replied, sounding determined. “We’ll calm down first and see the options that you have”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I asked in a teary voice.

“No” He sighed and shook his head. “That can wait...just hold up” He moved to climb up on his feet, and I quickly reached over to hold him back by the edge of his sleeve. He glanced over at me, worry etched over his brows. “It’s alright, I’m fine...”

“No coffee then?”

“I’m calm”

“Okay” he sighed and sat down on the bench once more. There was a moment of silence then, and we both watched as the other commuters passed by. Train stations were usually bustling on the Christmas eve as most of the village dwellers returned to their homes for Christmas in the very last minute. That’s what I supposed, at least. I wasn’t much of a traveller myself. The furthest I’d travelled was abroad a couple of times, in courtesy of my Father’s conglomerate, and I was pretty sure there were plenty of places that I hadn’t been to in Korea itself. And I hadn’t taken the train much often; I had a driver for long travels and drove my own car most of the time. It was strange, being in a station at an unlikely time of the year for me. If it was another time, I’d have observed the people, mingled with them, seen a world I probably had never seen.

But right now, everything which stood before me were dark and sombre, and almost every other strange man appeared a sneaky thief for me. I brought my bag closer to me and wished this stranger of mine wasn’t planning to kidnap me at the end of this all.

“So,” He started after a while and looked over at me. “What is your story?”

My story. My story. I felt a prickle under my skin. “I don’t.... have a story” I replied to him. Stories, for me, were what my life was almost entirely built around. I wanted my own story, and it never seemed to write itself the right way. And to be asked what it was by a complete stranger felt...rather intimate, although I tried not to feel that way.

As it happened, however, it was just his way of speech. “I mean, this whole ‘I’m on the run’ business, what’s that all about?”

“Oh” I shrugged and stared down at my feet. “From home” I told him. “From a situation I didn’t want to be in”

There was a moment of silence from his part, and I could almost feel the gears of his mind meshing and moving, trying to interpret me. In the end, he appeared to have given up on it. “Do you have anywhere to go?”

“To Busan” I said, thinking of the train that had already left me behind. “It’s my hometown. I was planning to go there, and decide what else afterwards”

“So, there was no plan”

“Going to Busan was the plan”

He nodded, and we fell quiet once more.

During that silence, I weighed my options. I could return home; that was the most sensible option that I had. I could pretend this never happened, put it all behind and return to the life that I had always had, being pushed and pulled around, a life that I had never felt was mine. That also meant I had to attend to the wretched dinner that was supposed to happen the next day, the one reason why I had decided it was tonight that I would escape. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t going to be that bad; another man, another possible date, another spontaneous affair under the sheets and never to call again. I could go on like this forever.

Or I could actually change my life.

I had this thought, when I decided to finally run away, that I had it all planned out. I recently received my nursing license, which meant I could land a job in almost any hospital out there. I thought I would move to Busan, to where in Busan, I couldn’t tell. Regardless, I could have leased an apartment with the money I had, found myself a job there and finally settle down. My parents would search for me, and I might perhaps return, only to inform them that I had always soughed a simpler life, one that they never really offered me. That I soughed a life where I was not mirrored as someone who was weak, dependant, hopeless; a typical woman in their eyes.

But tonight, at this moment, my whole world collapsed before me. I suppose one could never run away and disappear completely; the barricades always stood on our way. I hoped the thief would put the money into better use, at least. Thankfully I had left a measly bit in the accounts so that they won’t be closed down for the time being. I wanted my parents to be the ones closing down each of them, like a final showdown of something they never expected to happen. Never did I expect it would be what I would have to depend on until my next salary came in. I suppose one could be brave and foolish in their own way.

Beside me, my kindly stranger was still keeping me company as he quietly watched the passers-by. Earlier on when I had met him, I never suspected he had even an ounce of kindness in himself to offer me, but as he sat there with me, I felt an immense sense of gratitude towards him. I wasn’t sure why he was still here, what he was thinking, what he actually wanted to do. Perhaps he was convinced that I was another one of those weaklings, wanting someone to fall onto when the world clashed upon me. Perhaps he was convinced that he was exactly what I needed here; or perhaps, I was just thinking too far. All he wanted was to be a helping hand when I needed it the most.

He was quite handsome, I had to tell, if I hadn’t taken note of it earlier. It appeared as if he hadn’t been around here the past couple of months as his skin seemed to glow with a healthy golden shine. His hair was dark and neatly combed to a side, his forehead was wide, his eyes were wise and beautiful; they seemed to be alive. He seemed to be deep in his thoughts as his hand, particularly more beautiful than any pair of hands I’d seen, remained clasped before him. I stared up at him, at the side of his head, the tiny specs of brown in the dark and tried to make up his own story. I didn’t think he was married; someone bound with such responsibilities wouldn’t have the chance to reside in a place which offered the kind of skin that he had. I imagined him to be an artist, maybe. A writer, by the looks of his slender fingers; not even a touch of a workman’s hand. Maybe he was a story teller too, a different kind of a sorry teller; someone who painted the tales beautifully in someone’s mind in a way that they wouldn’t feel trapped in them, the kind of stories that my mum couldn’t make. But in the end, I gave up on trying. It was hard to interpret him, hard to write the story of someone whom I barely knew; so, I decided to question him myself.

“So, what is your story?” I asked through the quietness we mutually shared. He hummed almost distractedly, glanced over at me, then straight ahead. He let out a sigh.

“Same” He told me after a while.

I parted my lips, then allowed them to fall shut as I hadn’t anything to say in response. Same. What did he mean by it? What was he trying to say?

Perhaps, realising that he had somehow rendered me speechless, he gazed over at me, a strangely melancholic smile spread across his lips. He looked truly enchanting when he smiled, I should say. And that held me captive for a long time.

“Me too, I’m on the run” He said, glanced down at his duffel bag by his feet and let out a sigh. “From a situation that I don’t want to be in”

❄

This story is complete, but will be uploaded in four parts, one each week until Christmas eve. Stay tuned for the next update!!