Two.
Live On

~ · ~ · ~

Daegu is 30 minutes away via the express train. It’s cold and empty but the seats are crazy comfortable. I took out every single penny from my bank account and bought the nicest seat. I mean, this could be the first and last time I’ll ever ride this train anyway.

There are free eggs and hot drinks. You can also opt for an alcoholic drink but you’ll need to have a permit. Alcoholism has spread throughout South Korea throughout the millennia and the government’s solution is by giving out permits — to sellers and buyers. Only those who have no history can buy and sell drinks. I think my country is obsessed with all these kinds of solutions. They even let VITA operate. If my parents were alive they’ll roast this Kim Junmyeon to death for such an obnoxious idea. But they’re old people, what do they know about the problems they caused?

I take an egg and a cup of hot chocolate. “It’s herb-infused so you can have a good rest for the rest of the trip,” the lady who delivered the food tells me.

“I get off at Daegu,” I say and she smiles then puts down another egg on my tiny plate.

“No one has to know,” she says and gives me a sly smile before nodding at the window. There’s a piece of paper folded at the edge of the table and a little pen that looks like it’s been bought in bulk. There’s an 80% chance this doesn’t work.

CUSTOMER SATISFACTION SURVEY

30 minutes pass and I haven’t eaten half of my last egg. I meant to do that as it could be the last food I will ever waste. My mother taught me to never waste food, especially that we can barely afford it. Not that I can afford it now but it’s easier when you get it for free.

From the train station, I take a bus to a small town and there’s only one bus that passes by VITA’s headquarters every few hours. It’s a huge facility — more than a couple thousand acres. It sits right at the edge of Daegu near the forest. I saw a comment on one of the articles that I came across says that VITA owns part of the forest. It’s not surprising and not at all crazy. They own so much and people’s lives are on their hands. What’re a few hundred trees and wildlife creatures?

When I reach the gate, there are a few people coming in and suddenly I feel watched. No, they’re not even looking at me but I feel like there’s a weight that makes me want to crouch down to my shadows and disappear.

“Hey, you in the green shirt,” someone says and I’d like to think it’s my imagination playing with me. I came to the forest wearing a green shirt, I can’t be that visible. “Do Kyungsoo?”

I lift my head and see a smile that makes me flinch back.

“Take it easy, I won’t eat you,” he says. “I’ve been waiting for you. I’m Kim Minseok,” he adds then takes a few steps toward me. “I’ll be your aide for the next few months. Nice to meet you.” He offers a handshake but I just stare at it. I don’t think I have the right to touch his hand. It’s clean and it looks so soft.

Minseok looks like the type of person who’s been trained to be a kind, flawless care representative. Smile is not the word for the way he stretches his mouth gleefully; it was a beam, so bright it could blind you. He looks like the type to be sad for two seconds but instantly find the greener side almost as quickly, maybe even instantaneously. He’s not tall; he’s just about my height. And I can say that he’s been doing this for a long time because he knows exactly what to do with awkward situations like a Donor ignoring your handshake offer.

“It’s okay, I won’t throw you down.” He waits. Patiently.

“Come on,” he says. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

I hesitantly pull my hand out of my jean pocket and just as the tip of my fingers touch his, he grabs my hand and shakes it firmly a few times. “There you go,” he says then pulls me to walk with him through the gates. “You did great,” he tells me as we walk past a guard after he shows him an ID then hands me over a bracelet. “Shaking my hand. It must be hard for you. Were you embarrassed?”

I just look at him. His thoughts process everything so fast that I am still getting over the farthest I have traveled my entire life. For years, I have been stuck in Seoul and now that I know Daegu actually exists, it’s hard not to wonder what lies beyond its borders.

“You know, you don’t have to be. You worked your way through life and those hands are strong. You got a good grip.” I don’t even realize I’ve only been holding on a bracelet until we stop walking and he takes it from my hand. “This will be your pass. Every Donor’s bracelet is blue just like that one. It has a microchip inside that gives you an all-access pass to Donor facilities like the spa, the cafeteria, and the recreational studio. It will also serve as your room key so keep it safe. But don’t worry, if you lose it, I can sneak you a new one easily.”

He then takes my bag, casually and swiftly then places it on a basket brought over by some kind of security personnel. “We’re also taking this away, for now. We’ll identify which of the items you brought can be allowed within the facility and which can’t.”

“We’re not in the facility yet?”

“No, this is just the Mission Control — fancy way of saying security outpost. Pretty wild, huh?” He asks and I just look around. This could be as big as the biggest mall in Seoul and I heard they made it bigger last year. “Anyway, don’t worry about your stuff. They will be kept safe if they won’t be allowed inside. If they are, you’ll find them in your room later in the day.”

I shrink as we leave Mission Control and enter the facility. “We call this the Nerve Control,” he tells and smiles as if he’s waiting for me to react. “Just a little nervous system joke,” he rubs his nape but his smile remains.

The Nerve Control eats you up alive. It’s wide with impossibly high ceilings or pure white everything and glass walls. The forest surrounds the place so the light gives the place a bit of a green hue. It’s not a place busy with people but every person’s presence just holds weight that makes it seem like such a packed crowd. I have no idea how many people there are at the moment. There’s also an overwhelming feeling of being watched that takes over me so I consciously crouch even further.

Then, Minseok puts his hand on my back. It sits there for a while. His palm is warm against the fabric of my shirt and as it remains there, it somehow starts to burn. Until he soothes my back with a gentle pat and with every pat, the heat disappears. My body softens and I slowly raise my shoulders. Then we’re at a halt in the middle of what appears to be a lobby.

“Welcome,” a voice speaks and we all look up to a figure standing by a glass balcony. She’s wearing white and her voice resounds for a person as small as she is. “I know that a lot of you come from far off places so I promise I will make this quick.”

“This is VITA,” she says, hands sitting on the glass perimeter. “We are the first world’s first methodological, and industrial physician-aided-dying program. I am sure you’ve all heard of the term aided-dying or physician-assisted suicide. It’s a practice existing in various countries in the west but none of those practices are programs.”

“And most importantly, none of those takes life beyond its end.”

“Here at VITA we don’t just relieve people of their pain or free somebody from their own demons. With our founder and CEO a strong believer and advocate of life, he engineered a means of transferring one’s life to someone else. Now, this sparks the most important question of “how” and that’s something we’ll show you in the briefing room. Follow us.” She says then pauses for a second before turning her back.

Suddenly, the crowd moves and so do me and Minseok. We’re off to a curved staircase and then to a wide hallway. We’re led in an auditorium and Minseok leads me to our seat. The presentation is long with the history of the program, messages from various people who seem important, and a quick virtual tour of the place. Then we get to the process part.

We follow two people. They never show his face throughout. It’s just a bunch of smartly done camera shots and angles but this is what we learn:

A nineteen-year-old boy signs up as a Donor. A 35-year-old woman signs up as Donee. They never meet even if they live in the same facility for 6 months. They don’t know each other. They have nothing to do with each other. The boy tells VITA that he wants to disappear but he’s afraid. The woman says she needs to live longer for her kids but her Lupus gets worse day by day. After a tedious program with various therapy sessions in between, they sign to participate in the final stage of the process.

Then, they both lie down on separate beds on separate steel rooms. Next thing we know, the boy is pronounced dead and the woman lives to tell her story to this day. She is now 48 years old.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper to Minseok and he leans over to whisper back.

“Keep watching.”

They say energy is what makes us live. It’s the blood pumping on our veins and the neurons firing in our brains. It lets us feel, think, act, and react. These things make us alive. But there’s one other thing that truly makes us alive. Consciousness. It’s that urge — the psychological truth — that truly makes us a living, breathing human being. This consciousness is the mix of blood and flesh, soul, spirit, mind, and every other atom in between. It’s the finest thread in our identity that makes us whole. Mess it up and you’re done for. I know this because I have seen my parents lose both.

Dad stops talking and eventually, stops breathing. Mom falls unconscious one day and never wakes up.

This is what VITA s with. They take your consciousness and transfer it — muted, reset — to another person hoping to live a life longer than you would. Chances are your life expectancies will be transferred to someone else. It’s a whole science that I am too uneducated to know about. Too many fancy terms I can never grasp upon. But there’s one thing that sticks to me throughout the journey of the boy and that woman on the screen. The woman lives on with a newfound faith and the boy is cold and stale on a steel bed. But they say in the end, “Live on.”

I am not as surprised as I am puzzled.

Where does life take me if I am right there at the very end?