Genre: Angst, Art, Sci-Fic

Summary: Dreams, passion, art—these are the things that we live for. And in an era where the brilliance of film has been reduced to a medium for erasing memories, struggling film student Ahn Yujin was faced with a choice of a lifetime as she ventured through life, reality, and the discovery that sometimes love has the ability to ruin itself.

Word Count: 11,794

Hashtag: #JinjooFiestaS3_MyLifeInFourThousandFeet

My Life In Four Thousand Feet

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The sky roared loudly as I made a mess of my shoes, each step ending in a splatter of rain puddles that have filled the asphalt ground from the endless downpour. I clutched the round metal cases closer to my chest, the coldness seeped through my already shivering body as I huffed out a fogged up breath. The rain only grew stronger by the second, the drops on the streets mimicked the rhythm of my heart that resembled the bass drum of an eighty’s rock music that hit its peak, deep and heavy and resounding. I had already gotten rid of my glasses at this point, my lenses have been too clouded and the only way to brave through this storm was to squint my eyes in a blurry path, relying on my memory to get me where I wanted to be—where my cold, and barely moving feet could take me.

Memory—such a peculiar word to say, so much irony to be thinking of it as I stumbled around in a pair of worn down Chuck’s and soaked sweater and jogging pants. Memory, I thought to myself as I took another ragged breath, the air burning my lungs from the inside out, sending a shudder down my spine as the winds blew by. I began to chuckle, maybe out of the ludicrosity of it all or the impending hypothermia that was about to take over my body and sanity, but the reason did not matter—I chuckled with lungs that threatened to give out as the pain panged like the jaws of a great white consumed the wholeness of my heart. And as I ran through the streets of a busy city, reels of film within the safety of my embrace, tears mixed with the raindrops that ceaselessly fell, I remember a useless fact I heard from a film class once. “A one-reeler is approximately a thousand feet long.” This sentence echoed through my head like a film on loop, like a vinyl that malfunctioned and went on and on for hours, and all that I wanted was for it to stop. It was just an introduction to something far more intricate, but I didn’t know why I thought of something so mundane even if I was in between life and death.

Another sigh escaped my mouth as I reached for the freezing metal bar to open the heavy glass door of the place I have been looking for. The glowing neon sign painted my face with a bright and unusual hue of pink, sending a sharp headache as soon as my eyes met the light. I powered through one more time until I heard the bells chime and I was finally in, the warmth of the heater slapped through my numbing face, making me wince just a little. I searched the room frantically until I saw a man behind the counter, his eyes were bewildered to see a disheveled girl whose clothes dripped with water at the seams.

I looked at him, taking short and uneven breaths, my eyes probably looked hollow and dead to him. His face turned from surprised to concerned when he finally read the situation. I tossed the reels on his plain white table with chipped off paint, the metal cases clanged with a thunderous finish. And then I threw a few crumpled bills which plopped on top of the reels.

My bottom lip trembled as I opened my mouth to try and speak. I bit my lower lip for a while to stabilize it, clenching the hem of my drenched sweater. Finally, I spoke, “Show me just how good this is.”

The man looked at the reels, and then at me, and then back to the reels. His shoulders slumped as he let out an exhausted sigh. He raised his head, his eye glasses catching the glint of the fluorescent light. “Over here,” he said as he beckoned towards the door to my left. The man picked up the metal cases and headed over towards the direction that he showed me. And I stood there, determined to let go—to throw away everything I have ever stood for in order to take the pain away.

I could see him eyeing the reels on top of the table from my periphery; his arms drew together across his chest. We have now transferred from the small lobby of the store to the “sign up” room, which is basically just a small room with a couple of desks for people who are filling out papers to use. I read through the terms—skimmed, would be the right word, I guess. I could barely understand what it was trying to say. I felt cold and damp and just… heavy.

His voice pierced through the whirring of an old heater. “That’s quite a lot,” he commented as he eyed the pile of reels on the table, which prompted me to raise my head and stare at him.

“That’s my whole life,” I told him deadpan, my fingers holding on to the pen that seemed to shake under my grasp. “Do I sign here?” I asked after a few moments of silence and the man simply nodded, his probing aura had already gone. I guess he saw through the eyes, if there is anything else to see anyway. I was done, every single piece of me was. And maybe that resonated with him too, maybe he had questions—why would a girl who seemed to be at her peak years want to forget the rest of her life? What do these film reels tell? Maybe he wanted to ask but perhaps he was just done too. Perhaps he just wanted to get over his job like most people do.

The ballpoint glided over the smooth surface of the paper. Ahn Yujin, I signed, sealing the consent form with my signature. That was it; no amount of side effects written in the form could stop me from wanting this. And now the only thing left to do was both the easiest and the hardest thing—to forget.

The big wide silver screen stretched in front of me, out of life, just a piece of white vinyl that reflected the way I looked at the world—with eyes devoid of emotions.

“How long have you been doing this?” I asked the man as he fixed the wires and the probes on my head and my arm as he knelt beside me.

“Oh, now you want some small talk,” he retorted, and remained silent for a second. “From the very beginning,” he followed, “I was a part of the pilot trial for this technology, one of the first ones who administered the procedure.” His voice had a hint of melancholy masked with a forced on nonchalance.

“Do you know the guarantee? Percentage wise.” I picked at my nails as the momentous event came closer by every wire he connected and the button he pressed.

“Ninety to ninety-five,” he said as he finished the necessary preparation. “We can’t guarantee a hundred. If people suddenly remembered, they’d sue us for not committing through.” He dusted his hands together and stood up, picking up the reels on the way. “Here,” he said, handing me a console with two buttons.

“What is this for?” one of my hands held on to the armrest of the velvet-covered seat, the other reached out for the box made out of plastic that the man handed.

“Final choice,” was all that he said. I adjusted my glasses against the bridge of my nose, my eyes glued to the black panel within my grasp, two buttons—final choice. That was when it hit me. The signature on the assent form that felt more of a waiver was not the stamp of approval. It was this, it was my final verdict.

Just as the man turned the knob, I raised my voice for one last question. “Any advice?” My voice resounded, prompting the man to stop halfway.

He looked over his shoulder, huffed out a shallow breath and said, “It’s easy for the mind to forget, but it’s not always the case for the heart. So, be wise. Be wise.” The door closed with a click as the hinge fitted into the canal. A few seconds later, the lights dimmed and the once lifeless screen filled in with the colors of the rays from the projector behind. I braced myself one more time—here we go, I tell myself. I clutched the box within my hand and with a long breath; I took myself to the beginning, to where it all started—to where life started.

REEL #1: Walk With Me

YEAR 2018

I placed my glasses on the table, rubbing my already tired eyes soon after. The hours of continuously looking through film reels meticulously had begun to take a toll on me and a ragged sigh escaped my mouth as I pressed my head onto the palm of my hands, my shoulder hunching on the process.

“Think through, Ahn Yujin. Think through,” I whispered under my breath as my vision filled with a multicolored pattern, perhaps the result of too much pressure from the heels of my palm to my eyes. Another heavy breath passed and I felt the ground shift beneath me. No, it can’t happen—not again. I can’t lose to another panic attack.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sharp ringing of the phone, its tone piercing through the air, following the rhythm of the pulsating pain within my head. I reached for the handset haphazardly, my hand was barely able to lift it but if I waited for the tone to die down, my migraine would have started.

“Hello, this is Ahn Yujin. What can I do for you today?” I tried to modulate my voice to sound welcoming. After all, when the phone rings, that would mean a potential customer.

“I need to forget, please help—” The voice on the other line was frantic, desperate even. Then and there, I knew what this inquiry was about.

“Sorry, I don’t offer that kind of service here,” I cut off and dropped the call afterwards. I lifted my head and looked at the clips of film in front of me, taking in the view of art that had slowly faded away in a highly digitalized world. Yet here I am, trying to save the last ounce of memory that my father has left me before life went awry. And people are trying to steal that away because of a new technology. I shook my head and fixed up my workspace. I need to see something new. I need to go somewhere—anywhere.

I found myself on a train heading to the beach with only my backpack and a 35mm film camera. I don’t have any reason in particular but everytime I wanted a breather, I always found myself going to the beach. Perhaps, I always craved the sound of the crashing waves—how they are loud enough to drown the thoughts that seemed to bombard me everytime I’m somewhere quiet. My mind, after all, does not know how to shut up.

It only took me a few minutes and a couple of stops before I finally disembarked from the train. The station was quieter than usual and this gave me a sense of relief. Once the sliding doors opened, the cold autumn air greeted me with a faint fragrance of the sea. I took in a long inhale and I warmed my hands by inserting them into my jacket pocket. It’s just me and the scene, just me and the view from the lenses of my camera.

The winds blew by and the trees rustled along with it, its leaves dancing to the rhythm of the air that filled my lungs. As I stood by the bridge, I brought out my camera that has been loaded with film. My finger pressed on the button and the rolls started to turn, the palm of my hands felt the steady hum of the machinery working its magic inside, capturing the picturesque view of the sea from my point of view. I moved slowly, keeping the camera close to my body for it to remain as still as possible. And as I slowly panned out the lenses, I saw a girl who held onto the railings, her body was leaning forward way more than a person should. Without thinking twice, I my heels and took a sprint towards the direction of the girl. Suddenly, the aim to keep the camera steady was something so far off in my list.

“Hold on, wait!” I uttered, wanting to shout it out but it came out as a frail attempt to be heard by the woman who stared longingly into the distance. “Don’t jump!” I tried again, this time my voice was loud enough for me to recognize. Finally, I grasped the woman by her wrist. My lungs burned from the inside, catching my breath, letting out a few coughs in between. I hunched over, still tightly holding on to the girl.

“Don’t do it,” I said breathlessly and I saw the confusion in her eyes. The way her eyebrows knitted as she saw me desperately try to rationalize with her. I felt her hand on top of mine; the confusion had been taken over with a look of concern.

“Thank you for going all the way here,” I heard her say just as my vision adjusted to her, the beating of my heart was slowly returning to its normal rhythm, and the warmth of her hand that radiated through the back of mine was enough for me to loosen my grip. “I was not going to jump, though,” she explained with a soothing voice. Her expression softened and she offered me an apologetic smile.

“Oh,” was all that I could say, dumbfounded by the fact that I also caught this girl by surprise because of my over thinking. I immediately withdrew my hand from her wrist and I aired out an apology, even bowing to make up for the embarrassment that I have brought upon myself and the repercussions that it brought for the stranger. “I’m really sorry for what happened. I saw you leaning quite far into the bridge and I thought you had intentions to go over and I—”

“Hey,” she quietly said, silencing the blabber that I was about to slip into. Again, she smiled kindly towards my direction. Her Indian dimples deepened as she did so. “It’s totally fine. Thank you for trying to save me. You must have been caught off guard.” She beckoned on the camera by my right hand; the tension had not left my muscle just yet.

“I was taking a montage of the view and I was panning out when I saw you,” I explained and she nodded with a chuckle.

“I apologize for bringing you into this situation; I’m Kim Minjoo, by the way.” She raised her hand halfway. Now that I was a bit calmer, I realized that she had a notebook tucked away on her other hand.

“I’m Ahn Yujin,” I replied, taking her hand into mine. “Nice to meet you, I’m sorry for coming out of nowhere and surprising you like that. You must’ve been scared.”

She broke out in a chuckle and I did too, feeling beads of sweat form on my back underneath my hoodie due to the adrenaline rush that had come to pass. “It’s all good, and to explain the whole ruckus, I was trying to get a feel of how it would be like to be on edge. But I don’t have any intentions to push through with it.” She still had the refreshing smile on her face. “It’s all for this story that I’m currently working on.” Minjoo replied sheepishly as she raised the notebook just enough for me to see it.

“Oh, you’re a writer,” I remarked and she confirmed it with a nod. “I’m a film student,” I blurted and this time, I showed the camera to her, glad at the fact that the stranger and I are not too far from establishing a common ground.

We were overcome with silence for a while. And in the distance, the sound of the waves meeting the shore in a consistent manner could be heard-- constant and soothing and predictable. We stood there facing each other for quite some time, exchanging a few short glances, smiling everytime our eyes met. Minjoo then put a hand briefly over her nape, giving it a short squeeze. Her eyes settled on the wooden bridge as she opened and then closed it again, seemingly looking for words that have become so elusive.

“Do you like donuts?” She finally asked with a bashful smile. My eyebrows shot up, surprised by the question.

“I love donuts,” I answered, “They’re my favorite, actually. Are they yours, too?” The words sounded way more enthusiastic than I had meant for them to come out. But it felt right saying it that way, and so I pushed through with it.

“I know a place,” she replied, “If you have time to spare, I can bring you in—my treat... for saving me.” Her lips curled at the corners and I felt myself mirroring the gesture. My dimples deepened just as hers did.

“My train’s scheduled at six.” I glanced at my watch and saw that it was just a little over three in the afternoon. “I have time,” I told her, and she simply replied by a nod and a subtle smile.

It was a calm October afternoon. And at that moment, I thought I saved her. But little did I know that she was saving me instead.

As soon as we entered the shop, I was greeted by the sweet smell of freshly baked pastries. The walls were lined with a light blue wallpaper, one that resembled the color of a bubblegum and the tiled checker floors reminded me of a fifty’s diner which reflected the hues of the sun that hung lazily over the mid-autumn sky.

“Yujin,” Minjoo called over. She was standing by the large glass-covered display counter where twenty-one donut flavors were displayed.

I walked over to where she was and marveled at the carefully designed buns. “These are a lot,” I commented, not removing my gaze from the party of colors that enchanted my eyes. “It’s like a festivity of flavors.” I finally turned to face in her direction and she looked at me with a smile on her face, the light of the sun that bounced from the tiles had found its way into her orbs that appeared to have been a deep hazelnut brown with a hint of gold. I suddenly found myself overcome with stillness. All I could feel was the rise and fall of my chest and the presence of the girl who stood before me, feeling the same things that I was.

“Choose one,” she said, darting her eyes toward the wide selection. It took a second for her comment to sink in but I eventually followed the direction of her stare, suppressing a smile to myself as I was reminded of the way I looked into her eyes.

“Salted Caramel.” I pointed at the donut by the third row of the last column. “Always has been my go-to.” I smiled her way and she nodded in agreement with the flavor of my choice.

She then looked at the man behind the counter, and said, “You heard what my friend said.” There was playfulness in her voice and the man chuckled at Minjoo’s remark.

“Is that how you treat your boss on your days off?” The man asked, putting our orders on a plate. This made Minjoo laugh and she gave me a glance, shrugging at the comments of the man.

“I’m a regular paying customer today.” She turned to me, “This is my boss three times a week. His name is Sunwoo.” Minjoo beckoned at the middle-aged man with graying hair. I offered a small nod which he answered by waving his free hand.

“I’m Yujin,” I said as he placed the plates on the countertop. “Pleased to meet you,” I added. He smiled at me, the lines on his face deepened as he did.

“Quit hanging around with this girl, she’s a tad bit too playful,” he jested which earned a whine from Minjoo. I only stood there smiling at the whole banter.

“I was joking, clearly. She’s a great girl. I’m glad she actually made a friend today. Enjoy the meal, it’s on me.” He then gave a warm smile, his heel and left the two of us standing in an almost empty store.

“So, you’re a film student, correct?” Minjoo asked once we settled on our seats. She leaned ever so slightly as she waited for me to answer.

I adjusted my glasses against the bridge of my nose. “Yes,” I replied, “I am in my last year of university. And you’re a writer, right?” I asked back, to which she initially confirmed by raising her eyebrows twice.

“Actually, I am a student, still. I’m taking a degree in creative writing. So, I guess, just an aspiring writer.” She took a bite out of the strawberry filled donuts that she ordered and I took a sip of my coffee. It was mild, sweet at first and a rich bitterness came after the wave of saccharine flavor.

“Since you’re a film student, I’d like to ask you something,” Minjoo prompted once she was done swallowing the bite she took. “What are your thoughts on the memory erasing-- you know, MemoTech utilizing your craft as a medium for people to forget?” The question almost made me chuckle and I guess she knew the reason why too.

“Is this for a thesis? It almost sounded like one,” I joked and she laughed slightly at the remark. I took in the air and filled my lungs full before I started to answer her query. “I am insulted, honestly. Most of us are… or so I’d like to believe.” I intertwined my fingers together and pieced my thoughts in a logical and concise manner. And through it all, Minjoo waited patiently.

“Film is an art. It’s meant to make you feel, to make you remember, to make you know about feelings you thought never existed. It’s supposed to awaken something in you, not suppress the fire you have inside. Film is this-- wonderful, amazing thing. It’s not just some cheap instrument for people who want to buy the convenience of forgetting.” I could feel the drumming of my heart on my chest and the pulsating of my body as I caught after my breath.

She looked at me with a proud smile on her face, her eyes looked into mine and for a moment, I swear she was talking to my soul.

“I just know you’re someone great, Ahn Yujin. You know where your heart is.” Her smile grew wider and I had to clear my throat in an attempt to shrug off the silence that had started to build itself around the room.

“What's your favorite line?” I asked out of the blue without meeting her eyes. “I mean, you must have read countless books. There must be one that stands out.” Minjoo leaned back, crossed her arms in front of her chest, and gave the question some thought.

“This is going to be cliché,” she began to say, “But I always liked Coelho’s line from The Alchemist.” Now that I think about it, I have not read any book other than the textbooks that were mandatory to be read for academic purposes, but I shook my head slightly and focused on what Minjoo was about to say.

“And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it,” she recited, there was a look in her eyes that seemed like she was reliving the first time she read those lines within the book. The Alchemist, I repeated in my head and took a mental note that as soon as I go back to my town, I will purchase one— I have to.

Minjoo and I sat quietly for the rest of the afternoon by the huge panel of glass that faced the beachfront, giving us the perfectly captured view of the picturesque scene. I brought my camera out. Once again, the film rolled as soon as I pressed the button. Slowly, I turned it towards Minjoo, her eyes stared somewhere far into the horizon.

“Thank you for showing me something beautiful,” I said silently. She faced me with a smile that grew bigger when she saw that I was taking a record on film.

“Thank you for coming along,” she replied. “A view is even more beautiful when it’s shared.”

None of these words were captured within the film, but the subtlety and the way the expression on her face lit up was enough for me to be sure that the clip would be breathtaking—just like she was.

Soon after, it was time for me to leave. Minjoo accompanied me back to the station, saying that she didn’t want to go home just yet. And although I wanted the road back to be longer, and for time to roll backwards, it was something humans have not gained control over just yet.

The graveled path made crunching sounds with every step that we took. We exchanged glances here and there, smiling from time to time, seeing sceneries we are sure we’ve seen before but somehow, at that moment, they all felt new. At the very least, the feeling was.

“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” I said halfway through the journey back. “Why creative writing?” She did not answer immediately. Her mind was filled with things I might never know of.

“I just love the idea of being able to create my own world, to be able to go places in between the pages dirtied by ink and words and feelings, and to be able to take people along with me at the same time.” She slipped her hand into the pocket of her beige overcoat and wrapped it closer to her body as the breeze came.

“You’re a writer indeed,” I told her, “you’re good with words,” I added. Minjoo chuckled and shook her head slightly, denying the compliment.

“There are a lot of things to learn, places to see, people to meet. But, for the meantime, while that’s not possible, I can create them here.” She tapped her head twice gently. “But what about you, why film?”

“Well, for starters, it was my father who influenced me. He used to bring me to this cinema downtown where they showcase silent films. And the first time I saw one, I fell in love—even if I didn’t know what love was-- I still don’t but.. you get it,” I explained. A small laugh escaped my mouth and she found herself laughing at the moment too.

“I bet he was a good father,” she remarked. I couldn’t affirm nor deny, and so all I did was smile at her, leaving the topic out of the picture.

“By the way,” she began to say after a few minutes had passed, “I’ve been meaning to ask you, why you were on that bridge earlier.” A tone of caution was evident in her voice.

“I was finishing a portfolio for my last term,” I answered initially, “But I was met with a dead-end and I needed to see things in a new perspective—to find inspiration.” My eyes settled at the tip of my shoes as I finished my sentence.

“And were you able to find it?” I heard her ask. A brief smile emerged on my eyes before I looked towards her direction, my eyes meeting hers, our stares not breaking.