“I don’t get it” She depressively said throwing her little shot glass on the table producing a stern noise loud enough to get every
notice from other costumers. She wiped the remaining liquid dripping from her lips then continue pouting and frowning her
forehead from frustration.

“Get what?” I responded after finishing my shot feeling a little tipsy but still pouring more in both of our glass waiting for her answer.
She rested her chin on her palm childishly blowing her bangs away from her face. She didn’t respond nor looked back at me.
She just grabbed the soju bottle instead of her glass and poured it harshly on , I sense how bothered she is, and this is going to
be a long and crazy night.

“Come on, tell me” I said trying to convince her to spill more beans. I poked her cheeks but she shooed my hands away.
“You shouldn’t have started if you’re not going to finish” I remarked finishing both our shot glass. She looked back at me still pouting
her lips reaching her arms to the soju bottle. I passed it to her and let her finish the second container on her own; she wiped her lips again
this time with her sleeves and giggled a little right after. I sighed as I watched her cheeks bloom red and her face formed wide grins.

 I may be the worst best friend ever for letting her get drunk but it’s just how it goes. When she’s thinking too much, she’s always like this.
She constantly drowned herself in alcohol and been fully drunk before she can speak out of something or anything that bothers her to me.
That’s how it works; I should have figured something is not right when she asked me for a drinking session, this girl.

She knocked her face on the wooden table quite numerous times making noticeable scene before speaking again.
“I’m hungry” She pulled her head back and looked at the counter. “Ahjumma! Ddokbokki, fish cakes and soju, please!!” she waved
her arms getting the lady’s attention then came racket her with orders.

“Don’t change the topic, what’s wrong?” I asked, worried and a little annoyed cleaning up our table for the snacks she just ordered.

She glared at me with her most honest eyes.. “Everything!” she bellowed again. “Everything is not right. Everything is wrong. I don’t get it!
I don’t understand it."

“You don’t understand what?” I asked again hinting a little smashed missed shooting the glass.

“This!” she remarked drunk pointing her chest. “I don’t get this .” She sniffed dry and drink again.  “I don’t get why it’s
pounding like crazy.  I don’t get why it’s unsettled and scared like . It’s greedy. It’s disappointed. It’s confused!”
she whined with filled with the same liquid. “It’s retarded!” she strutted louder. I didn't spoke back and letting her spilled more.

“One second it’s happy, and then it’s sad. One moment it’s flying then it’s crushing down. It makes me hungry!
You know, like really hungry!” She whimpered filling with the snacks and liquid.
“I’m so hungry” she kept mumbling with her tears starting to flow from her eyes and pieces of fish cakes dripping from .
She chocked, cried and continued to look hideous.

For the moment there, I understand what's she's trying to point out. I couldn't help but to smile a little which is really inappropriate on this matter
but I just can't help it. It's funny, on how she just noticed it, or how I knew this will happen. I erased my smile and continue to led my ear.

“I hate how I love it” she whispered low after gulping everything. She sniffed again and wiped her puffed wet cheeks,
trying to calm back and be as civilize like earlier.

“What do you mean?” I asked. I disgust how my words are limited at times like this. I feel like punching myself for not responding well,
be as unhelpful as possible for her.

“I hate how I enjoy the throbbing feeling in my chest and the butterflies in my stomach. I hate how I feel anxious and pathetic
when I can’t stop thinking about it. I love how I became so greedy but then I hate when I get disappointed. I hate how I love
being confused because it makes me wonder more, search more. I hate how I love the comfort and the trust.  I hate how I love
being hungry, and I keep eating and eating and stuffing myself with anything but It can’t be filled. I hate it, but I love it.”
And she started to cried louder. I patted her back, and rubbed it comforting her. She keeps crying and crying and I let her just
like how I always let her get drunk; I let her cry her heart out.

She chuckled low. “I think I’m drunk” then she laughed forcefully.

I shook my head, side hugging her. “You’re not drunk”

“Then what? Wasted? Crazy?”

“You’re in love”

" you"

You're welcome"