세나: I want to ask myself again:

What on earth did I get myself into?

Turning my head to one side, where the cloudy sight of a grey afternoon Seoul is viewed, I contemplate on how fast things had taken place. Who knew that in a matter of weeks, I would be put in a position many people covet so much, but have the nerve to not enjoy the luxury of it? Sometimes I hate myself for not appreciating this, at least for the people who want this very much. It seems like it was just yesterday that I was about to read a book in my room, and, as if he popped out of nowhere, Sungjae appeared. He talked to my aunt and before I knew it—he has taken me, whisked me away out of that hell-hole which was at the same time was my comfort zone.

And now here I am.

Having to assume a role never even in my wildest dreams have I deemed of taking.

“Se Na-ya, hurry, hurry!” someone unpleasantly yodels at me, somewhere from within the room, and I snap my head to the direction of the voice with this scowl on my face. I tug one corner of my mouth downward and groan internally, reminding myself for the thousandth time why I am even doing this.

“That’s your cue now,” my best friend, who happens to be standing in front of me, chuckles.

I take my hands out of his (this has been our pose while we were talking after he excused me from the people in the casting) and look over my shoulder. “Can you just take me away from here, really? I’m gonna explode any minute now,”

Sungjae wears a worried, yet amused expression. “What’s wrong?”

“I hate it here.”

“Well it was your choice.”

“BUT NOW I REGRET IT!” I exclaim, at the top of my lungs with both clenched fists at my sides. “Now I can’t find a way to get out of here!”

He just laughs, thinking there would be no better reaction for this, and taps my arm softly, motivationally, twice. “You can do it. Just screw up the best you can,”

I look down on the floor, the dark frown never evacuating my face.

“I just don’t understand one thing, though: why do you hate this so much? You like acting, don’t you?”

Just like when I was talking to his bandmate over the phone, the thought of confessing takes over me. But then again, realizing what shall be the consequences if ever I do that, the impetus immediately recoils and disappears into thin gas. “I…I don’t really want to act in this kind of story.” Pyo Se Na, can you not think of a lamer excuse than that?

Sungjae studies me for a silent while, searching for something in my looks as if the answer lies on my pores. “Is it because Peniel-hyung is the lead?”

OH GOODNESS WHEN WILL HE EVER KILL THAT ISSUE. “JAE!!!” I say, with high feelings, and slap his arm once. Hard.

He chortles jollily, as he shields himself. “I’m just saying!”

Trainees pass by us and my best friend waves at some of them, evincing their friendly relationship with him, but when their eyes land on me I am looked at with an expression of absolute distaste. I don’t really have an intention of fawning over this so I just don’t mind it. “Well…you can say that’s one of the reasons,” I tell him, after a long chain of girl trainees come into the room behind me.

“You’re quite different, you know that,”

I look up. “Oh? How so?”

“You’re just…well…” Jae thinks. “Other girls would die to be teamed up with their crush,”

My skin crawls at the term he used. “Oh my—really, stop using that term, will you?”

“Why not?”

“PYO SE NA!”

I flinch when another voice calls me, this time, stronger and louder—even angrier.

“You should get going now, really,” he pushes me gently.

I nod. “You too,” I smile, as I take a step back. “Take care, alright?”

“Same.”

And I enter the room, with pairs of eyes greeting me upon my entrance—some judging, some curious, some just neutral. There are only five females left in here for the casting, and since from the five of us the lead role will be chosen,  I could feel determination radiating from more than one of them.

“Now,” the instructor says, at the principal point of the circle we form. “Will be your final test,”

All of us nod.

“Now what I want you to do is not just to show me how to do a certain scene, but a couple of scenes. For four minutes you will do three different kinds of acting: first will be you defending yourself, as in, in a manner of a verbal comeback—“ the instructor recites, eyeing us for a while, “—second will be the crying part and lastly, show us—show me, ‘the ’.”

All of a sudden I feel flummoxed whether I should do good at screwing up, or do really good at doing good. I mean, both extremes just seem to be so…promising.

We get started after a while of preparing. We are given five minutes of thinking how we are going to deliver the few lines given to us, and I admit, I only thought for like three minutes and just ‘act naturally’. As my aunt had said I am ill-mannered by nature (that was true in itself, but of course it still hurt) and I could use that here. As to the matter of crying well…I cannot promise I could do an excellent job since it’s only once in a blue moon do I cry, and I’m afraid my acting skills had not been polished that much so great. There’s a big chance I couldn’t get selected here. Yes, yes, yes. Perfect.

I am the last one appointed to perform, so it takes an awful lot of time (and disgust) while I wait for my turn. Why disgust? I thought the five of us here have excellent acting potential? Why are the others not so good at it? Some seem too shy to act it out; they couldn’t deliver the line well, they lack in emotion, and they stutter. In the parts where they are supposed to cry all they do is a face-gag and no, they don’t cry—they imitate the sounds of a dolphin in captivity.

Yes, I am speaking with the perspective of the writer and a director.

ARE THESE THE KIND OF PEOPLE I WOULD LIKE TO DELIVER MY STORY?

The unnerving feeling immediately shoots up to my chest, that all of a sudden, a huge wave of determination washes over me, like a bucket of ice-cold water. I feel so angry,  thinking this is how poorly my story will be told. Am I? Am I supposed to tolerate this?

Of course not.

“Pyo Se Na-ssi, you’re up next,” the instructor says, with a slight smile and a nod, gesturing me to come in front to do some acting for them.

Walking to that part of the room has been the longest five seconds of my life. I look down on the floor as I march, thinking about not all of them are really that bad, either. Maybe they’d still improve. Who knows? Development is imminent for these people. I sure hope so,  so they could assume the lead female role, because if I do get chosen, there is something I am secretly worried about.

I think it was on chapter three.

The kissing scene, I mean.

“Ready, Se Na-ssi?”

I slightly clench my fist at my sides and take an inaudible, preparing breath. “Ready,”

“Alright. 3, 2 , 1—action!”

I change into what I haven’t been for the last few years: an actress.

“Ya, Lee Bomi!” the instructor yells, while sitting, as a guide. This acting won’t be a monologue.

“What?” I answer, imagining that I really am Lee Bomi (the main character on The Lunch Box) with a bored frown and annoyed voice.

“Come back! I told you to stay there!”

I tilt my head to one side. Maybe some adlib won’t hurt. “I don’t take orders from people.”

The instructor suddenly feels a little puzzled, and so are the trainees, but the former quickly gets challenged. As if it’s a mutual understanding, he resolves to go off-script now. “Are you not going to listen to me?”

“You really think I would?” I sass, in a calm voice, but the sarcasm is just overflowing.

“You—if you won’t come back here you’re dead!” this instructor should be just an actor instead.

“Try me,” I smirk, with a charming tilting of the head, and walk out of the center. I think the instructor’s going to let this pass now but he yells over, as if to somehow aggravate me, testing how I would respond to such—

“You’re ugly!”

I stop in my tracks, turn around slowly, and hold out an open palm, fashioned as if I would ask for something, but in fact I am gesturing displaying air. I let him stare at it and after their dumb moment, I say, “Do you see my care?”

A silent moment passes. Then, finally, the instructor claps, loudly, and exclaims, “DAEBAK! PYO SE NA-SSI, THAT WAS DAEBAK!” all the other trainees clap, regardless they hate me or not, though some just do it half-heartedly.

Half of me feels good that I did a great job, but the other feels nervous, that maybe I will somehow suffer the consequence of my excellence. If I really do intentionally screw up, the delivery of my story to the people who will know of it will be in mediocrity. Of course I don’t want that to happen. I’m going to make the ending a brutal one if that happens. I’m serious. This comedy-romance of a story is going to end up as a psychological thriller/horror if one of these untalented slobs is going to get the lead role. I wish they know how I could control them, even just through the story.

I am your master, you dummies.

“Second part, then. Show us how you cry.” the instructor smiles. “Action,”

I heave a breath. This is the end of me. I would hate to disappoint these people, but I could give them no tear. Slowly, slowly, I kneel down on the floor, and mime the acting of someone whose loved one is going to die.

Given the idea of crying, I could say I only cried on very few circumstances during my lifetime. I was born to a world that did not know—and was never interested, in caring for me. Never once have I ever thought of caring. Yes, it is a part of the human instinct; to love, to hate, but ever since I was a child nothing really mattered to me. Or at least to a gravity of extreme expense. At a young age I was unloved, was not taught how to love. And then I was found, finally, by someone who taught me how to be actually human. To show affection even just for the given fact because you want to show it. To love, to share someone’s burdens and be a friend. The boy whom I ever, genuinely loved, though not in a romantic way. What binds us is more than romance itself. The story started when we were kids, and now, thinking of what is imminent, I suddenly feel scared.

Recalling what the doctor and I talked about in the hospital, I could almost hear the cracking of my heart inside. I am horrible. I am despicable.

How could I bring myself to betray the person that’s closest to my heart?

Yook Sungjae. He goes by that name.

It’s surprising that this thought actually finds its way to my bosom, and I feel as if I am being squeezed inside. My sight starts to get cloudy  as it is invaded with what we might call tears. I bite my lower lip, realizing how everything is just so sad for me. For us.

I cluck my tongue, and, as if angered at my weakness, I wipe out a tear hanging on the corner of my eye. But the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. I sniff, now already panicking how am I supposed to stop this, because this was entirely unplanned. The thought of leaving Sungjae makes me sad—really sad, even sadder than how he will ever be, when the time comes.

Good thing I remember I am on an acting audition here.

I start reciting the lines.

“You’re going to leave me, are you?” I say, with a snigger. This is what I want to tell myself, if I were Sungjae. “I thought…I thought you would tell me everything. Didn’t I tell you you should tell me everything?” I gulp. “How…could you?"

“O-okay, c-cut,” the instructor finally halts, and when I look at his face, I could see my feeling being reflected there perfectly. I wish I could look as weak as that. “That was very good, Se Na-ssi,” he claps slowly, and, one by one, the trainees themselves clap. Even those who hate me seem genuinely impressed.

I wish you knew my tears actually had a foundation.

Third part went, and, without really meaning to, I do ‘the ’ a little better than intended—or should I say the acting was just truly natural. For like the umpteenth time the instructor is very impressed, and as he dismisses me, I go back to my seat.

There’s this trainee whom I think is named Remi and she seemingly despises me. However, as I take my place beside her she nudges me, with this grudging, yet amused face, “Congrats, you’re it,” and offers her hand for a shake. I take it gracefully.

While the instructor talks, as for final remarks, I hear only, but do not pay attention. I think about what would really happen if what Remi says comes to life. The pro: I am going to do an excellent job acting out my story, though in paradox I don’t like it. The con: I will have the person who’s seemingly I like get my first kiss.

Heavens, spare me.

The instructor keeps on talking and I do hear what he says but my mind wanders off someplace else. I find myself turning my head, to the direction of the door where a male figure stands almost clandestinely.

How long has he been standing there? I thought they were going somewhere!

Jae? I mouth, as he meets my gaze. He looks at me and does a slow clap—it seems like a somewhat caustic one at first, but it actually is profound, when I look at his eyes. He eyes me with pride, as if I were his creation or something, and I have done something so preposterously good that I deserve tons of accolades. And it’s not just that. There’s something else in them. The gesture, the look on his face. It’s more like…adoration? No. It seems like something more than that but I don’t know what it’s called.

I find myself cracking a smile, abashed and happy at the same time. Great job, he mouths, and it feels like his mouth is an inch close to my ear I could imagine his voice.

***
 

I dial his number at this time at night, and though hesitant, I consume all my willpower to face him. I put the phone on my ear and wait till he answers.

“Yobosseyo?”

I heave out the very long drag of air I have kept while I waited for him to pick up. “Peniel-oppa,”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” he giggles.

“Penpennieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” I say, whining so hard now I’m pouting. “I hate my liiiiiife,”

“Oh, don’t say that. Why, what’s the matter?”

I make these incoherent groans of discomfort. “Before anything else, can I say something?”

“Sure. Of course.”

“Remember…what you told me the other day? If we could go out and have a drink?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, are you free right now? Sorry if I’m being really shameless but I really, really need to de-stress myself,”

“Oh. Alright then. I was just thinking of the same thing.” He adds, with a more joyous voice. “I’ll pick you up in fifteen minutes,”

I smile. I was expecting we would meet up there, but this is better. “Yes. Thanks.”

And indeed, he picks me up. The door-bell rings and when I open, I see a radiantly happy Peniel standing before me. “Hi.” He says.

All I want to do now is break down and cry. “Let’s just go,” I reply, with an exasperated breath as I lock the door behind me. I take his wrist and take the lead, dragging him across the hallway.

“W-what’s the matter?” he queries, startled.

“It just that this involves you,” I respond, with the same monotonic, serious voice. He goes silent for the rest of the trip to the café.