세나: My best friend, apparently, is not only my crony of more-or-less ten years but, relatively, he’s also my personal mind-reader. There are times that with just one look at me—a glint in my eyes, a pucker in my mouth, or the way my back slouches when I’m exasperated, Sungjae would always know what I’m thinking, or if not that, what I’m feeling. Oftentimes it’s an advantage, since explanation isn’t really necessary, but sometimes it’s just…agitating.

Serves him right. I don’t even regret pinching his waist for that “Is this disappointment I hear?” remark of his. Come to think of it—I always do that to him when he counters with something that’s greatly annoying. Like that time when he said I wasn’t going to help the moving men in arranging my furniture in my apartment. Hah, take that, you dork!

I wasn’t really disappointed when my crush didn’t kiss me. No matter how much I fantasize about him whenever I write The Lunch Box, I still exercise my conservative ethics on, and I think my first kiss should go a little more…proper. I don’t know if that’s even the right word for it, but that’s the thing I could best describe it with.

Anyway, I’ve finally apologized to my dear old Penpennie for ignoring him these past few days because of the tragedy of an excuse namely “not knowing how to repay him for his kindness”. True, that really was my reason—well, partly, but the reason why that was what I had told him is because I don't know how to verbalize this: you made my stomach tingle in the most insane way possible when you did that, and I think I can’t really face you after what you did but since we’re friends, I’m obliged to still treat you platonically, though my better judgment is angry at me for not admitting outwardly that I like you dude, dammit and that Sungjae is already shipping me with you so hard and that just makes everything else so complicated and you-you-you are just so ugh and every time I see you I want to run away and hide because oh my goodness what are you doing to me I want to throw something.

Well what is important now is that we’re at peace now, and what I’m thinking about now is what’s more important: I should get to the doctor, have myself checked, how all this Werner’s thing is going so far, if it’s become worse, or what.

Chance. That was the first thing I thought of when the news that they were going to Singapore met me. Nope, not even the thought of missing Sungjae (why would I? Please) visited me. I know that might be a little rude but, hey, prince and I spend way too much time together I don’t think that’s really necessary. More than 50% of my day I spend in thinking about my stories (especially The Lunch Box) but believe me, that other remaining percent, there’s a huge chunk that I think about Sungjae in those times.

Here I am right now, washing my face in the wee hours of the morning. Blinking hard, I search with my hand where my glasses should be, and there I find it, next to that bottle of liquid soap. When I wear it I take a good look at myself in the mirror, getting amazed yet again at how foreign I seem whenever I wear these. Even more than how I marvel at this weirdness there’s a bubbling feeling of guilt in my chest that makes me feel awful at myself. I really am a despicable human being, am I not?

Is this not the reason I cried successfully during the auditions? Is this not the reason that I feel horrible about myself whenever I see how proud Sungjae is of me, whenever I see his bright smile? It’s feels like—no—I am betraying him.

“Don’t hide secrets from me, okay?”

I remember his words to me. Then the suffocating feeling in my chest worsens; I don’t know if this is just borne of me being heart-sick but it hurts, it really hurts. Sungjae, I’m sorry. Taking a moment to mourn over this I remove my glasses, and rub my eyes with the back of my hand. It’s actually impossible to make me cry. But apparently Sungjae is the only one who thwarts that impossibility, see? See how easily I cry whenever this is addressed? I think I am sadder—far sadder than he will ever be, when the time comes. For quite a long time now the thought of confessing to him about this little secret has been nagging at me, but I am more scared than brave. Apart from not being able to predict what his reaction will be, I don’t want him to worry. I don’t want him to imagine how it would be like if he’s going to lose me. I don’t want him to dread the danger that is absent in his horizon, yet so close to mine. I don’t want to share with him my burden.

“What do you think I’m here for?”

But ah, alas—his words are always enough to make my arguments wrong. He has the right to know, yes? But why? Why oh why am I acting this way?

My secret about The Lunch Box, probably that’s just minor compared to this secret. At least that doesn’t put my life at stake. But this—isn’t this something he ought to know back from Day 1? But had I told him, would that even make me cured of this? And even if I tell him now, wouldn’t you think it’s too late?

Sungjae, I’m sorry.

Standing from my sitting position on the dry, cold tile floor I let myself recover, wiping the few remaining tears on my face, and commanding the tears that are threatening to fall to stop, because I hate the idea of crying. Sure, it’s forgivable, but for me, it’s a sign of weakness. Exactly why I hate to remember the fact that I’ve already cried in front of that Peniel.

“Pyo Se Na.” I face the mirror with a manly resolution, and imagine I’m like Chuck Norris-badass of some sort, so I’d feel like I could take on anything. Strangely, it works. “Use your writer-depressive-realism brain. You know you have to face this, right? You’re gonna have to tell Yook Sungjae, your best friend, your brother, the guy you trust more than you do yourself; right?” I purposely enumerate all what Sungjae really is in my life, to awaken the conscientious side of me, which I hope is enough to make me admit to him. “You’re gonna have to tell him, one way or another.” I scowl at my own reflection, glaring at the Pyo Se Na right in front of me who’s a coward of so many things. The Pyo Se Na who shows a prickly façade, but is corroding on the inside, merely living by a charade of lies and confidence. However, at the mention of one way or another I lose my courage again, because there can, or should, only be one way that Sungjae would know of this. That is, him knowing of this firsthand. I myself should tell him—no one else should (I don’t know how will that be even possible since I’m the only one who knows of this, but I still don’t want to think about it that way), and that he just can’t know of it without my consent.

After whining at that “another” way, I shake my head and tell myself to man up, because I can’t let my fear grip the best of me. I should weigh out the odds, and sort out what perfect time, opportunity, chance—whatever, will be present, and I will tell him. Uncertainty still claws the back of my mind, but I know I will have to face this. Soon.

The next day, when I wake up, the first thought that comes to mind is my resolution before I went to sleep. Tell Sungjae that you’re sick. Immediately this makes my heart find its quickest route to my stomach, and, though my day had just started, I don’t want to go on already. Although Sungjae is absent, the mere thought of him and this Werner’s thing in one sentence makes me want to give up. Unfortunately retreat is not a choice, so I swat the blanket to one side, and retrieve the mental list of what I have to do today.

1.) Go to the salon.

“Oh, Se Na-ssi, what are you doing here?” the stylist-eonni gapes at me with a brush in hand.

“Annyeong,” I grin, exhibiting my shiny white teeth and bow a little. “I’m here to have my hair dyed again,"

“What? But the head stylist—”

I wring my hands in front of her. “She wouldn’t be angry! I’ve noticed my roots showing lately; my hair grows rapidly, you see. And I think the bright red is starting to fail and it doesn’t look right now. So….eonni, please? “ I clasp my hands in front of me as if in prayer. Or it could also be I really am praying that she grant my request.

“Fine, fine,” she sighs. “Just take that seat over there and wait for me.” she says, and I resist the impetus to clap my hands like a kid in expression of my bliss.

Not more than half an hour later, she swivels the seat (with laughter) to make me face the mirror, since she notices that I’m having too much fun in this rotating chair. “Red?”

I nod with a smile.

“Alright. We’re going to keep the length, right?”

“I think Bo Mi likes it that way.” I jest.

So she swooshes away with my hair, sorting it out tress by tress and applies the dye of fiery red. “Se Na-ssi,” she swallows when she sees what I was praying she wouldn’t see. “What do you say we pluck these out?”

I shake my head. There are too many of them already. “You mean those white hairs? It’s alright; just include them in the dyeing.”

Haply eonni is genuinely worried about this, but she lets this slip. Besides she herself knows that she just can’t simply uproot them all out. “Alright then…”

And, about three and a half hours later, I go out of the salon, my hair re-dyed, which greatly contributes to the boosting of my confidence. Time for the next one in my list.

2.) Go to the doctor; have a checkup.

As usual the results aren’t good. My eyes will still continue to blur out my sight. My heart won’t be that much healthy. In fact, the age of my heart is like the heart of the person whose age is twice as mine. I’m not getting any better. I am getting older. The doctor quite complimented me on the matter that for a patient with this kind of condition, the sickness is slow in taking over my body, and that I’m bearing with it pretty well, and that I don’t have as many episodes of blackouts compared to others. Thanks, doc, but that doesn’t really help that much.

“Is there a person like me who has this kind of condition, too?” I ask the doctor, when he hands to me my findings.

“No,” he answers. “The last time we had a patient like you, when I looked up at our records, was twelve years ago. Unfortunately I still wasn’t a doctor here during that time, and I’m still trying to contact the doctor who handled that case.”

“Have you heard from him?”

Another No. “I was only able to reach his son, and he said…well, his father’s dead now.”

 “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“But don’t worry, Se Na-ssi, I’ll help you through that.”

I snicker secretly. “Big question is if I could even do so. I’ve done a lot of research, doctor. I know, I won’t live that much longer.”

He knows this, too, and he knows that his concern isn’t enough to make me cured of this (there isn’t even a cure for this in the first place). So he takes one step towards me. “That is…a type of progeric disease, Se Na-ssi. It’s rare. Very rare.”

I try to lighten up the mood so I treat this with less seriousness. “So it’s like winning in the lottery, then? Almost no one gets it?”

Doctor tries to chuckle at this, but there’s something in him that hints deep regret. I know what he’s thinking. “Yes. But Se Na-ssi, does your family know about this?”

Maybe I should make a list entitled “101 Reasons Why Pyo Se Na’s Life Is Sad”. Certainly everything about my life would totes fill up that list easily. “Unfortunately, doctor, this little girl right here doesn’t have one,” I point myself with a pathetic smile. “I am my own family.”

This leaves his mouth open. “But…what about…guardians? Friends?”

“Friends,” I nod. “Or, friend. I only have one friend.”

Bewildered, he asks furthermore, “Just one? How come?”

“Long story.” I jerk my shoulders up. “Okay, fine, friends. But, he’s…the only one whom I really, really trust.”

“Oh. So…have you told this friend about…this?” he makes this subtle motion of the hand that directs to the right side, like he’s drawing the topic in the air.

As if instantly, I am reminded of my on-and-off resolution of telling this friend. Why does everything have to remind me of how much of a liar I am? “Let’s hope I can gather the guts,” I replace my carefree aura with a more serious one.

He heaves a sigh. “Well, you should. Don’t tell them when it’s already too late,”

So I nod, smile, agree. But as soon as I’m out of the hospital, I do whatever the heck I want.

3.) Enjoy quality time with self.

It’s late evening when I get out of the mall. I had spent six hours inside it, spending my money on nonsense. I bought five new books, two English, three Korean; two pairs of shoes, a jacket (I was reminded of Sungjae while I was buying it because he has a thing for such), and a dress I didn’t really even deemed of buying but because it was of the color purple, I was pushed to buy it. This method might have been a little effective because this takes my mind off of how everything depresses me with this Werner’s thing the entire day. I’m not really the girly-girl that goes on shopping, but I do shop, like, once in a blue moon, so maybe this is one of those blue moons. Either that or I’m desperately trying to distract myself from the problem here.

I go home because walking around the mall really tired my limbs. In spite of this, when I reach my home, I find the depression welcoming me with open arms once I step in, that as soon as I have dropped my bags, I get out of my apartment again, and go somewhere else that has no Sungjae’s trace on it.

It’s the thing I least expected to go to, but by some miracle, this is where my legs take me.

Looking up at the sky, I see that it’s unusually starry tonight, judging from the cloudy weather that had taken over during the entire day (matched well with my mood, I know right). I start to question how this is even possible, until it suddenly peeks into me—a piece of my mind, that slips into the center of my thoughts, and, before I know it, it’s the center of my attention. My eyes are still fixated on the heavens but I am in a trance; my mind imagines, or sees, another face.

Is Sungjae seeing the same sky as I am right now?

And then I am taken aback by my own thoughts, and get confused why  he’s in my mind, when in fact the main reason why I am here is because I want to forget about him. Or, wait…that’s it! I’m missing him! Exactly! I miss my dear Sungjae! Just when I thought I wouldn’t.

But that thought is simultaneously followed by the thought of my dear Penpennie, when his toothy grin and turned up nose (and high forehead) take a sojourn into my mind.

Shaking my head, I expel my thoughts of them. They’re not the reason why I’m here right now, in this place. I am here, in this skate park, to feel, even just a modicum, a presence—a remembrance of Changsub-oppa and Hyunsik-oppa. I remember, they once brought me here to let me watch as Changsub-oppa teaches Hyunsik-oppa how to ride a skateboard. Looking around, I realize that the spot where I am standing now is the exact same spot where Hyunsik-oppa almost fell over. Haha. I wish I could come to their tutorials again.

Quite surprisingly, there aren’t any people (that I see) in this skate park as of now. Maybe they’re busy? Well. It’s not like I care. Having cleared up my mind after a long moment of doing nothing in this place I decide to go home, eventually remembering what the Squirrel Mom had told me, to “not stay to stay out late”. I  think of instigating my walk when suddenly, something bumps hard onto my foot.

It hurts, but it’s tolerable. When I look at what injured me; there it is—a skateboard without its rider. I pick it up, bewildered what this thing could be doing here in the absence of it owner. I’m busy examining it when I suddenly hear someone shout—

“Naekkoya!”

________________________________________________________________________________________________________

EVERYONEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

here's my Author's Note for this chapter. it's quite important. hehe. okay.

hurrhurr.

-b