Choi Seunghyun

29^th April 2012

“Seunghyun hyung, I’m going to pick up Bommie, so you’ll stay here?” Jiyong asked. “Yeah, sure. Take your time.” And he leaves me inside the small yet elegant wedding dress boutique. There was only one couple inside the boutique and abundance of the boutique’s helper crowds the fitting room to help the future groom and bride get in their respective costumes for their big day.

I don’t get humans. Why are they spending so much money, (and some even applied for loans) to get a lavish wedding while marriage is just a license to have ? Responsibilities? You can get them in a relationship if you’re committed enough. Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt raised six children together, and have yet to get married. I’m not surprised if one day, I will end up not getting married. I just don’t trust these kinds of relationships.

A familiar face came through the door after a few minutes. I barely remember his name but I know I’ve met him for a quite number of times before. “Hyung,” he suddenly calls. Now I remember, he is Jiyong’s friend from Seoul, but I still couldn’t recall his name. “Where’s Jiyong?” “Oh, he went to pick up Park Bom-ssi from her house.” It still feels weird saying her name. “Did Ji send you here first?” “Yeah, he did,” I answered, “I’m sorry, I know we’ve met before but I can’t remember your name.” the young man giggled. “I thought so, it’s Ilwoo. Yeah, I’ve been to Busan before, last Christmas and I’ve met you and his Busan friends.”

“Ah, the love shot guy,” I said remembering Christmas Eve’s night where he jokingly had a love shot with Youngbae. He’s really funny and talkative but a couple of months later, he looked really sophisticated in clothes that are fit to go to a business conference. Looking at his choice of clothes, I looked down at what I was wearing. I had on a plain white Balmain shirt and Calvin Klein jeans, both were presents from my sister who got married with a chaebol from Jeju-do, which made her end up with too much money, and way too much free time.

I sat down on the long couch at the west of the boutique and started picking up Isak Dinesen’s Out of Africa that I bought yesterday at a secondhand bookshop near the hotel where I was staying. I already had one copy of Dinesen’s but when I saw the book yesterday, I decided that it wouldn’t hurt to buy another copy, and it was only selling for 3,000Won. The copy was a vintage hardcover, a version that is rarely seen nowadays and I couldn’t believe that they are selling this book for a fraction of price if to compare with ‘novels’ like Twilight or 50 Shades of Grey.

As I remember my first copy of Dinesen’s, I recalled that it was a gift from Seoul or now as known as Park Bom. I was particularly fond of the book as to its resemblance to Anton Chekov’s Sakhalin Island. Instead of a story from a male perspective, Isak Dinesen flourished the book with her feminine perspective. The copy was presented to me on our third meeting, on the midnight of 5^th of May, 2004. Both of us were nineteen.

As I was waiting for Jiyong and her, I searched the book for my favorite part, reading them slowly as if reciting a prayer.

Sometimes a cool, colorless day in the months after the rainy season calls back the time of marka mbaya, the bad year, the time of the drought. In those days the Kikuyu used to graze their cows round my house, and a boy amongst them who had a flute from time to time played a short tune on it. When I heard this tune again, it has recalled in one single moment all our anguish and despair of the past. It has got the salt taste of tears in it. But at the same time I found the tune, unexpectedly surprisingly, a vigour, a curious sweetness, a song. Had those hard times really had all these in them? There was youth in us then, a wild hope. It was during those long days that we were all of us merged into a unity, so that on another planet we shall recognize one another, and the things cry to each other, the cuckoo clock and my books to the lean-fleshed cows on the lawn and sorrowful old Kikuyus: “You also were part of the Ngong farm.” That bad time blessed us and went away.

. . .

“Hyung, what are you reading?” Ilwoo’s voice suddenly woke me up from Dinesen’s farm in Africa. “It’s Isak Dinesen, ‘Out of Africa’. You’re interested?” “Nah, just asking. Keep reading then.” “What sort of book do you like to read?” I asked him. “I don’t know, I don’t really read that often. By the way, Park Bom is a hardcore fan of English literature too, I bet you guys will be fond of each other.” I just smiled out of response. “I’ve checked on Jiyong, they’ll be here in a couple of minutes, you don’t mind if I leave you here? I want to check on Dara there.” He said as he points to the small girl eyeing the line of wedding dresses.

Dara. If I’m not mistaken, isn’t that the name of Seoul’s roommate in her high school days? If it is, then she must the same girl that I saw in photographs in that little room I ventured on my second meeting with Seoul. I kept on my gaze on the small-figured girl, so that’s how she looks like in real life, I thought. The two of them were talking seriously beside the white dresses, looking so immersed in their conversation as if discussing a life and death matter. I just smiled at them and continued reading my book.

A few minutes later I sat down Dinesen’s on top of my coat and went to the rows of black and white suits when Ilwoo called for me.

“Aren’t you Jiyong’s bestfriend? Why didn’t you accept his offer to be the best man?” I asked Ilwoo. “Actually, I wouldn’t decline if he had asked me to, but he didn’t.” he answered. “Really? He said that everyone declined to be his best man and that was why I ended up being one for the wedding.” “Maybe he just wants you to be his best man.” “He just wants to make fun of me by being the senior who haven’t got married yet.” Both of us laughed. “I think it’s because you are really important to him.”

I didn’t respond to Ilwoo and instead looked at the suits arranged by the boutique’s helper in front of me. Jiyong is also important to me, and deep in my heart, Seoul is equally as important. She was the only friend I had back then when I felt like having no one to lean on.

I suddenly started thinking about silly ‘what ifs’ while looking at the suits arranged. ‘What if Seoul didn’t disappear three years ago?’, ‘what if this 4^th of May will be our tenth meeting? In front of the hospital in Myungdeong, will we be eating at the same Ramen restaurant? Which book would we discuss about? Will she still hug me in a little bed as similar as the one in Gangnam’s School for Girls’ dorm?’ ‘What if I had actually fallen for her?’ I shook my head to get rid of the thoughts and that was when Park Bom and Jiyong came into the store. She was greeted by Dara and I stared at their reconciliation before turning back to the suits.

“Hyung, did you wait long?” Jiyong asked on his way near to the suits hanging beside me. “Nope.” “Have you chosen your suits?” he asked, “I don’t mind extra costs for the best man.” He whispered in my ears. “What about this Armani? I’ll be wearing Armani too.” “Yah, you want the best man to wear the same thing as the groom? I might end up being the groom.” I joked. But I started to have thoughts about actually being Seoul’s groom. You must be out of your mind Seunghyun. You’re ing out of your mind.

“I think I’ll wear these.” I said while pointing to the 2,000,000Won black suit beside the Armani. That was the cheapest suit on the rack and it doesn’t look that different from the Armani. Jiyong takes a look at the suit I chose and checks the price tag. “Costs barely a quarter of the Armani. Thanks for saving my pocket hyung.” He giggled.

...

“Oh, Park Bom already went inside the dressing room.” Ilwoo informs. “Oh really? Wow, the people here work faster than the previous store for our engagement.” Jiyong said. He then turns to me. “Hyung let’s sit there.” Both Jiyong and I head our ways to the couch in front of the big dressing room. In the boutique, each couple is assigned to their respective dressing room complete with their own helper. Well, quite pleasing if to think about where the 20% service charge goes. I picked up some wedding magazines that were lying in front of me. Dara also did the same thing and we end up picking up the same magazine. She looked at me as response and I looked at her back. “Sorry,” I said, letting go of the magazine. She still has her gaze fixed on me and later gave a little nod. She and Ilwoo later looked at the magazine together with Dara being more into the magazine while Ilwoo decides it was better for him to check his Blackberry the whole time.

I can see how Jiyong waits anxiously for his bride-to-be to come out from the dressing room and somehow I wish I was out of here. I’m not interested in all of these, even when this is my best friend’s wedding. I felt helpless and I don’t know any other people in this room, other than Jiyong.

I closed my eyes for a while and pictured my Sundays in Busan. Lying in the bed until the afternoon, skipping breakfast and have a simple lunch instead. Reading Dickens on the kitchen counter, or have with my on-and-off girlfriend, Min-ah.

Being stuck between Jiyong and Seoul, I came to think about my girlfriend in Busan. I suddenly wondered what she was doing right now. Is she reading Seventeen or listening to old jazz records that her father kept in that little attic that its round windows were partially visible from my balcony. Usually she was the one who bothered me with phone calls and cheesy messages, but today, my hand itches to reach my phone and call her to hear her voice and wipe my curiosity about what she’s doing today.

I can see Park Bom peeking out from the curtains, eyes searching for his groom. I’m not sure if she realized, but I was staring at her the whole time. A few seconds later she went out of the dressing room, making her ivory off-white dress fully visible for everyone to see. She walked out flawlessly and Jiyong can be seen standing in front of his bride. Everyone looked with awe at the beautiful looking girl including the staffs that were in charge of the other couple in the boutique at the time.

There was little left of the girl she had been, yet I knew her at a glance. Her eyes, b with expression, were the same, even after nearly ten years. Strong, unclouded, clear eyes. Eyes that knew exactly what they longed for. Eyes that knew full well what they should see, and weren’t going to let anyone get in her way. And those eyes were looking right at me. Straight into my heart.

“Beautiful.” I unconsciously said the eight-lettered word out loud. As absurd as it may sound and despite the word came out of my mouth, the word lays all the truth I can ever find at the moment. She was as beautiful as the girl who I crashed into on the streets of Myungdeong, the same girl who shared her story for seven years. And the same girl that disappeared into thin air for three years, just to be found later as my best friend’s future bride. She is my Seoul. My girl with no name. And now I can finally find the hole that went missing from my heart.