Dear Diary,

You shall always remain as my close companion. My days of woe are long and lingering, but at the beginning and end of them, you are forever there with an opened blank page that so amiably invites my expressions.

   My feelings of today are that of winter despite the reality that the time of year is summer. Im cold and brittle. It comes from my heart and seeps deep down into the marrow of my bones. I place my warm hand over my frosted heart but soon my hand is overtaken by the ice. Like cancer, it spreads. Soon even my eyes will resemble that of ice. As I wrap my arms around my chest in an attempt to save my soul, even these limbs are helplessly turned into ice. I can’t control it, just as I cannot control this sadness. I’ve tried to wrap myself with the warmness of family but these painful memories creep up into my mind and take over. What’s missing? What do I not have? Financial security? Well, of course, I’m quite well-off as my father is a scholar. Maybe it’s stability. Ah! Finally, something I am missing. My surroundings are constantly changing. Here today and gone tomorrow. Friends? Companions? None other than you Diary. How could I make friends when my classroom changes every six months?

    Isn’t home supposed to be like a safe haven from the wind? But it’s not. How could I get comfortable in this house when I know I’ll be forced to move and yet again adjust to a new ‘home’? Yes, this is what causes me to become uneasy; in the back of my mind, I know that not one of these inquiries will ever be answered. Not being able to predict my future and not knowing where I will be tomorrow causes me anxiety. My heart will never feel established. Is that why this cruel and brittle frost keeps inching its way into the nooks of my core? Will my heart ever be warmed and free from worry? Was there ever a time when I felt this peace? Yes, there was an instance, six months ago to be exact.

    His eyes, his smile, and even the lines of his face, these things I shall never disregard. When he placed his hands on my face and caressed my cheeks, my heart felt it. This cruel cold heart was warmed. I could feel the vibrant sun, even on that cold winter day. I felt out of harm's way and I yearned for that exquisite feeling to never go away. However, on January 12^th of that very same year, just a month after my heart was finally warmed, it began to freeze all over again. This time was worse; my sun was no longer strong enough to illuminate and at 1:58am that day, my sun lost all energy and existence. My only life source, my hope, my dreams, and my soul burnt out.

    Instead of a mild snow storm in my core, this occurrence caused a horrid blizzard. Not only was there ice, but hail and rain and violent winds all inside of me; I had to brace the hospital bed to prevent the blizzard from overtaking me. Today, the blizzard has calmed but the ice still remains. I’ve become quite accustomed to the ice, as now it is apart of me. I don’t expect the ice to ever thaw, but if it did so, I would not grieve for it. I enjoyed the warmth of my sun and I’ll always miss it. But he’s deceased now and I consider all other prospects as garbage.  

Sincerly, Yoo Ri

“Honey, just look at the wonderful weather today” mother said while excitedly pointing out of the passenger window, interrupting my writings.

“Yes mom…It’s beautiful.” I respond, also looking out of the window at the new scenery.

At present we’re moving back to Seoul, as I begin my first semester at University. The last time we lived here was when I was 12, just prior to our move to Japan where we resided for two years before our return to Korea.

I peer out of my window, headphones in ear, as we drive along the road set in the middle of the busy bustling city. I sit there, trying to remember what life here was like in Seoul; but even the small details completely escaped my memory.

“Honey, you must be so thrilled to finally be home again, eh?” Says Fatherwith a hold on the steering wheel and taking a quick glance at mother.

“Ahh Yes! There’s nothing like being in your hometown.” Mother replies meaningfully while clutching her heart.

“What about you Yoo Ri? Doesn’t it feel great being home again?” father asks with a grin while looking at me through the reflecting mirror.

“Yep” I simply answer back dishonestly.

What’s this home they speak of? Isn’t home a place that you would never forget? Isn’t it where your life takes place? How can I entitle this vague memory as my home? All these unanswered questions multiply into frustration; Frustration that I can only evade through my writings. My Diary is my heart. My soul will sing a song and my hand will write out the lyrics. These feelings discover their safe residence in my heart, where my feelings are free to express themselves.