JIYEON

"Where would you stay now?" Mrs. Lee, our neighbor, asked. 

"To where my Aunt told me to go." I tightened my grip on my luggage. 

It has been 2 weeks after my Aunt passed away. Still, I miss her so much. I would wake up in the middle of the night just to walk into her empty bedroom. If I get too sad, I would step inside her closet. The darkness didn't really bother me. I can just close my eyes and she will be before my eyes, her scent filling the little space. Days passed by just because it should. The pain is still tangible, but I should keep on going.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay?" She asked, worry filling her words.

I put my bag down and closed the distance between us. I reached out to hold her hands, which I noticed are cold and pale. 

"Don't worry about me, Mrs. Lee. If something bad ever happens to me, I'll surely give you a call." I understand her affection towards me. She had been friends with my Aunt for more than a decade, and the loss we both felt weighed heavily in our hearts. She knows how it feels to lose her, but we both know her story and through that, she can still live in our memories for as long as we can remember. 

"Besides, she taught me how to be strong." Her worries seemed to slowly disappear. A sad smile rose from her face, and she let go of my hand.

We said our goodbyes and hugged each other tight. She made me feel that my loss shouldn't burden me much because I still have her, that I can hold onto her and trust her.

"Thank you for everything." I tell her, ready to leave. "I'll visit once a month, since my new hom--" I halted, denying it before it even occur to me, "--house, will be far away from here." 

Her shaky hands met together. "I'll take note of that." With those last words, I turned my back with a luggage in my left hand and a key in the other.

One spring day, when we were doing the laundry, she told me that if ever she dies and leaves me unexpectedly, I should go to the address she gave me. She said it was our hometown when I still have my parents and my brother with me. It was in the city, but we lived closer to the boundary of that place, so there're more trees around our house. 

"It was a nice place," she said, "it feels home." 

I don't know if I did remember that place, but seeing it now, using my own two eyes and not just my imagination, it felt nostalgic. I was still on the train, and it looks like we're about to arrive. 

I got off the train and took the bus headed to the place written in an old piece of paper, letters slightly smudged. 

After an hour of bus ride, I finally arrived at the place. Strange enough, I find this place so familiar. 

Is that even possible? Knowing nothing and knowing a lot at the same time?

It wasn't that hard to spot the house. I was told to find a house with a big, green gate. Pieces of paper are clipped to the side of the gate. They are long forgotten bills sent to 'Mr. Park'. The gate is open, which made it easy for me to enter the premises.

A few trees paved the side of the house. There are some things left behind, like the handle-less pail in the garden, the rusty cartwheel and a bike with a flat tire hanging on one of its handles. The house is pretty simple, with a garden at the front that's long forgotten. The color of the house is fading, but with a little cleaning, it will look nice again. 

But it feels so lonely and abandoned. It used to be my home. Used to be.

Something caught my attention when I entered the veranda. I bent down and picked it up. It's a sketchpad.

My Aunt told me drawing is something I love to do even from a very young age. I even drew something on the walls of this house, and they never removed it. It was my first piece, they said. They kept it so that once I grow up, I will be reminded of my passion and whenever I think of giving up, I will be encouraged to work harder. "It's like you were born to draw", my Aunt said, "and I'm grateful to know that you still draw now that you're 19." 

Maybe this sketchpad will remind me of things — my memories  — and even my childhood.

But before I could even open it, a noise came from behind me.

I turned around, terrified that someone might have been here all this time. Looking where the sound might have come from,  I saw a snowglobe rolling to my feet. I followed where it rolled from, and then there, in that uncomfortable position, lies a young man. 

I was terrified at first seeing a stranger right inside my house. I would have screamed at the top of my lungs, but breath halted, the peacefulness of this stranger's sleeping figure makes me want to watch him sleep. He looked calm, like there's nothing bothering him in this world. I wonder how he winded up inside my house.

Is he a homeless man?

He stirred in his sleep. His expression turned into anxiety. Now, he looks worried, troubled, guilty. It's as if he's having a nightmare.

I touch his forehead with my index finger. 

I stood up and grabbed my luggage. I don't know what to do with this stranger. Should I wake him up? Who knows, he might be a serial killer, right? Would I get in trouble if I interrupt his slumber? I'm terrified, yet I still can't make up my mind on whether or not I should wake up a total trespasser. 

I stood there, not knowing what to do. I should be the owner of this house. I should have the rights and authority for anything that will happen inside these four corners. 

I should tell him he should go, since this is the only place I belong now.

Beside him lies the sketchpad I saw earlier. I reached to pick it up when he suddenly grabbed my wrist, got up from his deep slumber and hugged me so tight I can't breathe.

He started sobbing and, not too long, he bursted into tears.

"Jiyeon," he sobbed, with his cold tears falling onto my shoulder "you're back."

*updated 2015-06-15