Her mind is silent. The dark corners of her mind runs a treadmill even if is silent. Stars don’t flicker in her eyes blindingly, but the smile on her face isn’t dead or forced.

This is all, but a dream is what I think sometimes. Like the stars that blanket the night sky and disappear as fast as the dark breaks when the morning ashes fall back into piece, I’ve seen her whole story run through my head before the end comes to light.

I see it all.

I’ve seen it all.

The story is not my norm. I’ve heard of it before; dedication, that is. I’ve never done nor have those around me gone as far as to give themselves up for another existence. It’s foolish, naïve, and a lonely solo act.

But she did it, she’s done it, and I hope no one else does it the same way. Because it’s crazy.

I met Namjoo at the White House. No, not where the president of the United States works. The White House is a name I use for South Korea’s mental institute. Namjoo wasn’t an employee, a visitor, or a relative of a patient.   

Namjoo was the patient. I was her part time nurse.

Her mind was full of blocks of life, too many blocks of life. Reading into it hurt me.

There were daily scribbles in her journal. She worked with proses, poetry, and creative writing. She was a really smart person, seemed too normal and steady like a stranger to be passed by on the street, and yet I wasn’t able to comprehend why she was getting treated. It was all a wonder to me.

A few friends would drop by sometimes and so did her family, but she never did smile wholeheartedly. She seemed timid, held back, and would bow her head down in front of them as if there was a boundary she was unable to cross when with them. In a part it looked saddening.

On sunny days when I accompanied her outside she would gaze across land of trees that guarded the institute from city life. When I looked at her she gave off the appearance of a waiting lover. Droning with patience her hands would stay clasped and her legs poised together. Teasing her lips would be that tiny smile quick to grow broad if who she was waiting for finally appeared.

But he never did.

Yet she never seem to stop waiting.

Namjoo was often silent like a beat dog whose tail never wagged; eyes always somewhat downcast. It would feel like I knew she was in front of me, but I couldn’t touch her, like she would break if my fingertips a strand of her hair. A soul-less reflection was she. As if her heart wasn’t there and she never rested.

There was life in her eyes that created the echo of another world for her. Flowers sprouted where they didn’t grow. There would be dirt at her feet, but she’d see colors emanating from it. This second dimension existed to her as strongly as this world did to me.  

The difference between us was, Namjoo kept falling in her shallow hole.

Like bit by the fangs of pain her heart bled a lot. They bled the tears her eyes didn’t show. Namjoo was like a bird kept safe in a cage slowly wanting out. The yellow light seeping through the crack of the door would call to her, but she couldn’t reach it. Her feet would become wedged stones too heavy for her body to fly with.

Her innocence would cower in the shadows of the room and she had tendencies to explore the nights that had gotten too long. She never did leave her room though.

Thoughts of rebellion mischievously struck her mind at certain hours, but she was like a goldfish quick to forget. From certain perspectives, Namjoo was a child at heart. Through another eye, she was a woman made ready for the world.

No one really knew why she was there. Her personal life wasn’t disclosed to us until one day she pulled out an old high school yearbook from underneath her pillow. The corners of the hard cover were bent inward and there were light dents visible on the cover as if she’d once too many times looked at the book. It still looked quite new and in good shape as if she’d just bought it second-handedly.

Namjoo flipped through various pages as I watched from behind. Halfway through the book was a pink sticker popping out, but without looking at it Namjoo seemed to know what was there by heart.

Images of fresh faces stared back, but Namjoo’s eyes only glued onto one. A boy with a precious smile grinned back at the camera, his black hair shining underneath the light. His eyes wound up into thin slits at the handsome smile portrayed.

Now that I think about it, I wonder how many times she fell in love with him over and over again when she turned to that page. And how sad it was that she’d played herself like that.

There were words written on the page with a pen. I assumed Namjoo had written those words because it was her hand writing. As her eyes disappeared into the book, I read the poem.

I can see his face,

He’s right in front of me,

But I can’t touch him.

Wish so much that this is just a dream.

“If I write him a letter, will he receive it?” She asked after a while.

“Of course. Why not?”

And I didn’t know then that I was being naïve too.

Oh Sehun is his name. He was the pretty boy of Namjoo’s class. He didn’t know about her like she knew about him.

The girls tailed after him like hornets after its victim. Always intimidated by his high presence Namjoo could only stand back and watch. He was like a god on a throne she couldn’t reach. The servant at his feet was she, who was willing to give him however much he wanted.

Inside her head, he knew her too. Sehun would walk her home and eat ice cream with her. Reality-wise, what really happened was that when school ended Namjoo would walk far behind him as he headed home. He wouldn’t even notice her when she got on the underground train after him. This was how she walked him home. And as he ate his ice cream by himself, she’d sit a block down watching him as she ate her popsicle. They ate ice cream together like this.

Silent sceneries and quiet dates were what they did together.  

Like this, they did activities together. Like this he loved her like she loved him.

Sehun was a dancer. Dancing was his passion and he’d attend various tournaments or competitions. Namjoo would take extra attention to follow. When he moved on stage, she cheered. She was his cheerleader from the distance, his backbone, his spine, his support. She’d wipe his sweat like a fellow fan and keep the towel to herself.

All this, she saw, but never did.

When he won first place she jumped in joy for him as if to celebrate for him was more important than her overdue essays. She would buy a cake, sit alone in her kitchen, give a speech, and eat alone so enthusiastically as if he were there. That was how she looked after him.

After graduation she spent days writing him letters she never sent out. The depths of her inked words would never reach his heart or be read by him, but Namjoo continued to write. She wrote hard, each letter carefully spent with hours of thinking.

Her world was so bright that not even the hue of disappointment was able to bleed through. She was a fluttering butterfly with no end and no destination.

When Sehun went on dates, she’d drink cola alone and pretend they shared the same straw. Inside the theater alone, she’d see him linking his arm around her shoulders secretly. Flowers would await her on the doorstep, but emptiness would slap her upon opening the door. The weight of it wouldn’t even be felt.

Namjoo danced with roses alone in her apartment, giving pecks to her partner teddy bear as she waltzed around. She married him in her mind when his real bride locked lips with him in the chapel on the nineteenth of February.

Two years later there was supposed to be a child crawling around the house as Namjoo filled up her tiny closet with baby blankets, bottles, and other necessities. Sometimes she’d wait for him in front of his workplace with a lunch box clutched between her fingers. He would charge at her, hug, and plant her face with kisses.

Truth was, she just stood by as he walked out the doors with a silly smile plastered on her face.

Through her eyes everything was well placed, not a thing was amiss. But her world was so blank, no practical emotion was solid.

Then one day she read his obituary in the paper and wept for days alone in her apartment. As if she knew him by heart and organs, inside and out. As if they’d grown up together and he’d given her everything he had.

So Namjoo loved like a fool. Her heart was an empty shell. It was hollow with pits of misery unable to be filled with what love really was. Namjoo loved by herself and that may have been the saddest of her life.

It was meant to happen sooner or later. Her family discovered the baby blankets and all the letters she stored going through everything that was her everything. Namjoo couldn’t retrieve the heart they took from her.  

Namjoo had no wings her whole life. Lost the ability to take flight and go on a bright path. Oh Sehun was never truly in front of her, she never touched him, she never really saw him. There is no worth in this story, but the lonesome misery that comes into play – that is the only real thing about this story. Namjoo’s world had never been real.

The misery she couldn’t feel before was suddenly all she could see and touch.

She would go to sleep sad, wake up sad, and spend the day smiling until she was alone again. And her family sought help at last.

They wanted a real future for her; they wanted her to rest, so that when she closed her eyes she would be able to grow wings. The light would guide her home if only she had enough strength to see it.  

How did the scenes, the imageries come to life through her eyes? How had she illusioned everything into her power?

But I’ve seen it, I’ve seen her, I’ve seen this story and I can’t not be unmoved. Namjoo gave up half her life to this person who knew not of her worth. How meaningless had all this been? The waste of it aches. The realism of this dream that one is not able to wake from only makes the truth all the more real.

And that letter she asked me about will never reach him.

The day she showed me the yearbook was the last day I saw her before I was transferred. I heard nothing of her for a long while. Then one day I found a card on my desk.

It was actually a wedding invitation, Namjoo’s wedding invitation. She left the hospital three years ago without my notice having taken flight into this world at last.

She is the letter trapped inside a bottle floating on a cold shore traveling for years unable to breathe, unable to drown or land. After an exhausting journey she is finally found and hugged at home at last.  

***In case you're confused, I start the story with Namjoo, who is mentally ill. Her mind is able to process normally, but she's so into a world that doesn't exist that she needs help pulling out of it. She's gone into a dimension beyond infatuation and dedication that it cannot be classified dedication. I tried not to use a lot of direct words to describe her state of mind, so forgive me if I left you confused. 

***Like this bit: Like bit by the fangs of pain her heart bled a lot. They bled the tears her eyes didn’t show. Namjoo was like a bird kept safe in a cage slowly wanting out. The yellow light seeping through the crack of the door would call to her, but she couldn’t reach it. Her feet would become wedged stones too heavy for her body to fly with. ---> Namjoo was no longer able to express her heartbreak over Sehun's death, thus she always seemed to be waiting for him. This brings her over the edge of her own world. The light that is seeping through the door is reality calling for her but Namjoo can't reach it because she has no will to begin with. She is a shell, she has no feelings.

***This is just a oneshot about how Namjoo is unable to reach the epitome of happiness because she is so absorbed trying to create an imagery of her and who she loves. It's not perfect and sorry for having taken so long to get going with this.