February 24, 2011

The world awakens. The sun, in all its majesty, peers through the horizon. The birds chirp, heralding the crack of yet another dawn. The morning breeze seeps in through the cracks of the floorboards and even the walls. The diamond dew illuminates the leaves. People in their little beds all snug, gradually stir. The city plunges into a tumult.

The world awakens. A shrill, resounding beep echoes through a spacious four-walled room as a young man about the age of 27 fumbles for his alarm clock in his king size platform bed, his sheets rustling in the process. His head surfaces from the ocean of the most exquisite linen as he scratches this out of annoyance. The sun casts a soft light upon his beautifully chiseled face. With a grunt, he mumbles something under his breath inarticulately, something about setting his alarm too early (which he does everyday).

Upon switching the alarm off, he stands, exposing his half- body, black cotton sweatpants hanging onto his firm hips. He walks to his French windows and pulls the navy grommet-top curtains to the right then to the left to reveal Seoul in its splendor. The French windows are as high as he is and are broad in width that it gives the perfect scale of Seoul in a panoramic view. Not only can you see the dazzling city but also the green-patched part of Korea and beyond. He was proud of it.

In his head, he goes about his schedule which as follows,

              1.      Arrive the office by eight

              2.     Investigate the Marukawa case

              3.     Meet new clients

              4.     Organize paperwork

              5.     Leave the office by four noon

              6.     Have his usual afternoon tea with Chanyeol

              7.     Pick up his custom suit

And if he was lucky enough, he would be home before seven and be free to lounge about in his beloved penthouse. The man ultimately rests an elbow on one side of the windows, his face near the cold glass as he watches the city come to life. Thinking exhausts him and it was barely seven in the morning. But that was his system. That was how he ran things. The man is a neat freak. The man is marginalized. The man is disciplined and his name is Oh Sehun.

The world awakens. But beyond the euphoric noise of the world or the February air or the dewdrops or the singing birds, to a place where the sun doesn’t grace the expanse of its beam,