This diary belongs to Lee Seunghyun

Page: 6

Date: 05-July-2021

Between the collections of grayish buildings which comprise of what it’s called the Seoul National University Hospital, there’s a little hidden garden engulfed by the high, imposing walls around it; the jewel hidden by the stone. It is a tiny, smallish place where life seems to be suspended within the endless multicolored flowers scattered here and there over the grass, narrow stone corridors cutting across the thickness of the trees and their leaves creating a ceiling of red, green and yellow flickers.

There, amongst all those colors, I spotted the thin figure of Jiyong, crouched over one bench, clasping his folded legs in front of him with his arms, the air waving his greenish patient gown and his feet moving at the rhythm of an inexistent music. Next to him was another young man, who was carelessly leaning back against the bench dressed in some kind of a weird sportswear: loose pants and a black sweatshirt, his hair was stylized in a strange Mohawk and a smug smile was plastered over his face. They both seemed to know each other. The man was continuously whispering things to Jiyong’s ear and from time to time, he softly hit one of Jiyong’s shoulders breaking into bouts of laughter.

While I stared at that surreal scene through the window in front of me, a peculiar possessiveness knot tightened inside me. It overwhelmed my thoughts and my vision so I left the doctor beside me talking alone, and without any explanations or excuses I found myself walking to where Jiyong was planted. I stepped for the first time into that unknown, never explored before garden. His eyes encountered mines with a sense of easiness to what he waved at me clumsily, while the other pair of cold eyes beside him studied me with suspicion and curiosity.

“He is my doctor, and this kid here is Youngbae my brother,” he introduced us, unskillfully. But it appeared to me, he realized how ungraceful and informal his words were because he frowned at the sight of the two speechless faces at each side of him. “Well not my brother; more like my best friend”, he corrected himself, smiling shyly.

He told me that the young man seated next to him was Youngbae, Jiyong’s childhood friend, probably the only person that in one way or another has been next to him through all of these years, and as same as him shares an immense passion for the beauty of music.

“So,” I faltered, unsure about how and what to ask him. “Do you write too?” He stared at me coldly and shook his head, rolling his eyes. Giving me that kind of “mind your own business” stare, his eyes piercing holes.

“He sings, and dances, and writes…” started Jiyong hurriedly breaking the awkward silence amongst us, while patting Youngbae’s shoulder. “He is good at almost everything,” Jiyong affirmed proudly raising his chin a little bit in the air, but the guy next to him just looked down at his feet playing nervously with the bunch of glittering bracelets around his thin wrist.

“Ohh.. I’m sorry, I haven’t heard about you before” I excused myself, trying to mentally remember or recognize his name amongst the endless artists that I had already imprinted in my head from a playlist on Dara’s cell phone.

“That’s because he is too much of a rejected artist, right Bae?” avowed Jiyong, trying to sound convincingly indifferent. But Youngbae averted his gaze from him with sadness and mumbled a choked “Rejected but never tired to try”, lifting his fist in the air unwillingly with a fake, painted smile, before sneaking an annoyed look at me as if he was blaming me for something, or more specifically blaming everything I represented to him.

I tried to ignore his obvious expression of disdain, and seated myself next to Jiyong who was nonchalantly holding forth about how after his parent’s departured to America Youngbae’s mother had taken charge of him, and how they both had grown up almost like real brothers. But just when I had started to imagine a clear picture of Jiyong's infancy inside my head with a few or maybe a lot of added details coming from my own inventiveness, he abruptly stopped talking which made both of us, turn to face him disturbed by the sudden silence that had seeped in through our gasps.

“You… you haven’t told me anything about you yet” he accused me, grumbling in his own very particular way. Fixedly staring at me, placing his chin over his folded knees expecting, waiting. Allowing the silence to do its own work, to make me open my always closed lips.

There he was, asking me again about things I didn’t want to remember or explain, about untidy experiences, about not-amazing stories; even so I sighed defeated by his persistence and asked him quietly what he wanted to know about me, staring absentmindedly at the muddy grass in front of us. He twisted his face into a hesitant stare, wrinkling his eyebrows with focused eyes before he answered, “Whatever you want to share”.

So I let old words flow out of myself, taking the form of an impassionate story, “I live with my grandmother, my parents are no longer alive and I have no brothers”, with a robotic, aloof voice. He babbled, dissatisfied with my answer and glanced at Youngbae with frustration, who was looking sternly at the pair of us. But before he could fume at my coldness or say any kind of annoyed reply, I added. “It’s not an extraordinary story though”, capturing his attention and gaze once again.

“The same boring story my parents got sick, they got worse, and they died, the usual thing”, I mourned, moving my hand in an uninterested gesture, forgetting for an instant to whom was I speaking with. The painful pictures flooded my head, and the frustrating memories that I thought were already extinct and gone appeared once again with all their past and usual strength.

It was not until the rough voice of Youngbae growled a strained “Dumb ” when I recovered myself and slowly realized what I had just said and to whom I was blurting out those things. I promptly turned to face a stiff Jiyong, whose eyes were glassy and wandering lost. Whose lips were tightly pursed trying to restrain a sorrowful moan.

“I… I’m sorry…I” I gasped chaotically, glancing back and forth at the furious face of Youngbae and the expressionless face of Jiyong, too ashamed of myself. “Jiyong… I… please forgive” I kept on supplicating even trying to reach for his frail and pale hands, but suddenly, before I could say or do anything else he placed his hand over mine tenderly and made me feel like the most pitiful person in the world.

“Life is not as colourless and dull as you think,” he murmured softly, his voice aimed for me to listen to. Only me. But his eyes were wandering around, as if he was avoiding my stare. “There are so many wonderful things happening at every second of our lives, what you need is to pay attention”. And he let my hand go, his fingers loosened in a slow, tender movement, simultaneously caressing my fingers. Youngbae’s uncomfortable grunt slid across the air, the cloud of his presence neared us. His eyes were wide opened, fixed on the place our hands had been holding together, where we shared a moment of warmth.

I was equally as perplexed as Youngbae was, my hand still itched and burned because of the smooth yet indelible touch of his hand but Jiyong as usual, showed himself unimpressed and continued to unfold his many childhood memories once again. I couldn't help but to stay there, glued to that bench, ignoring the constant coming and going of the snow white coats that were seperated in to their own world around us. I remained silent, listening to him, too amazed by the ordinary stories leaving his mouth, by his non-extravagant memories. By the thought of the ridiculous and awful eight years old Jiyong’s composing abilities or the unsuccessful attempted robbery by these two guys in front of me when they were younger.

“When we were almost outside the store, Jiyong did the strangest thing possible. He waved at the bored face of the Policeman in front of us with the same hand he was supposed to hold the books under his sweatshirt”, related Youngbae with his eyes fixed on the embarrassed face of Jiyong. “I ran scared but he stayed there, frozen while a cascade of books landed loudly on the floor. But the oddest thing of all was his frightened shout of "Surprise!" In the end;” said Youngbae, whose face momentarily lost its constant hostility as his eyes became two thin curved lines and crinkled while he let lose a bright laughter, his cheeks showed the pinches of dimples.

Nevertheless one always has to return to reality, and I did, when the beeper inside my pocket started chiming on. Both pair of eyes next to me, focused on the little black box I took out of my pocket. One with sadness the other one with something close to disgust or revulsion. “I must go,” I murmured quietly while I looked up, guilt plastered on my face. And for the first time with a lack of interest at the red flashing light of the box between my hands. “I’m sorry”, I said standing up half-heartedly, really wishing I was able to stay with them for a little bit longer. But painfully acknowledging the impossibility of doing so. I looked back one last time at the smiley faces of Jiyong and Youngbae before entering to the grayish building once again. Returning to my dull world, leaving them behind with a drape of my white coat.

Later today, while I was checking on the old patient from room 405, his tired eyes followed each and every one of my calculated movements. What made me deeply curious and pushed me to a courageous desire to ask him about all of the permanent questions inside my head. Venturing me further of what is considered right, I actually tried to ask him about life?, about illness?, searching for the exact word to express my real doubts.The old guy smiled, his old eyes showing a glimpse of understanding, amused by my inconsistent questions and asked me if I actually meant to ask him about death. Pronouncing the word that refused to leave my mouth.

“I think,” he started explaining, “No, no, I know, death is same as life. Yes, as strange as it sounds, one comprises the other. Both are here and there” he said pointing with his finger at himself and then at myself. He lifted himself with struggle due to the pair of weak, trembling arms he owned; but he refused to allow my assistance, beckoning me to not touch him.

“Let me tell you a secret,” he gasped taking in a breathe to steady himself, “Death exists for one single reason, to teach us how to live. To show us that heaven lies before and not after.” He let out, after what he kept himself in silence looking at me, as if he was conscious of the struggling conflict inside my head, as if he was giving me time to digest what he just told me. Or even, to see my reaction.

Heaven? Before? All those questions appeared in my mind and are still confounding me and torturing me right now, while I’m writing this. I answered him that life was not like that for me, that I life was something boringly steady, not amusing, not special.

And I thought he was going to sigh in disappointment or something, but he chucked deeply and answered, “Neither was life for me, but luckily there’s always someone or something willing to show you the exact opposite, you just have to wait for them to fly to you, and wait with open arms,” and his teary eyes wandered to the already dark, streaked sky outside his window which reflected the storm in his eyes. “Mine is now awaiting for me.”

And I can’t help but to ask myself, every time those pair of bright, glimmering eyes appear in my mind. When the bewildering picture of those pair of eyes that reflect my own orbs, where I always find a fragement of hope and vitality suddenly show up in front of me. Or the vivid image of those hands running over the blank sheets carefully flow in to my dull mind, painting me with colour. Everytime I ask myself, if maybe it’s possible, if maybe it’s true, that I can find my own heaven here, right now.

Lee SH.

Hi there!! First of all I'm sorry for the "week hiatus" I took, I'm on exam period and working on final projects so...CORRECTION.. I'll be able to update next chaper sooner =) I guess on wednesday

Now, I want to thank all my suscribers (38!!!! wooaaa) and all the upvotes (15!! Kira90, Ayaaachan, crazypandazhou, rh3panda, jithesandpaper, leahisdaname, mimaw3453, bloodymoon, tarepandasan, JoJoMin, sadiraelau, orenkiut, clockworkangel151, Aribingu, ozwalrk.. Thank you!!)

Also, some of you are right now publishing some fics... Fighting to all of you!! I always smile when I recogize a name on the "author" space... Fighting with your amazing stories!  See ya soon.

JessRa