Dear ___,

I have a confession to make. It’s a confession on hold for ten years.

I love you.

But what’s the point of writing this on this empty sheet of paper? I don’t know if you’ve moved away, or if you’re living somewhere else, or if you’ve moved on from where we used to live. What if you don’t remember me that well? What if today, you saw me, and you mistook me for someone else? What if you don’t remember my name?

I don’t know. I don’t even know if I’m going to send this. How embarrassing would It be to find out that you moved away? And this letter was sent to someone else. That would be embarrassing.

I think I’m going to write this just for myself. You probably don’t remember me well anyways.

Maybe I’ll tie this to a balloon and send it to the sky.

Maybe I’ll bury it underground.

Maybe.

 

 .

I wonder if you remember fifth grade. It was Valentine’s Day and I had a crush on you. Actually, I had a crush on you since fourth grade. I saw you from across the hallway and you were so bright and loud and happy and I don’t know. I was little.

In fifth grade, I dared myself to do something. I do that often. Dare myself to do something crazy, then regret it afterwards. I don’t know. It was just how I did things, I guess. I kind of still do sometimes. Heh.

It was the morning of Valentine’s Day and I woke up five minutes early to take a piece of red construction paper and cut out a heart. God, I was so bad at things like that. It probably looked terrible. No wonder you never got back to me. Or maybe you didn’t like me. I don’t know.

I was so nervous. I didn’t tell anyone about it. It was just a red heart, for heaven’s sake. I don’t even know why I didn’t write anything on it. Maybe I should have written something. A poem, maybe? I don’t know. Fifth grade. I don’t know—it’s all in the past.

I always had a façade of cheerfulness and dorkiness for any other emotion. This time was no different. I was so nervous and scared, to be honest. I’d never really confessed to anyone before. Not that this was much of a confession. But I acted pretty silly, I guess. I don’t know—sometimes I can’t control how I act. Is that weird?

I probably had a silly smile on as I gave you the heart. I kind of just walked over to your desk and dropped it and left. I think I might have said something—I’m not sure. I was so nervous.

All of my friends bothered me about that for half the year, afterwards. And you didn’t really say anything to me afterwards. I guess I kind of regretted giving it to you.

 .

Then it was… sixth grade? Seventh grade? I think it was sixth grade. We had a science project. I don’t even remember what it was. All I remember was that the moment the teacher called out your name and mine right afterwards, I was excited. It was weird. I don’t know.

Then we became friends.

 .

I kind of regret that, to be honest. Maybe I was “friendzoned.” I never really told you how I felt about you. But still, you always treated me as a friend. We’d fight and you’d punch me and I’d be silly and we’d argue about what the main character of our favorite movie was going to do.

I really wanted to tell you, though. I guess I never got the right timing.

 .

Sungmin, my best friend, suddenly started to like you. It was terrible. I never told him about how I felt. He probably didn’t remember fifth grade—it was three or four years back. He started to talk to you a lot. I guess you liked him back—I don’t know. You were nice to him and he was nice to you. I decided to leave you two alone.

I guess I gave up then; I decided that there was no chance you were going to like me. You were too good for me, I guess. I don’t know. We were meant to be friends, maybe. I tried to forget my feelings.

I’m not one to say this often, but it hurt. Trying to erase my feelings for you hurt.

 .

When I found out that I got into SM, you were the first to know. I told you the very next morning. You seemed pretty happy for me. It was then that I realized that I would probably end up not being able to see anyone back at home for a while. Not you, not my friends, not Sungmin. I think you were going out with Sungmin at the time. Or was it after? I’m not sure.

 .

When I became a trainee, it was difficult. I had to practice every day and hard work was a must. I met new friends and met other girl group trainees. We teased each other about liking them. I always thought of you, though. I guess I never let go.

As schedules got busier and our group began to release teaser videos, we increased in popularity. The pronoun “we” is so natural now. It’s strange. We practiced even more. I remember you used to chat me a lot. I guess you still cared. I always waited for the little notification sound so that I could find an excuse to talk to you.

But after a certain moment, you stopped. You stopped sending me messages, you stopped calling me, you stopped everything. I didn’t hear from you.

I was afraid then. I don’t know. I thought you’d forgotten me. Or you’d given up. Or you had gotten angry. I think I sent you a few messages asking if you were there. Maybe you changed your phone number. Maybe you forgot my phone number and couldn’t find a way to get it. Maybe you hated me for leaving you and becoming a trainee. Maybe you moved to another country. I assumed so many things. I worried for you. But your silence stayed put and nothing I did changed that.

Your sudden silence left a little sour sting on my heart, but I eventually moved on and focused on training. There was so much to do, anyways.

 .

It was a year or so after our debut when we were in yet another airport, evading the fans in a way that we could wave but not be harassed. You were long gone from my mind. I think I was thinking about the next concert. I was leaving the security check when I looked to my right. It was you.

You were a flight attendant.

You were wearing the white vest with the blue scarf. Your hair was up. You were with another person.

At first, I wasn’t sure if it was you. Flight attendant? Hadn’t you talked to me about becoming a writer?

I thought of passing by you and just keeping the moment to myself. You probably hated me, anyways. Or maybe you didn’t remember me. You might be creeped out by a stranger saying hi.

To be honest, I was about to pass by you. But by some sort of instinct, some sort of impulse, I reached out my arm to grab for yours.

Maybe too roughly, because you jumped back and looked at me angrily.

Suddenly, your eyes changed. Recognition.

I felt a lump in my throat, seeing you then. I wanted to tell you I was sorry. I wanted to tell you I loved you. I wanted to tell you that I missed you. I wanted to tell you so much, all of a sudden. Those years I had forgotten you. You were still there. You still remembered me.

“Hi,” you said. That’s all you said.

I said “hi” back. I couldn’t believe it. I was seeing you after so many years, after you stopped talking to me, after you disappeared from my life. Or perhaps I disappeared from yours.

The body guards around me pushed me forward, telling me we were behind schedule and we needed to get on the plane as fast as possible.

I nodded. But I wanted to stay. I wanted to sit and talk to you about everything. I wanted to tell you about practicing as a trainee, about singing practice, about the scary vocal teacher, about the rapping, about the members, about being on stage, about missing home. I wanted to sit with you and listen to your voice and your quirky sarcasm and your jokes and I wanted to tell you I missed you so much.

But life didn’t pause for me. It moved forward and the bodyguard pushed me along with it.

I had to go.

I waved, and I left.

 .

So I wanted to tell you again. One last thing.

I love you. I miss you. I hope to see you again.

 .

Chanyeol