Autumn posted:

When does real happiness fade away, I wonder? Not the kind of happiness you feel when you pass an exam, or when you watch a good film. I know for sure that those kind of happiness doesn’t last long. I’m talking about happiness as a child. Pure happiness. Not giving a damn about anything.

But, perhaps I’m just feeling a little nostalgic today.

When I was a child, my dad used to climb the ladder to the rooftop of the garage and make me cover my eyes. Then, he’d say, “Look, Hayi!” and point at the night sky. “I put up the stars for you!”

It made me endlessly happy, and I think I believed him until I was eight.

Maybe happiness fades away when you turn eight and realize that stars were not something magical. Stars were not kept in your dad’s pocket. Stars didn’t grant wishes.

Stars are simply just hydrogen and helium clumped up in balls.

“Hayi!” mom shouted. “Dinner’s ready, honey!”

I closed my laptop and headed downstairs. Dad was reading a newspaper, Mom and Soohyun were placing the dishes on the table, while Chanhyuk was on his phone.

Within Chanhyuk, Soohyun and I, there were two years between each of them to me; Chanhyuk being two years older than me, and Soohyun being two years younger. Sometimes I hated the way my parents did the family math.

I am the middle child. The one in between. Not the oldest, not the youngest, not the smartest, not the nicest. In my life, there has been little that I have done first or better than the one earlier or following me. Of all of us, though, I am the only one who has felt the emptiest. 

“You studying well?” dad asked, barely looking at me.

“Yeah,” I told him.

“Your exams are nearing.”

“I know.”

And for the rest of the night, that was that.

Mom and Soohyun joined the dinner table when they were done preparing. And then Soohyun began with the typical stories. She was a better talker than Chanhyuk and I, not only that but she had the knack to make our family dinners feel natural, too. It was easy to say that she was the brightest bulb out of the three of us. High school loved kids like her. Back then, I remember just how hard envy would strike me whenever Soohyun acted like Soohyun. It almost felt unfair. And perhaps it was because Soohyun didn’t have to pretend since everything came natural already. She wasn’t as big of a con-artist as I was. She was too nice.

And that’s what I never understood. How could you live in a mean world and not have any of the meanness rub off on you?

. . .

Like Hanbin had rightly predicted: Yerin got me to the deliver to folder again, except this time, her excuse was that she was attending a funeral. Of course, nobody in their right minds could refuse that.

High school is a time when you start to notice the existence of manipulative s like Yerin. Not that anyone can do anything about it, though. Rule one for surviving adolescence was to simply go along with it; because once you beg to differ, everybody turns against you.

“Attending a funeral?!” Hanbin cracked in hysterics. He leaned on the door-frame. “That’s the best one yet! Compulsive liars really are scary, don’t you think? First, they’re using their boyfriends as an excuse, next, they’re talking about attending funerals.”

“Take the damn folder already, I have somewhere to go.”

“You know, I didn’t think you’d actually come again—”

“Neither did I.”

“At first you don’t really seem that much of a pushover.”

Those words tasted bitter, but the worst part was that they were true. I harshly shoved the folder against him and left.

“I’ll see you next time, Hayi!” his shout echoed the stairs. I didn't know it was possible for voices to smile, but Hanbin's did.

Honestly, I envied people like Hanbin and their easy bluntness, the ability to open themselves out into the world instead of folding deeper within. 

Still, honest people like that scared the out of me.

. . .

Autumn posted:

One day, I just had a feeling there was something wrong with me. One moment, I’d genuinely feel happy, and the next, I’m thinking about how such happiness doesn’t really exist. And then I’d find myself in a grip-wretching sadness, wondering how long I would have to keep pretending for. I realized that maybe if you looked real closely, everyone was a pretender to some extent. Some were just better than it than others. When does the pretending stop? I wanted to ask. Does it stick with you until you die, or does it magically fade away?

There was nothing I was really exceptionally good at or talented in, like how my brother is good at playing the guitar and how my sister is a really good talker. Every hobby I’d tried I gave up on straight away. But, there is one thing I am great at: hiding.

I had learned to hide what I felt.

No, that's not true. There was no learning involved.

I think I had been born knowing how to hide what I felt.

. . . 

“Are you okay, Hayi?” mom asked during breakfast. 

“Yeah,” I told her. “Just spacing out.”

“You’ve been spacing out a lot recently.”

“Helps with the stress of exams.”

She kissed my forehead. “You’ll do well, honey.”

I smiled at her.

I knew that you weren’t meant to place your family in order in terms of fondness. But I put my mom first. Mom and I got along well. We had a lot in common, from our favourite books (The Great Gatsby) to the music we liked listening to. Often, I'd wonder what she was like when she was my age. Did she have any friends? Was she as cheerful as Soohyun? Did she slowly feel that the world was breaking apart, too?

I wanted to ask her that, but in the end, I couldnt.

. . .

“Would you like banana milk?” Hanbin asked, during our fourth meeting. Yerin’s excuse this time: she wasn’t feeling well. “I went grocery shopping earlier and bought some.”

“I’m only here to drop this off.” I gave him the folder.

“That’s usually why you’re here, though. Doesn’t it get tiring?”

“Of course it does.”

“You don’t like banana milk?”

I shook my head.

“You’re the first person I know who doesn’t like banana milk! Well, okay, then how about this,” he said. “As a little thank you for pestering me with these folders I don’t think I’ll even ever use; I’ll let you listen to my radio show today. It’ll be our little secret. And besides, I don’t want to owe you anything.”

“You have a radio show?” I wanted to laugh.

“It’s just a local thing. It’s on when normal people aren’t awake.”

“Kim Hanbin has a radio show,” I said, amused. “The classroom’s thug is actually crazy for music. That’s why you have earphones on all the time. I finally solved it.”

“Thug?” Hanbin chuckled. “Hey, I’m not that bad! And what the hell did you think I was listening to when I had my earphones on?”

That made me chuckle. I looked at Hanbin. “So when is it?” I asked. “Your radio show.”

“Fridays—today—at twelve.”

“I’ll listen,” I told him. “If you come to school.”

He just smiled, and said, “Not part of the deal, Hayi.”

“I’m sick of having to give you these damn folders.”

“Do you hate being reminded how much of a pushover you are?” he scoffed.

“No, I hate seeing your face.”

. . .

I’d told Hanbin I would listen to his show. So I did.

I plugged my earphones in to my laptop and turned it on at twelve sharp. A song called Hey by Pixies—my favourite song when I was thirteen—came on. It was surprising to know that Hanbin listened to music like this. We didn’t have a lot in common, but, I thought, maybe—just maybe—music was one.

The next song that played was Between the Bars by Elliott Smith.

What exactly was this boy?

After that song, Hanbin’s voice came on. “Hey! You’re listening, right?” Even from his voice alone, I could hear his smile. And I came to thinking that maybe I liked transparent people, after all. “That was ‘Between the Bars’ by Elliott Smith, and before that we had Hey by Pixies. Anyway, here’s tonight’s playlist.”

I listened to the music, breathed in the night, and remembered things.

. . .

landfill // for rainy days

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