The room shifted steadily from black to white. Dust particles slow dancing in the air in a formation that brings Naeun’s eyes attention towards the window that welcomes the streaks of light inside her bedroom. It’s a quarter to nine, just enough time for her to lazily get out of bed and into clean and decent-enough clothes that are approved for society. There’s no reason to dress up, she thinks, it’s only the first day of class. Her psychology class to be exact, and it’s not something she looks forward in going for the whole semester.

 

She walks in just a split second before class starts and picks a desk near the door. This way she can be half way out the door once the professor dismisses the class.

 

There’s nothing to expect on the first day of class.

 

The professor tells the whole class about himself – her psychology professor is a scruffy middle-aged man named Mr. Jung – and goes over the syllabus for the semester.

 

Usually the first week back consists of just the syllabus, so when Mr. Jung mentioned about an assignment, it catches Naeun’s attention by surprise. There are low groans and gloomy sighs bouncing off the walls of the lecture hall, obvious refusal from both ends of the room of the task.

 

Mr. Jung can only chuckle. “Oh quit your whining kids. It’s an easy one. You don’t even need to turn it in or present it. Now, has anyone watched the movie Dead Poets Society?”

 

Three people raised their hands, one being Naeun.

 

“Ah, only three? That’s a shame. Dead Poets Society is a brilliant movie, centering the film around the iconic phrase that all of you must of heard at least once in your life ‘carpe diem,’ or in other words, ‘seize the day.’ There’s a clip from the movie I want you to see.”

 

It’s the carpe diem speech, Naeun remembers. It’s the scene where Mr. Keating – played by the late Robin Williams – gathers the class in the halls.

 

“Mr. Pitts, would you open your hymnal to page 541.” Mr. Keating tells the boy. “Read the first stanza of the poem you find there.”

 

The boy – Mr. Pitts – reads the poem out loud.

 

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

 

Old Time is still a-flying.”

 

“And this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying,” Naeun softly recites the last line to herself.

 

As the video fades into black, Mr. Jung walks back in front of the class. He pauses for a second before announcing, “I want you to find a partner. Someone you don’t know, haven’t met before. I want you to sit down with each other for the rest of the class and just talk. Talk about anything: what you want to do once this class is over; what you want to do once you finish college; what you want to do before your last, dying breath. Write down a Life List; sort of like a bucket list before you kick the bucket. Now go, mingle with one another!”

 

Naeun never saw the point of working with another on assignments that she could clearly do herself. It was a weak excuse to exert energy and waste precious time, time that she could use by finishing the assignment as quickly as possible and head back to her apartment to catch up on her sleep.

 

But mainly it’s because she hated to socialize.

 

She remained in her seat and watched her fellow classmates converse with each other, introducing themselves before sitting down to start the assignment. One by one, everyone was in pairs, except her.

 

“I guess you’re the only one left without a partner?” She hears besides her, voice low and velvety. Slowly turning her head, there stood a slender boy. He lifts his right hand onto his nape, eyes lowered to the ground and his long raven locks acting as a shield to avoid eye contact with her. She notices a soft smile gracing upon his lips and Naeun gets distracted. There’s an uncomfortable silence that lasts three seconds – but feels like a lifetime – before Naeun snaps back into reality and offers the seat next to her.

 

“Naeun,” She vocalizes, sweet and simple and to the point. She extends a hand out to the boy, which he’s quick to follow suit with a firm handshake.

 

“Jongin.”

 

“Well, Jongin,” Naeun starts, making sure she enunciates said boy’s name correctly. "Tell me something about yourself.”

 

He pulls out his laptop and opens a blank word document. “What do you want to know?”

 

She thinks for a while before responding with, “a secret.”

 

He switches his attention from his laptop screen to Naeun, eyebrows raised in surprise as if he truly did have a dirty, little secret hidden from the world. There’s a moment of hesitation written across his face, eyes staring blankly into her’s, and he returns his gaze to his dimly lit screen.

 

Fast fingers moved swiftly across his keyboard and within seconds he turns his laptop towards her.

 

I’m unhappy with life.

 

>>> 

 

Life is a funny thing. We’re born into this world, work our asses to the bone in finding something: love, satisfaction, money, happiness, a purpose. And then we die.

 

Some are lucky. The ones that don’t need to bend over backwards and jump through obstacles. The ones that have everything given to them served on a golden platter without moving a finger. These are the people that get through life in one piece. They enter the world with a clear view of arrows pointing which direction to go next, and all they need to do is decide whether they want to follow it or not. Usually they do.

 

The other unlucky fellows are stuck in the unknown: the wanderers. They roam around, mindlessly, trying to figure out which path they should take that would lead them to their happy ever after.

 

Because for some people it’s just plain and simple in their eyes.

 

Ask them what they want out of life?

 

To be happy.

 

And that’s what Naeun wanted in her life. To be happy, and that’s what she jots down on her paper. It’s an assignment for her English class, a simple questionnaire that’ll allow the professor to get to know her students a little better.

 

The questions are general. Nothing out of the norm that gets Naeun into deep thought.

 

What do you wish to get out of this course?

 

“Easy. To pass, next question.” Naeun snickers to herself. To some people, they strive for A’s. But for Naeun? She just hopes she pass the course. Passing is better than failing, and having to spend another hundreds of bucks to retake the class.

 

Where do you see yourself in the next 10 years?

 

“Somewhere other than here.”

 

Was there ever a time where you just lived?

 

Naeun stared at the question, not truly understanding the meaning of it. “Lived? I’m alive right now. If I’m alive, aren’t I living?”

 

She thinks for a while, pondering over this eight-word question, and there was nothing that came to mind. Nothing that made her perceives the intended meaning to this straightforward question. And so she left it blank.

 

Maybe she can look back at this question when she has a clear answer for it.

 

>>> 

 

It’s 11:30 pm, and Naeun is trying to sleep when she hears a faint knock on her door. She waits for a moment hoping that her roommate would get up first and open the door.

 

The knocks get louder every passing second and Naeun’s one knock away from losing it. She gets up groggily from her bed – still lacking of sleep – when she notices the empty bed across her.

 

Naeun puts the facts together. An empty bed. A missing roommate. A persistent idiot behind her door that doesn’t know when to stop ruining the sleep of others.

 

She concludes it’s her roommate Hayoung. She’s always out late, usually spending the night at her boyfriend’s apartment or partying at one of the fraternity houses on campus until two in the morning. It’s unlike Hayoung to forget her keys, unlike Naeun who constantly calls up Hayoung to borrow her spare because she left hers inside again.

 

“Hayoung, it’s almost midnight. You know how I like my sleep.” Naeun calls out before reaching the door.

 

Naeun wonders if it’s too late to kick her roommate out. It’s not because she dislikes the girl, but if her opening the door for Hayoung late at night becomes an everyday thing, then she’s out.

 

She opens the door surprise to see Jongin standing there, wearing that same sheepish grin when they met this morning.

 

“I know it’s late, I’m sorry for disturbing you, but is it okay if I stay here for the night?”

 

It takes a moment for everything he said to register in her head. She’s not caught up with her sleep, it’s the middle of the night, and there’s a stranger – well actually acquaintances – outside her apartment asking her for permission to stay the night.

 

She wonders why Jongin would need a place to stay the night, contemplates the various reasons why he ended up asking her when he could ask a better-known friend. She sees the look in Jongin’s eyes that’s filled with distress, and it’s enough for her to open the door wider to let the boy inside.

 

There’s a million and one questions rushing through her mind, but she settles on asking just one.

 

“Do you want some extra blankets?”

 

>>> 

 

It’s not until the next class session of psychology when Naeun spots Jongin, tousled hair pointing in every directions and wrinkled clothing hanged loose on his slim body. He has that familiar gaze in his eyes, the one that resembles a hollow at the base of a tree: empty. As if his body is just a vacant shell.

 

He slowly pulls out the chair right next to her and plops down, cheek slammed upon the wooden desk and eyes studying her closely.

 

“Good morning class, I want to begin today’s lecture with a question. How many of you still write letters – and when I mention letters, I mean the old-fashioned way. The carefully hand-written, pen and paper, letters that showed the sincerity of one’s intention. Taking the time out of your busy day to sit down and write down your every thought, story, aspirations. Anyone?”

 

Silence.

 

“How many of you actually wrote a letter before? It could be when you were seven and you gave it to your mother.”

 

Every hand in class shot up.

 

“Every single one of you has written a letter, but not lately, correct?” Mr. Jung eyes scanning the lecture hall for any students that disagree. “Now, why is that?”

 

A student in the front confidently raises his hand. “It’s because our generation focuses more on technology. The way of communication has changed from hand-written letters to typed emails or text messages that can be sent in an instant.”

 

“Thank you Mr. Park for your insight. Everything that you’ve just said rang some truth in it. So Mr. Park, let me ask for the purpose of the lecture, how often do you send out emails or text messages?”

 

“Emails, a minimum of three. Text messages on another hand, probably around a hundred, maybe even more,” Mr. Park answers truthfully. Naeun can’t see the boy from where she sitting – in the back of the class, near the door again. He has a booming voice that strangely grabs Naeun’s attention into the conversation.

 

“Based on what you just said, you prefer text messages over emails?” Mr. Jung asks for clarification.

 

“Yup,” he answers loudly.

 

Mr. Jung nods his head slightly, not really agreeing to the boy’s answer but showing an indication of understanding. “Let me ask another student.”

 

Fingers tracing down his roster and Naeun prays to the Gods that she doesn’t get chosen. She hates being the center of attention, when all eyes are on her at the same time – and in this case, forty-eight pairs of eyes.

 

“Ms. Son. Son Naeun.”

 

Her lips are pressed together tightly forming a pressed line. She’s keeps quiet for a second but when the class starts turning their heads in confusion, looking for the student that professor Jung called out to, she a breath in and lifts her hand above her head.

 

“Ah, there you are. Ms. Son, would you kindly tell the class your perspective on hand-written letters.”

 

Her mind is blank. She bites down on her bottom lip hoping something can come to mind but there’s nothing. The question isn’t difficult, she thinks, but there’s too many eyes trained upon her and she loses her concentration. Forty-seven other students he could of called on yet he chooses her.

 

“I think hand-written letters is a lost art,” Jongin speaks up, surprising Naeun. “When you receive a hand-written letter, you can easily detect the personal touch it conveys. Even though sending an email or a text message is much more convenient – especially during these times, the feeling of receiving one doesn’t quite match up to the feeling of receiving a letter. The sender invested time, thought, and effort into their writing. To me, there’s a hidden message written in-between the lines of a letter.”

 

“And what may that be, Mr-“

 

“Kim. Kim Jongin.”

 

There’s an innocent smile creeping on Mr. Jung’s face. He must have been impressed with Jongin’s way of words. Naeun definitely is.

 

“You are important to me.”

Their assignment to do during the weekend is to write three personal letters: one to a family member, a friend, and to yourself.

 

>>> 

 

Naeun immediately decides to write a letter to her mom. She writes it first out of the three, and is done within an hour. It’s lengthy, three pages, but it’s a letter to her mom. She’s worth it.

 

She skips the chance to write a letter to a friend, mainly because she doesn’t know who to address it to. Hayoung was an option but she doesn’t consider them close enough for her to write a personal letter. Personal is supposed to be from the heart, and there’s nothing personal about their relationship.

 

So she moves right along in writing a letter to herself. She’s not entirely sure what to say to herself. Mr. Jung announced that this letter would be given back to everyone at the end of the semester so they’re supposed to be addressed to their “future self.”

 

She ends up writing a six-sentenced letter with one wish for her future self. In hopes of her finding something that makes her happy. It sounds farfetched that she would be able to find any ounce of happiness four months from now, but there’s nothing wrong in hoping. She just hopes Mr. Jung doesn’t deduct points because of the length of the letter.

 

>>>

 

“Hey, scoot over.”

 

Naeun looks up from the book she’s reading to see a very distraught Kim Jongin standing two feet away from where she is sitting – on a bench in front of the campus library, always in the middle because she doesn’t want anyone else to sit near her. She’s glad that the boy is tall enough to block away the sun.

 

She moves without a second thought to the end of the bench and resumes reading the page she’s on. She’s reading Looking for Alaska and she’s on the part where Alaska suggest that the group plays a game called Best Day/Worst Day. She tries to think of her own Best Day/Worst Day.

 

Jongin lies down on the bench, his long limbs sprawled out and head lying pretty on Naeun’s lap. She’s dumbfounded towards his bold action but she finds their positions comfortable, normal.

 

“Did you finish your letters for psychology?” He asks in a low voice, eyes closed and hands crossed in front of his chest.

 

“Almost. Two letters down, one more to go.” She replies casually. She easily recalls her ‘Worst Day.’ Two years ago, she received an incoming call from an unknown number. She wished she didn’t answer it. She wouldn’t of if she knew bad news was on the other line. She gets a bit teary-eyed at the thought of the day and she knows that her friend is probably looking down at her, mocking her for being so emotional. She knows that her friend wouldn’t want her to still be grieving over her death. Especially when there’s a beautiful boy literally right in front of her.

 

“Jongin.”

 

“Yeah?” He opens his eyes to look at her.

 

“Tell me about the worst day of your life.”

 

He shifts head to angle his view of Naeun. He squints his eyes, as if he’s trying to think carefully to her statement or is offended by it, Naeun doesn’t know. She can easily read people. It’s something that she likes to do to pass the time in between classes. But she draws a blank whenever she looks at Jongin.

 

He lets out a long, shaky breath before positioning his body the same way it was before. “Worst day of my life was October 31, 2009. It was Halloween, and I was out with my friends at this party. We kind of crashed it since we weren’t exactly invited but we thought it, it’s not like they knew every single person that was there. This party went on pass midnight, and keep in mind that this party had everything that would stir up trouble: alcohol, drugs, and underage kids. I knew that the party wouldn’t end pretty, that cops would show up any second ready to bust this party down and catch anyone they can lay their fingers on to take them downtown to the station so I told my friends that we should leave. Them being the idiots they are said no. Said that I was being a prude and I need to live a little, so I did. Got buzzed after a game of Flip Cup. Got drunk after ten shots of Smirnoff. Got really drunk after getting really defensive when my friends bet that I couldn’t down a whole bottle of Jinro.”

 

“So what’d you do?” Naeun asked.

 

“I told them that I was going to shove those words down their throats. I handed them a roll of duct tape that I found in one of the rooms, tossed it to them, grabbed two bottles of Jinro, and told them to duct tape my hands.”

 

“Ah, nothing better than to tell your friends off than by conquering the Edward 40 Hands.”

 

“Right?!” He says proudly, as if chugging down hard liquor is always a great idea. Well, actually it kind of is, but Naeun doesn’t want to agree with him. She doesn’t want to boost his ego.

 

“Did you do it?”

 

“Do what?”

“Did you actually finish the two bottles of Jinro? Or were your friends right?” A breeze picked up and Naeun shivered a bit from its contact. Jongin seemed to notice because he grabs a sweatshirt from his backpack and hands it to her. She puts it on and there’s a scent that lingers onto the fabric. It reminds her of summer days in Hawaii: tropical and exotic.

 

“My friends were flat out wrong. Guzzled those two bottles under two minutes.” He chuckles, a smirk easily drawn out on his chiseled face.

 

“I’m listening to this story and I have yet to detect any trace of information that would back-up your earlier statement of it being the ‘Worst Day.’”

 

“It’s because I haven’t gotten to the worse part yet,” Jongin says. “Half an hour later cops showed up at the house to shut the party down. Everyone scrambled out to get away as far as possible, trying their best to avoid the cops because basically everyone that was at the party was -faced drunk. I didn’t want to get caught so we ran. I pushed my friends towards the back of the house and we got out by climbing the fence and slipped through a back alley that eventually led back to the main road. We got away successfully, and we thought, why not celebrate with more alcohol, so we went to the nearest convenience store, bought a pack of soju with my fake ID, and went to the park. It was around 2:30 in the morning and we stayed there for about an hour until we decided to head home, it was around 3:45 when I got a voicemail that my friend was involved in a car accident, and it was exactly 3:52 when the paramedic declared that he died on site. Done. Worst day ever.”

 

“Jongin..” Naeun begins to say, but she stops herself because she doesn’t know how to respond after hearing such story.

 

“You know what makes this day even worse?” He pauses, and Naeun’s not sure if he’s asking the question to her but she chooses to stay quiet. “I woke up around 4 in the afternoon. My head was still pounding from all the alcohol so I stayed in my bed, and I hear my phone vibrating on my nightstand. I ignored it at first but then it just kept on vibrating, so I picked it up, only to find 72 missed calls, 59 text messages, and 23 voicemails. It was weird, you know, because why the hell would people keep texting me and calling me, this just doesn’t happen. I open the recent message I got and it was my friend Minseok asking if I was alright. I didn’t think much of it because he saw me get hammered at the party, he should have a pretty good idea on what kind of state I am right now. But then I scroll up and there were messages about a car accident and my friend Yixing and everything was a blur from then. It happened 12 hours ago and I didn’t even know because I was too busy sleeping off a major hangover.”

 

Naeun doesn’t know how to console others. She rejects the idea of saying ‘I’m sorry,’ because honestly, these two words don’t really have the impact of healing others’ hearts, so she opts out. Instead she finds herself mindlessly raking her fingers through the boy’s hair to comfort him. It’s soft and she likes the feeling of it in her hands.

Two minutes of silence pass and Naeun’s unsure if Jongin is sleeping.

 

The faint breathing and the slow movement of his chest moving up and down gives her an answer.

 

>>> 

 

Naeun’s about to walk into the building where her psychology class is located at when Jongin appears. He’s wearing a tank top, beach shorts and flip-flops. Not exactly class attire but Naeun’s not one to judge.

 

“Where are you going?” He asks, as if it wasn’t obvious that they have class together in three minutes.

 

“To class?”

 

“No you’re not. Class is cancelled today.”

 

“There was no email indicating that class was cancelled. I would have seen it.” She definitely would have. She checks her school email every other hour.

 

Jongin lets out a hearty laugh. “You got me. Class isn’t cancelled, but we’re not going to class today. We’re going on a school trip.”

 

“School trip you say? So this trip will be educational?” Naeun doesn’t like the idea of ditching class. She does like the idea of going on a “school trip” with Jongin.

 

“Oh, you bet!” He exclaims. “We’ll learn about the ocean and ocean salt and why the hell is the ocean so salty?”

 

“Isn’t it because whales e its into the ocean?” Naeun says playfully.

 

“That is a wonderful insight Ms. Son,” Jongin pointed out, sounding a bit similar to Mr. Jung. “But I guess we have to go to the beach to find the right answer, you know, for educational purposes.”

 

>>> 

 

Their day out together was surprisingly filled with disasters one after the other.

 

Halfway to the beach Jongin’s car got a flat tire. They’re in a small town a few miles away from Anyang, a very small town. Naeun estimates that its population is 12 because within an hour of wandering around through the streets for help, she only seen 12 people.

 

There’s a man outside his tiny home and Jongin tries to call out to him, only to be completely ignored. Naeun laughs at his misfortune.

 

“He must have not seen me.”

 

“Or maybe he just doesn’t like you.” He sticks out a tongue and Naeun thinks that Jongin is cute when he’s playful.

 

When they do find help, a man in his sixties but looks like he could easily pass for a fifty year old, they’re off on the road again. They respectfully bow to the man, repeating thank you over and over for saving their lives, and offers him a roll of kimbap that Jongin packed for their lunch before going their way.

 

They make it to the beach with no mishaps, no car trouble.

 

They’re running across the compress sand when it began to show signs of rain.

 

“OH NO.” Jongin smacks his forehead audibly, letting out a harried sigh.

 

“Don’t tell me Jongin, you forgot to look up the weather before taking me here. When you told me that we were going to the beach, I envision it being a beautiful, sunny, not-rainy, definitely not-cloudy day.”

 

“Ha ha. Very funny. So plans aren’t exactly going to plan. I guess we’ll just make it up as we go. Don’t worry, it’ll get better from here.”

 

It didn’t.

 

The rain begins pouring on them, wind picking up into a gust. The look on Naeun’s face shows that she’s not fully convinced, so Jongin thinks of an idea to turn things around. He grabs Naeun by her wrist and drags her towards the ocean.

 

“Jongin, don’t,” Naeun yells out when she understands his doing, but is drowned out by the wind.

 

“It’s for educational purposes!” Jongin shouts out before carrying her onto his shoulders and dropping her into the icy water. She gets up immediately and runs out shivering, the combination of being thrown into the freezing ocean and chilly winds striking at her.

 

“That was so not funny!”

 

“Oh come on, that was.” She tries to give him the most convincing glare to show how angry she is at him. “Alright, fine. I’ll make it even. I’ll dive in too, so we’re both wet, how’s that?”

 

It’s not exactly a great deal, but Naeun takes it. She nods in agreement and runs towards him, pushing him with a strong force into the waters. At least she doesn’t have to suffer alone.

 

>>> 

 

The two ends up catching the flu the next day, which means they’ll miss another day of class this week. Jongin’s wrapped in a tight blanket burrito and Naeun wonders how the boy got to her apartment safely when he’s as sick as her. Naeun can barely walk to her bathroom whenever she feels the need to throw up.

 

She lets out a sigh at the thought of missing another day of class because it means that she’ll be behind. She’s already behind in her letter assignments so she picks up her notebook and places it on her lap. She still has to write one more letter.

 

She stares blankly at the white page, thinking of whom to write to.

 

No one comes to mind.

 

Jongin shifts in his sleep from one side to the other, his back facing her.

 

“Should I?” Naeun asks herself quietly. She doesn’t want to disturb the boy from his slumber, especially when he looks so peaceful.

 

He shifts once again back to his original sleeping position.

 

“I guess I could.”

 

>>> 

 

It’s the end of the semester and Mr. Jung is going on about how he hopes that everyone passed his class because he doesn’t want to see us again. It’s a joke, of course, but there’s a moment of sadness that flickers in his eyes for a second that Naeun catches. Mr. Jung must be the type of person that gets easily attached to his students.

 

The class flies by in an instant. Before Mr. Jung dismisses the class one last time, he hands back the letters from the beginning of the semester to every student. Naeun almost forgot about these letters. She almost couldn’t turn it in and get credit for them because they were a week late.

 

The letters are wrapped in a white envelope each with a stamp on it. “I decided to put all of your letters inside an envelope just in case one of you wanted to actually mail them out. I encourage every single one of you to send it out to whomever the letters are addressed to. Remember, hand-written letters are a great way to show that you care! What better way to show that you care than a hand-written letter that was written four months ago?”

 

Naeun walks back to her seat and hands Jongin one of her letters.

 

“Here. This is for you.”

 

“Me? You wrote me a letter?” He places a hand on his chest and gasps out loud. “Oh wow. I’m honored.”

 

She smacks him across the head with his letter before throwing it across the table. “Idiot.”

 

>>> 

 

Dear Kim Jongin,

 

They say people come into your life for a reason, for a purpose. I’m not if it was a good thing that I met you, I’m still trying to figure that out, but so far I’m glad that I did. There’s a quote, “people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.” I hope you’re in my life for a very long time. It’s hard to find friends that won’t leave.

 

I have no idea what I’m writing so I’m just going to end it right here. Sorry that your letter is short. I hope you’re not disappointed, but it’s not like you’re going to read this letter anyway, right?

 

Oh, and thank you for taking me on a trip to the beach, even though it kind of and we ended up getting sick. It’s been awhile since I enjoyed myself.  I hate you for getting me sick by the way. I feel like I’m dying right now so I’m done writing.

 

Love, Naeun.

 

P.S. You’re cute when you sleep.

 

>>> 

 

Dear Future Naeun,

 

Are you happy? I hope you are. If not, please don’t worry. Life shouldn’t be spent on worrying. You’ll find something or someone that’ll make you happy one day. Happiness will come, but for now, keep it up.

 

From, Past Naeun

 

>>> 

 

Are you happy?

 

“I am.”

---

In the story, I mentioned a video clip that shows a scene from Dead Poet Society.

For those who haven't watched Dead Poet Society, it is this scene [x] and you can watch it here.

Basically the scene has Robin Williams tell his students the importance of seizing the day.

The poem To the s, to Make Much of Time expresses a philosphy of the importance of living in the moment.

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.

Old Time is still a-flying.

And this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying."

Don't forget to seize each and every single day!

This being said, thank you for reading. ♥