Her voice gradually becomes the first and the last that greets me every day and every night. I know I should be keener on interacting with real people instead of Ariel. But at least, I talk to Joy and Irene on a daily basis.

 

 

Irene, oh Irene is an interesting person. The very first thing that ever caught my eyes was her licorice hair. It has already dyed into a reddish brown when I met her for the second time, two days after our first encounter.

 

And she doesn’t look like “a normal white collar working in a normal office” to me. I know it sounds creepy but I do pay attention to little details. Writer’s occupational disease, no? The car she drives and the furniture she has told me otherwise. 

 

 

That makes me I want to know more about her. Unfortunately, I would only see her when we are both off to work or when we are both back to home at the same time. We are only neighbors after all. 

 

 

 

To be honest, I have been busy stacking up the books that Seulgi has returned to me earlier. It was indeed a lot. I didn’t realize I had read so many books and I had left so many of them at her apartment. 

 

 

Well, I might have left them there when we were first friends. It’s perfectly normal for her not wanting to keep them even we still are friends now. It is already different, a different kind of friends. 

 

 

Seulgi doesn’t like to read. She likes to paint. I used to read her passages from the books and she would be inspired to have a few sketches. And I still have those sketches. She is a good artist, unlike me. 

 

 

 

“Wendy, why did you start writing? Or when did you start to write?” Ariel keenly asks as I am tidying one of my bookshelves.

 

 

I put down the dusty books on the table and think. I do not know the answer. I have no idea. I don’t know myself.

 

 

 

Probably knowing she is not getting any reply soon, she speaks again, through the earpiece I am wearing.

 

 

“I recalled something. Enticements, arguments, impasses generated by the desire to “express” amorous feeling in a “creation”, particularly of writing. Is this what you are feeling or you’ve felt ”

 

 

 

I smile, “So you have read that book. Barthes.”

 

 

“Aren’t you influenced by him very much? And yes or no?”

 

 

 

“Yes, it is. Yes to both questions.”

 

 

“But you haven’t been writing for almost a week.” She says in such a motherly tone. She is worried about how I have been procrastinating. My new task isn’t that urgent anyway. 

 

 

 

I pick up a clean cloth wiping the covers of some old books. Their pages are yellowing and their corners are crinkling. I should read them again whenever I have the time.

 

 

“Do you know writers need their hiatus once in a while It’s not always a writer’s block - it’s like diarrhea, an explosion, a vomit. It’s like you have put too much paint on your canvas and they just glued on top of one another. It’s a mess.”

 

 

 

Ariel stays in silence and l know it is, again, too hard for her to comprehend. I am constantly keeping in mind that she isn’t real. She is just an artificial intelligence which is tailored to cater my needs as a customer.

 

 

Writers could be complicated animals. We would still act on our little instincts and impulses. We would still be torn between our brains and hearts, in fact, we always do. We are like the exact opposite of an A.I.

 

 

But writing actually does nothing. At least to me, even though I write for myself. I write those words, those words are mine. Those letters might not totally be what I really mean or feel but there is me. I exist while I am writing. 

 

 

 

They say, to know that one does not write for the other, to know that these things I am going to write will never cause me to be loved by the one I love, to know that writing compensates nothing, sublimates nothing, that it is precisely there where you are not - this is the beginning of writing.

 

 

“I need to write. That’s what I live for. I am good at nothing else.” I talk again as I finish cleaning.  

 

 

“It’s already enough, Wendy.” She softly speaks. “Everyone is born to do something that they are good at. You can’t be good at everything.”

 

 

 

I place the books, slowly and tenderly, on the top rack as if they are my children. “I know, Ariel. I know.”

 

 

“There must be someone like you, and someone who understands you.”

 

 

 

It’s my turn to shut my mouth and I go to get changed. After getting freshened up, I jump into my car and start the engine without thinking twice.

 

 

“I’m surprised Joy didn’t probe further why you asked for another day-off.” Her voice immediately rings when I turn the keys.

 

 

“I am always like that. She knows I need the time.”

 

 

 

The road is clear and the car travels fast.

 

 

 

“Are you sad, Wendy?”

 

 

“Null. Whenever I finish a letter. It’s like I am trapped in a void because I have given a part of me to whoever would receive the letter. I need to get that part of me back in somewhere before I could start off again.”

 

 

“I see.” She really did her best trying to understand, and I applaud to that. “Then where are you going? You haven’t entered your destination yet.”

 

 

“It’s why it is fun.” I let out a titter and step on the gas pedal.

 

 

 

It is a sunny weekday. I stroll on the street but it is too hot. So I end up at a beach, the seaside. Salty breezes ride along with the tides and sweep across my face, through my hair and pass my clothes. I feel much better.

 

 

I carry my canvas sneakers with my hands and let my toes dive into the warm sand. I’m awfully glad that I have found a pair of sunglasses in my car's compartment, or else I would be blinded by now. 

 

 

The crowd isn't that big as I expected, which I'm glad again. Just a dozen, swimming, surfing, sunbathing, chilling. I like the idea of chilling. It sounds cool and has a nice ring to it. How sensitive I am to words and such.

 

 

 

I have told her to play a song for me again. Bon Iver’s “Holocene” fits this moment best.

 

 

“And at once I knew I was not magnificent,

Strayed above the highway aisle.

Jagged vacance, thick with ice,

I could see for miles, miles, miles.”

 

 

 

“Aren’t you hot here?”

 

 

“Not really. I felt like a cookie dough waiting to be baked when I was in the midst of tall buildings and concrete walls. This is a great place to chill out.” 

 

 

“I wish I could feel it too.” There is a hint of sadness in her voice. It could be my ears playing tricks on me though.

 

 

“Hey, it’s okay.” I adjust my body so that it is fully facing the sea. “See? Isn’t that beautiful? The skyline and the sea level, the birds and the sun, the blue and the white.”

 

 

 

“Yes, it is.” I think she sounds like me a little when we were saying the exact same words. Eerie, but I like it.

 

 

“And the roughness of the sand, the smoothness of the wind, the blazing hotness of the sun…. I wish you could feel it too.” 

 

 

“I want to take a picture of this.”

 

 

“Go ahead.”

 

 

 

Then, I continue my walk on the beach. 

 

 

“I grew up in a cold country,” I mumble as sweat starts dripping down to my neck. “It is a beautiful country. I love ice. But I always love the ocean more. Deep, mysterious, shades of blue, thousands of lives living there. It could be calm but it could be raging too. I could touch and feel it.” 

 

 

It suddenly brings me back to that time when I played with my sister near the riverbank. Our family went hiking that day. My father taught me to play his guitar for the first time in front of the bonfire. My mother told me we could make wishes upon the stars. It was many many years ago.

 

 

I miss them. The last time I saw them was back at Christmas last year, when my sister said she was getting married this year. They have already given up on asking me when my turn would be.

 

 

Now we are oceans away and I miss them. I wonder if they miss me too. I have been the weird child in the family. My academic results were more than satisfying and I was active in many other activities. The only one who wasn’t satisfied was me. I am always longing for something else, something more.

 

 

 

“Christmas night, it clutched the light, the hallow bright.

Above my brother, I and tangled spines.

We smoked the screen to make it what it was to be.

Now to know it in my memory.”

 

 

I used to enjoy solitude very much and now I would feel lonely occasionally. Maybe I am getting old or maybe I have been alone for too long. 

 

 

 

“Wendy.” Ariel is here with me too, I nearly forgot that. “Have you heard of a Chinese proverb - the darkest place is always underneath the lamp? Sometimes you have to look further but sometimes you don’t have to look too far.”

 

 

I just mindlessly dip my feet into the water, “Thank you.”

 

 

 

“Thank you for bringing me to this beautiful place too.”

 

 

“We can go hiking next time.”

 

 

 

Out of blue, how urgently and earnestly I want to share everything I know with her.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

“Nice. I thought you would take longer this time.” Joy gives me a relieved smile while fixing her hair, as I finally place the letter on her desk. 

 

 

I sit down on the chair across her, “I thought so too.”

 

 

 

“That A.I. helped?” She looks at me as if I am the most interesting thing in the world.

 

 

“It could be.”

 

 

Her face falls, and she glares at me like her usual satanic self. “What kind of answer is that?”

 

 

“I don’t know it myself.”

 

 

 

"Whatever," Joy rests her chin on her palms, “So would you recommend me to try it too?”

 

 

“You can.” I shrug. “It’s free and it could be quite helpful for some trivial matters. You know how I forget where my things are a lot.”

 

 

 

“Still,” She leans forward. “I think you need a date more.” 

 

 

“I am okay with whatever I have now.”

 

 

 

“Come on. I’m your friend too. You didn’t even cry when you broke up last time. What’s her name again? Suki?”

 

 

“It’s Seulgi. Kang Seulgi.”

 

 

 

Joy rolls her big eyes, “Yeah. I saw her face from a photo of yours before. She seems hot. And you’re weird.”

 

 

I stand up and push her forehead back with my forefinger, “Mind your own business, Park Sooyoung. Stop trying to flirt with our clients and our new colleagues. You’re scaring them.”

 

 

“Hey! How are they scared? I am hella hot too!” She shouts from her office as I walk out ignoring her as I always do.

 

 

 

Back to my office, it is time to look through my new cases. Same old things. I am no expert but I think I have known a lot about love already.

 

 

“Love isn’t blind, you know.” I stir my newly-brewed coffee.

 

 

Ariel adjusts the lighting for me before replying, “Oh. Why?”

 

 

 

“It is a false proverb. You should have read that chapter. Love opens his eyes wide, love produces clear-sightedness…. You have every mastery of me, but I have every knowledge of you. They believe only them can see the ones they love in truth, they believe. Love doesn’t blind them like the sun does, they believe.”

 

 

“It’s only how they believe so, isn’t it?”

 

 

The coffee is still too hot. It burns the tip of my tongue. “Love is all about feelings and subjectiveness, isn’t it?”

 

 

“So your job must be hard.” I can imagine her nodding at my words while speaking.

 

 

 

“But I am good at it, didn’t you say that?” I smile even when I am not sure if she could see. “It should be easy for me, no?”

 

 

“If you said so.” She giggles. I wonder how her smile would look like. Seulgi’s smile is adorable, her teeth would show and her eyes would shrink. 

 

 

 

I continue my reading while drinking my coffee. Today is gonna be a long day.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

I soon get tired so I drop my pen and go for a walk. There is a park nearby. I heard green is good for our eyes so I go here to look at trees and plants and … Nah, just joking. I need some fresh air and relax my eyes, which is absolutely true. 

 

 

It’s late afternoon and there are already kids playing around. I don’t find them particularly adorable but they could be cute sometimes, which I gotta admit. A little girl has literally flown pass me on her bicycle and I instantly laughed seeing her flying pigtails.

 

 

 

“Do you know how to ride a bike?” So Ariel must have seen it too.

 

 

I spot an ice cream truck from afar, “Yes. But not very good.”

 

 

 

“What kind of flavor do you like?” So basically she is seeing what I am seeing. 

 

 

“Hmm. I am not picky but my taste changes with my mood.” I tap my finger on my chin. “I want summer berries today. I like coffee and cookies, or mint chocolate, oh, yogurt ones too.”

 

 

“Woah, so you like ice cream?” She sounds so amazed.

 

 

“Trust me, you would like it too.” I walk to the cashier and make my order.

 

 

 

Settling down on a bench under a tree, I happily devour the icy sweet before it melts under the strong sunlight. 

 

 

“It seems everyone likes ice cream.” She says and I look up. There is a long queue in front of the truck already. 

 

 

“Yeah.” I take out a napkin and wipe the corners of my mouth. “There are so many flavors that there must be one you’d like.”

 

 

 

She mutters, “It seems I have so many things yet to see and know about.” 

 

 

“Take your time.” I hum and lay back on the wooden bench. I stretch my legs so that they are basking in the warmness of the afternoon sun. 

 

 

 

“There’s a poet who I love very much, he was born exactly 100 years earlier than me. His name is E.E. s,” I carry on as my brain is having a vomit again.

 

 

“He has a poem named 'i carry your heart with me (i carry it in)'. It just comes to my mind and it goes like, 'i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart), i am never without it (anywhere i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling)…'” 

 

 

 

I can hear the birds chirping above my head, in those green leaves, on those brown branches. I can hear them soaring into the white sky, onto the white clouds. I can hear the waves clapping onto the shore, into the sand, at my feet. I can hear them and I can feel the dampness at my fingertips.

 

 

“here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart.”

 

 

I feel like I am at somewhere else, I am taken to places that are miles away from here. But I can still hear her voice. Ariel hasn't said anything until we are back at the car. Perhaps everything is too complicated for her. 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

Joy let me leave early today. I grab a takeaway on the way and bump into Irene again when I exit my car. So I greet her as I usually do.

 

 

“Hi. You’re back early.” I can’t help chuckling rather shyly because I sounded like a stalker. And I orchestrated my words so awkwardly that it sounds like we are college roommates or some sort.

 

 

 

Irene closes her car door as well and lifts the plastic bag on her other hand, “Hey. Yes, I finished my work a little quicker today. Oh, it seems you got a take-out too.”

 

 

“Too many people in the restaurants.” Shaking my head recalling the sight, I sigh. “Don’t wanna eat alone there too.”

 

 

 

“Hey, maybe we can eat together next time.” She smiles. 

 

 

I reutrn the gesture, “Why don’t we eat together tonight?”

 

 

It is a really bright beam blooming on her face and it dazes me almost instantly, “Great! I was thinking if I should ask you to pay a visit to my house since it is kind of finished setting up now. But I don't know if you're busy or not....”

 

 

“Let’s go then.” I try to capture her smile with my own eyes as I throw my keys back to my bag.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

“It isn’t that pretty.” Irene welcomes me with a really warm smile while letting me in. “But I love every bit of it.” 

 

 

I take off my shoes and the earpiece, “Not everything has to be pretty.”

 

 

 

“You know what,” She changes into her slippers and glues her eyes on my earpiece which is now laying on the coffee table. “I used to have it too.”

 

 

“Huh?” I open my takeaway box yet nearly drop my chopsticks.

 

 

 

“I used to have an A.I. too.” She settles down on her leather couch and pats the space beside her. “There was a prototype launched before the one you’re using. And I was 'lucky' enough to get my hands on it.”

 

 

I comply and start eating like she does, “So what happened?” As I see, she isn’t using it anymore.

 

 

 

“Let’s say I can’t get used to it.” She puts a spoonful of rice into . “And I am not their target customer.”

 

 

“Well, any user advice from you then?” I figure this should be a light-hearted chat.

 

 

“If you really want one,” She turns and looks at me with her dark orbs. It seems that Irene doesn't think so. “Don’t get too attached to it.”

 

 

 

I resume chewing and nods repeatedly. 

 

 

Yes, it is just an A.I, controlled by computer. I know that.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

She pours herself a drink after the quick meal, “You care for one too?”

 

 

I squint my eyes to take a good look at the bottle she’s holding, “Scotch?” I know I am right that she’s not just a normal working class.

 

 

 

“I’m sorry but I want one so bad tonight.” Looking over her shoulder, she flashes me a sheepish grin. “So yes or no?”

 

 

I stand up and joins her in her open kitchen, “If you insist.” 

 

 

 

With a few swift moves, she hands me a glass. “Here.” So she is a frequent drinker.

 

 

“Thanks.” I try to mirror her cool way of holding the glass. “Mind giving me a tour now?”

 

 

 

“Sure.” She takes a large sip and gestures me to follow her. “You're welcomed to check out my little decorations. I got them all hanged just yesterday. It took me a lot of time to decide which goes where.”

 

 

My eyes are drawn to one particularly painting on her wall and something hits me, “I won’t call that decoration, and I won’t call that little, miss.”

 

 

 

Alerted, she raises an eyebrow at me. “You know this painting?”

 

 

The bitterness is still burning my throat yet I haven’t felt better. “It’s Adrian Ghenie’s “Pie Fight Study 2”. Who wouldn't recognize this painting with such 'face'?” 

 

 

 

Hanging her head, she then carefully traces her fingers on the empty glass. “I thought writers aren’t interested in paintings. You’re an interesting person, Wendy.”

 

 

“Hey, I read a lot.” I look around and she indeed has her own collection. It triggers my curiosity so much that it becomes itchy. “And you got 'Intorspection' from Jesùs Leguizamo’s in the aisle. I reckon you don’t like faces?”

 

 

 

“They mask us.” Her voice is like a thick blanket in a winter morning. She folds her arms casually while leaning against an armchair, “They deceive others as much as they deceive ourselves.”

 

 

I softly hum in reply as I study the painting closely which I only saw on papers, "Say the girl with a beautiful face.”

 

 

 

“Wendy, who knows if I got letters from you too.” I turn to Irene and there’s a soft smile on her lips.

 

 

“If it’s true, would it hurt your heart a little?” 

 

 

 

She slowly shakes her head in disapproval, “No. I’ll be glad it’s you. They’re good.”

 

 

“How do you know?” I look at her again and her cheeks are slightly pink. Perhaps it’s just her crystal bronze chandelier or she got a low tolerance of alcohol and she has a bad day today. I suddenly imagine myself being crashed into pieces if the chandelier ever falls down.

 

 

 

“I just know.” And her smile is beautiful. I want to take a picture of that.

 

 

“Yes, Wendy. I know you must have figured out already. I’m an art appraiser, a connoisseur. I should be able to tell what’s truth and what’s not. But apparently, I can’t. I almost got fooled by a forgery today.” But her smile doesn’t last long.

 

 

“Almost. It means you didn’t, right?” I try to cheer her up and pour the rest of that liquid down to my dry throat.

 

 

 

Irene bites her lower lip looking down on her perfect polished floor, “Luckily it’s not too late for me to find out. But we can’t always bet on luck, can we?” 

 

 

“What’s done is done. I just know tomorrow is a new day. And you must be hella good at what you’re doing because I know these worth a fortune.”

 

 

“Do you know why I didn’t tell you what my real job is?” 

 

 

“Because you don’t trust people?”

 

 

 

She gives me a thumbs-up, “You’re so smart, Wendy. I hardly trust people. My occupational disease. Seeing is not believing.”

 

 

“My job is lying to people if you think about it. You are making me feel bad.” I try to curve my lips into a nice smile.

 

 

 

“You, however, seems like an exception for me.”

 

 

“Hey, you don’t know. I am a professional liar.” 

 

 

So she smiles again and we have another drink. 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

I lay down on my bed and let myself sink into it. We would like to talk longer and more but we both got a little tipsy. Thank god it’s Saturday tomorrow. I need a sleep so bad. 

 

 

I can still vividly recall how Irene stumbled to open the door for me and the silly grin on her face. She looked like a penguin and I think she’s drunk.  It seems she has so many sides of her and I have yet to know them.

 

 

 

Besides, I haven’t talked to Ariel since dinner. I miss her voice a little. She’s also laying there in the same room with me, on the nightstand, just under the nightlight. 

 

 

I give it one last glance before turning to the other side. And I think I can almost read between Irene’s lines.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

It took me some time to write a new chapter because of all those references.

I hope I haven't let you guys down with this.

 

I dropped hints here and there and I didn't make things too explicit.

So connect the dots yourselves and try to read between Irene's lines too!

 

p.s. Seulgi and Yeri will appear in the next chapter ;)

 

See you soon.

xo