Left in the Jasmine Fields

I remember running through the jasmine fields, my hair flying behind me, a kite in the wind. I remember my tiny feet soaring across the soil, relishing the familiarity of the ground below me. I remember laughing and screaming and crying all at the same time. Because of him.

He held my hand as we ran. He caught me when I tripped. He made sure to bring me home safe before the sun set, waving goodbye as I climbed up the porch.

“내일 나리! (Tomorrow Nari!)” he assured, promising to come back the next day. And I knew he meant it. Minjun never broke promises.

Boseong was thriving, producing so much jasmine we were known as the “green tea capital of Korea.” And my Appa was so proud. Every night by the fireplace, I would sit on his lap and he’d tell me how our tiny little town would one day make so much money, we wouldn’t know what to do with it! Me, being the five year old I was, cheered and celebrated, knowing more money equaled more time with Appa.

As I grew older, I grew more mature, as most kids do. But only having an Appa and no Eomma, who I have no memory of whatsoever, makes growing up pretty difficult. I knew that. So did Minjun.

Every morning, at exactly 7:15, he would knock on our door and I would rush to answer. He would greet me with that warm smile of his and those big twinkling eyes. I would give him his bowl of soup and warn him that it’s hot, fresh off the stove. He’d take a sip anyways, making a funny face when it burnt his tongue. Stubborn he was, that kid. We ate quickly, usually finishing by the time we got to the end of the dirt path. He used the pump hidden in the grass to rinse the bowls, dried them off with his shirt, and stuck them in my school bag.

No longer would we run through the rows of jasmine, nor were we barefoot, nor did we have the time to lay in the grass and daydream about the endless sky. But that didn’t stop the fact that he would always find a way to make me laugh. He shared stories of dragons and knights and ninjas, telling me that the clouds were made of cotton candy and the moon was made of cheese. I would tell him all my secrets, and he’d tell me all of his. He was practically my oppa, the older brother who protected me at all costs.

By the time we made it to the school, my feet hurt and lungs were running out of energy.

“거의 다왔어 나리 (We’re almost there Nari),” Minjun would encourage, giving me strength to take the last steps into the large school quad.

He was one year older than me, so our classes never overlapped. I made my way to the second grade classroom, taking a seat beside a low wooden desk. The chalkboard stood directly in front of me, bold and intimidating. Nothing compared to my teacher though. I can’t quite recall her name, it’s been so long since elementary school. But I do remember how frightening she was.

Her thin frame enunciated her height. Her sharp eyes stared down at us like a hawk, her sharp facial features exaggerated as her gray hair pulled tightly into a neat bun. But I had nothing to worry about. Speaking and reading Korean was relatively easy. Writing wasn’t much harder. And math was a piece of cake for me, especially with help from Appa. He loved math. Basically, school was a breeze.

One particular memory clouds my brain every time I merely think of the word “school.” It was one of those dark rainy days, where the sun was too scared to come out and the thunder echoed through the skies. I was having trouble gluing my colorful papers together, which stubbornly kept sticking to my hands. A girl next to me whispered to her friend, but I couldn’t catch what she said. After a dozen snickers and a couple of not-so-secretive glances, I finally gained enough courage to speak up.

“당신은 시도 (You try),” I say, challenging them to have a go. I nudge the paper over to the girl’s desk, gesturing with a flick of my chin as I hold out the glue in my palm. They looked away. I haven’t heard a word out of them since.

As soon as we were dismissed, I gathered my books and rushed down to the courtyard, searching for Minjun.

Then, it seemed that time slowed to a snail’s pace. Someone’s elbow painfully shoved into my back as my bag flew off my shoulder. My arms flailed as I fell towards the ground, tumbling down the steps into the mud. I couldn’t stop myself. In seconds I was sprawled out in the dirt, my shirt now soaked and covered in grime. Lifting my head, I tried to gather myself up. My mind was racing as I tried to register what just happened.

Little did I know, a crowd of my classmates had circled around, watching as I struggled to pick myself up. Not a single person offered to help.

And, honestly, I was used to it. I was a small girl, and I usually kept to myself. I knew people liked to tease me, but I told myself it was because I was the best in the class. I knew I was making things up, but it was better than accepting the truth, because it was awfully horrible and really just genuinely wrong.

The snippets of conversations I’ve heard started to echo through my ears, filling my chest with a deep sense of...nothing. Just hollow and empty and nothing. Because they all said the same thing: “no eomma”.

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. I sniffled and rose up, staring at my worn out shoes and avoiding eye contact with the spectators. Before I knew it, my feet were in action and I was sprinting out of the gate. I made it halfway home before I finally stopped to rest. I realized I left behind my bag. And Minjun.

Where was Minjun? I thought. He didn’t even help me!

I felt anger pierce my chest, exploding where the hollowness once was. My fists tightened at my sides as my teeth clenched together. I could feel my cheeks grow hotter and hotter, and a cascade of tears started to pour down my face. Without a thought, I sat down. Right there on the side of the road.

I’d never been mad at Minjun before. We argued sometimes, usually about what animal shapes the clouds made or what color the moon was, but I’d never actually been mad.

Well, I concluded, I don’t wanna be friends with him anymore.

Footsteps approached from down the road. Labored breaths accompanied the splish splash of puddles. Whoever it was, they were running really fast.

I couldn’t gather enough strength to lift my head, so I decided to stay curled up in my ball and continue my temper tantrum.

I didn’t realize the footsteps stopped. Not until whoever it was sat down next to me.

Startled, my gaze shot up. Only to meet the same dark eyes that I had been looking into for the past seven years. He looked genuinely worried. His cheeks were flushed and jet black hair hair disheveled. But I held my case.

“설명 해 줄래? (Could you explain?)” I ordered, crossing my arms over my chest.

The response I heard was not what I was expecting.

He told me his teacher held him in class late to finish a worksheet, and when he came out he couldn’t find me anywhere. He searched the entire school grounds until finally leaving with exasperation. He started walking home, hoping to see me with some new friends or something. When he saw me bundled up on the side of the road, he desperately started sprinting, afraid I had hurt myself.

“미안해 (Sorry),” I apologized, bowing my head.

He accepted my apology with a nod as he slowly stood up, dusting his pants off and slinging his bag over his shoulder. I didn’t want to get up, but I didn’t want to be rude when he offered me his hand. His eyes boggled as he took in the sight I was: absolutely filthy from head to toe, scraped arms, and grim expression.

“무슨일이야? (What happened?) ” he asked worriedly, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. The story launched out of my mouth, a cascade of words spilling out at lightning speed. I was so relieved when I finished.

It took a moment for him to process everything. He just stared into the grass for a minute, and I was scared he couldn’t understand what I said. A giggle escaped his lips, quickly followed by the palm of his hand, trying to cover up all proof of his action. Before I knew it, we were laughing so hard our knees wobbled and I was slightly lightheaded.

I didn’t have many friends. I had Appa, and Minjun, and…that’s pretty much it.

Then he was gone.

One random Saturday in the middle of my third grade year, I ran to his house, bubbling with excitement. We were probably going to play in the creek or something like that. Maybe we were going to help Appa with his new garden. All I remember is that we never did what we were going to.

I stomped up the porch steps, knocking three times on the large door. Usually Minjun’s eomma would greet me. I would please her with my low bow and formal greeting as Minjun hurried to slip on his boots. Then we would run away into the endless horizon of the jasmine fields.

That day, nobody answered me. I knocked again, listening carefully, hoping with all my heart for the thumps of footsteps. They never came.

At that moment I knew he was gone. Saturday was always “household chores day” in the Choi family’s house. Minjun and his parents wouldn’t leave the house until dinner (or until I came to take Minjun to play). Or, I thought they wouldn’t.

Tears streamed down my burning cheeks, blurring my vision. I took off.

That was the fastest I’ve ever run. Grief swallowed by body, eating me up from inside. My chest collapsed as emotions strangled my breath, which had started to grow more ragged as the seconds passed. Heartbroken, I couldn’t control my limbs. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew that I needed to get far, far away from this place.

It felt like hours of fleeing before I collapsed. My knees were met by a soft patch of moss, moist and spongy. My hands hit the dirt and pebbles struck my palm, a reminder of how painful life could be. I tried to stand back up, to keep on running, but my legs just didn’t have the strength.

I cried every teardrop within me. My body shaking and teeth chattering, I hugged my knees close to my chest. Throat as parched as sandpaper, I couldn’t pull myself together. My whole life was shattering into a million pieces. I couldn’t tell what reality was anymore as I grimaced from the agony splitting in my chest, a spear driven right through my soul.

He couldn’t have just left me, I think. He couldn’t have…right?

There wasn’t another tear left in my small body. The deep hollowness was refilled with a stronger emotion I’d never felt like this before.

My vision brimmed with red. An inferno of fury crisped my heart, shrinking it into nothing but a piece of ash. Rage brewed and bubbled, right where my heart used to be. I couldn’t stop a shrill scream from leaping off my tongue. It echoed through the whole town, shaking the jasmine leaves and moving the clouds high above.

I couldn’t feel anything, my body numb and cold. I was done with Minjun. With absolutely no goodbye nor warning nor note, he was gone. And so what? I told myself he wasn’t even important, that I would live a better life without him.

Now that I think about it, I really liked to lie to myself. Really liked to.

~ ~ ~

School was getting hard. Boseong wasn’t doing as well as Appa hoped. And my life was in ruins.

It had been two years since Minjun left, and I couldn’t seem to let go. Everyday after walking home alone, I would run to the mailbox, only to find it gathering dust and cobwebs. I would find myself drawn to the rows of jasmine, taking long strolls through the fields. Somehow, I always ended up in the clearing Minjun and I used to play in. While daydreaming I would gaze into the blue sky, just to be stabbed in the heart as I found a dragon shaped cloud. His favorite.

But one day in particular, I told myself to forget about him. Minjun was gone, and I wasn’t about to let him ruin my special day. Appa was going to come home early and bring me rice cake and give me a special gift, all to celebrate my tenth birthday!

As soon as I woke up, a bright smile erupted on my face. I leapt out of bed, putting on my favorite dress and lucky shoes. Nothing could ruin this day.

I practically skipped to school. Everything my teacher said went into one ear and out the other, but that wasn’t my concern. Before long, I was out of school and rushing back home, yearning to be with Appa.

I burst through the door, half expecting Appa to jump out from behind the coach and strangle me in a big bear hug. Instead, the house was eerily silent. I cupped my hands around my lips, calling into the house. My voice echoed. No response.

Someone called my name from behind. I swung around in the doorframe, greeted by a stout, elderly man. The mayor of Boseong. I bowed and greeted him. He waved this off, as though I didn’t need to be so formal.

“우리 아빠가 어디 있는지 아세요? (Do you know where my appa is?)” I ask, hoping he would deliver some amazing news. Suddenly his eyes drooped down to the floor as he kicked the dirt. His silver beard blew in the wind, the only sound in the suffocating silence. A wave of nervousness overtook my body, but I tried to appear as cool as possible. Easier said than done.

He noticed that I was tensing up, so he spilled the news quickly. And I never thought life could be so ruthless.

“그는 자고 있어요 (He is sleeping),” he choked, voice barely above a whisper.

Appa sleeping? I ponder. But he’s not even home. And it’s the middle of the day.

“나리…그는 천국에서 쉬고 있어요 (Nari…he is resting in Heaven),” he clarified, his words tripping over the sorrow lodged in his throat.

No, I gulp, eyes widening like a goldfish, this can’t be happening. Heaven is only for the… I didn’t have the heart to finish the thought.

“죄송합니다 (I’m so sorry),” he sighed, though he had nothing to apologize for.

Surprisingly, my eyes were dry and I was perfectly calm, at least on the outside. The hole within me grew into a void. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I guess loss just became a regular part of my world, and I had to deal with all of it. Words couldn’t escape my mouth, although there were thousands of things I wanted to say. I bowed, low and appreciative, and found him bowing back as I straightened. Worst. Birthday. Ever.

I didn’t cry a single time the following year. I pretended everything was normal, that having no parents was normal, that living with the mayor was normal, that having no friends was normal. Really, nothing was normal.

I felt like a robot, every action programmed into my body. I blocked off all feelings, shut out all emotions. I thought, maybe I could forget what happened and start a new life. Maybe I could ignore the fact that the cause of Appa’s death was still unknown. Maybe I could stop myself from wandering back into the jasmine fields, stop myself from aching at the thought of the past memories that swarm my brain every waking second.

I was tired of being alone. I was tired of being teased and pushed around at school. I was tired of being isolated and lonely and miserable.

So I decided it was time to act.

~ ~ ~

Four years had passed since Minjun left. Two years had passed since Appa died. And I found myself sitting in Gimhae International Airport in Busan, two and a half hours from my home. Or, what I thought was my home.

“나리, 화이팅! (Nari, fighting!)” the mayor had said, wishing me the best of luck on my journey. He hugged me, patting my back gently. I thanked him for all his support once again as I boarded the bus that would take me away. Far far away.

Another person asked me if I was alone, and I simply shook my head and gestured to my airport escort. I wasn’t counting, but this had to be at least the tenth person to ask. Being a twelve year old alone in a big airport, traveling without parents, was extremely odd. But that wasn’t what I was worried about.

My white duffel rested on the floor beside my feet. The past few days had felt so rushed, I hadn’t really thought through everything. I basically threw my whole drawer into the bag, though there wasn’t much. Everything was a blur… except for a single moment.

I grabbed a picture frame from my bed stand. Hugging it tightly to my chest, I took a deep breath. Pushing my cheek against the cold edge, I closed my eyes, imagining Appa beside me. Finally I broke away. Our first and only portrait taken, the two of us. I sat on his lap, his smile wide and bright. I was still learning how to smile, so let’s just say it wasn’t the prettiest picture of me. But we looked happy. We were happy.

I broke out of my trance as a flight attendant announced my destination.

“도쿄, 일본 (Tokyo, Japan),” she said. Reality hit hard. Everything was becoming official.

Am I really doing this? What if it doesn’t work? I started to hyperventilate.

Tokyo, Japan. So far, so different.

My whole plan was built off of hope. But hope isn’t a stable base. And I was running out of it fast.

Settled in my seat, I glanced out the window. Lost in thought, I hadn’t realized an hour already passed, and I was up in the clouds, high above the ground. Adrenaline filled my entire body as I silently thanked the mayor for telling me what I was to do when we landed, where I was to go, and how I was going to get there.

I was running. Running as fast as I could towards the only light I could see, faint and dim. Towards the only family I had left.

~ ~ ~

I stared up at the apartment building towering over me. Every window was curtained up as the balconies looked like they were about to come crashing down. Dark and tattered, it seemed like a haunted house, designed to frighten kids like me.

But I was extremely desperate. I usually wouldn’t be able to summon enough courage to fly to a different country, get into a taxi, walk through the sidewalks in the middle of the night, and start trudging up the stairs of an old apartment. Not to mention the fact that it was possible, if not extremely likely, that they would reject me.

My nerves were taking over. It had been a long time since I let myself feel emotions, but I couldn’t hold it in forever. Hauling my bag over my shoulder, I felt its weight pull down on my body. Each step felt heavier and heavier as doubt invaded my mind. It was too late to turn back now.

Finally I reached my destination: floor three, room two. The thought of seeing Minjun again brought conflicting feelings, and they all tugged at different heartstrings. I thought I was going to tear in half by the internal fighting. They seemed to be wrestling and boxing and playing tug-of-war all at the same time. But I didn’t want to show him my anger or sadness, nor my hate or hurt. I just needed to hold it together, knock on that door, and hope that he’ll let me in. Hope had never been so important, nor controlling, in my life before.

In…out. In…out. I told myself, forcing air into my lungs as if I had forgotten how to breathe.

Closing my eyes, I put my hand to the door, raised it a hair, and put it down. Before I knew it, three crisp knocks echoed through the hall, slightly rattling the thin walls. I shrank back, away from the door, away from my destiny.

I waited for too many seconds, mentally counting them as they passed.

1, 2, 3 please come out, 4, 5 why is nobody coming, 6…

The door swung open so quickly a wave of air ruffled my hair. A tall, muscular figure stood in the doorway. For a second I thought it was Mr. Choi, but my brain quickly snapped into realization as our eyes met.

He said something, whisper-yelled it. His Japanese was absolutely flawless, smooth and fluent with the tiniest Korean accent. But I couldn’t just stand there and admire his angry muttering. Dark pigmented bags hung from his eyes and it struck me that it was the middle of the night. I must’ve woken him up.

Did he not recognize me? I panic.

My instinct was to bow as low as I could. Tears were slipping down my face, and I couldn’t stop them. I lingered for way too long. Minjun must have been dumbfounded as his complaining halted and he stared at me in confusion.

“민준 (Minjun),” I barely managed to choke. So much for not showing my overwhelming emotions.

He knew immediately. I wasn’t sure if it was when he saw my face, or when I said his name, but he instantly figured it out. Shock painted his face as he struggled to grasp the situation.

“나리? 왜? 왜? 뭐 했어? (Nari? Why? Why? What did you do?)” he asked with concern, switching to Korean. He stepped out of the threshold, in flowy pajamas and still barefoot. He stood directly in front of me, taking my shoulders in his grip. By now, there was probably a puddle of tears at my shoes.

He waited for my eyes to look up, straight into his. He didn’t say anything, perhaps waiting for an answer to his question. I didn’t bother. If I voiced my story, I would crumple to the ground and never be able to get up. All I could muster was a weak shake of my head as I sniffed, frantically trying to get a hold of my sobbing.

Minjun gasped, his hold lightening a bit.

“그게 네 아빠를 뜻하는 거야...아, 미안해 나리 (That means your appa... Oh, I'm sorry, Nari),” he breathed, bowing apologetically.

He silently picked up my duffel bag, carrying it as though it weighed less than a feather. He patiently waited for me to gather myself up. Each of his movements, familiar and reassuring, helped me calm down. He led me inside and closed the door gently behind him, guiding me to the coach as he whispered words of affirmation.

He gestured for me to stay put and be quiet as he walked towards a closed door. He didn’t bother knocking, instead just opening it and tiptoeing inside. He shut it behind him and the lights flicked on behind the door, barely showing through the cracks of the threshold.

I could hear his parents yawn and complain, obviously telling Minjun to leave them alone. Minjun started talking in Japanese so I wouldn’t be able to decipher his words. I knew he was explaining how I suddenly appeared, and I selfishly hoped he was convincing enough to let me stay. But his parents were not having it.

His appa was disappointed. Well, that’s what I assumed based off of the sighs and muttering I heard. His Eomma was incredibly upset. It seemed that she didn’t want to take in another kid, that she didn’t want me here. Through lots of stomping and yelling, I could tell she wanted me gone.

I didn’t want to listen anymore so I decided to look around. I did the best I could to block out the arguing, to relax and enjoy the safety I had for the time being. I scanned the room, which was astonishingly small. The kitchenette had food and tools scattered about. I smiled for the first time in years when I found traditional Korean Yakgwa cookies. The dining room was cramped as well, three chairs squished into a table meant for two. The coach I was on took up about half the living room, the rest filled by a bookshelf. There were only three other rooms, I assumed Minjun’s bedroom, his parents’ room, and the bathroom. And that was it.

I realized this was probably why they didn’t want me here. They didn’t need another mouth to feed. They didn’t need another chair at the table. They didn’t need to squish another person under the roof. I was overcome by shame, doting myself as an arrogant girl who only took her own obstacles into consideration.

I was about to get up and leave when Minjun burst through the door, a smile beaming from his face. It was refreshing to see someone so happy.

He plopped onto the coach as he enthusiastically started explaining. He said I would be enrolled in the same school as him. I would have to help his eomma with household chores and run errands for her. I would take his room and he would use the coach.

Everything was moving too fast. I don’t remember how many times I thanked him, but it was enough to make him ask me to stop. That night, I stayed on the coach and Minjun remained beside me. He claimed he wanted to make sure I was able to get comfortable or something like that, but we both knew the real reason: We had a lot to discuss about the past couple of years… starting with Minjun’s move.

I learned a lot on that coach. We stayed up all night, catching up on each other’s lives. I forgot how nice it felt to be able to talk to another person about what you’ve been through. We took turns explaining our troubles. I talked my heart out, and Minjun sat through it all. He was the best listener in the world, always making sure you felt heard and understood.

After my turn of listening, a giant load seemed to lift from my shoulders. Anger dissipated into thin air as I started to realize the reason for Minjun’s sudden actions.

His parents had gotten an abrupt job offer from Tokyo, so they decided it was time to start a new chapter in their lives. Keeping it a secret until the day of the move, Minjun had begged to stay until the next day to say goodbye. His parents refused, dragging him off to the airport and overseas. His attempts to write back home failed when he realized he didn’t have stamps. His family was having financial trouble, so every cent counted. Three years passed before he realized he probably wouldn’t ever see me again.

And there I was, sitting on a coach with him in the middle of his living room, all the way in Japan. You would think that it would be awkward between us, that four years apart would tear our friendship to shreds. That a twelve-year-old girl and a thirteen-year-old boy wouldn’t be able to start a conversation and sustain it. Well, I guess it helped that we had grown up together, that he was my best friend, and that we were both there to help each other through these challenging times.

~ ~ ~

And then he was gone.

Again.

How could he have left me twice? I traveled all the way from my hometown to come and live with the only person I thought would actually help me, and he just ditches me? How is this possible? What type of friend is Minjun?

I lived with him for three years. Three. Whole. Years.

And I loved it.

I smile at the thought of our time together. We took the train to and from school everyday, making fun of each other when we fell asleep in our seats. When we got back, I would dust the entire house, tidy the kitchen counter, and make sure Mrs. Choi’s books were all in order. She hated it when they were disorganized.

I would chop vegetables as Minjun brewed soup or cooked rice. Sometimes he came into the kitchen just to annoy me, “accidentally” splashing me with water from the sink. I remember glowering at him, and laughing as he shrank back into the corner, using his hands to cover his head as I practically poured water over him.

After dinner, we would clear the tables and wash the dishes. I stacked them in Minjun’s arms and he lifted them into the cupboard. He was a full ten centimeters taller than me, which gave him yet another reason to tease me.

I made sure Mr. and Mrs. Choi were in bed and ready to go to sleep. I would turn off their light and gently shut the door. Minjun was always waiting at the dinner table with his books and papers sprawled out. The worn surface of the table could barely be seen through the mess. I would sit down in the chair across from him.

Finishing my schoolwork was effortless and quick. But my friend, oh he was quite the contrary. I often moved to sit next to him, sometimes snatching his pencil and filling out the papers myself.

The only thing I had trouble with was learning Japanese. I practically had to forget twelve years worth of Korean and replace it with a whole new language. A counselor helped me at school, but nothing could have surpassed the help Minjun gave me. By lamplight, before going to sleep, he would start conversations specifically in Japanese, making me write out the characters I forgot. I would get so frustrated with him, sometimes storming into my room and going straight to sleep. In the morning, I would always find the table tidy, my books stacked neatly at the edge.

On the weekends we would hunt for the best Korean dessert places, hidden in the corners of Tokyo. Making sure to always bring home extra for his parents, we took detours to stroll through parks, away from the busy streets.

I was finally adjusting,

But then he left. His parents said they sent him away to boarding school, just for a couple of years. But he was sixteen and in the middle of high school, so it felt a little off. And everything was so abrupt: one day he was here, the next he was gone. We were even doing quite well at the time. Money didn’t seem to be a struggle anymore. We were able to buy gifts for each other without counting the amount of yen left in our jar. Heated running water was no longer scarce as we finally received the luxury of an air conditioning unit.

Everything just didn’t feel right, but I went with it. I accepted the fact that he was gone once again, and that I had to suck it up. I convinced myself to stay, to keep up my good grades and continue my regular schedule. I remained to care for his parents as their ages escalated and their patience dwindled.

I would never be their child, Minjun would forever be their one and only jewel. But they did care for me, I will say. They were proud when I presented my report cards. They enjoyed the conversations we shared over the dinner table. They helped me mourn on the most dreadful day of the year: my birthday.

I imagined Appa beside me all the time in Japan. He would always encourage me when I struggled, picking me up when I crashed. I would cry at the thought of his proud smile, laugh at the memory of his big strong bear hugs. And I knew he was looking upon me from above, his spirit marveling at how far I’ve come.

I was stronger than most teens, mostly internally. But something pushed me, shoved me, over the edge in the eighth year after Appa’s death. The day I turned eighteen.

I woke up feeling nauseated. Unable to get out of bed, I decided it was probably better to rest for the day, especially because it was a weekend. Minjun’s parents had left the day before on a short trip to Beijing. I convinced them to take the vacation, that they needed some time to relax together.

I’ve never felt so alone before. My mind twisted with storming thoughts.

I don’t belong here. I’m only causing them more trouble now. Minjun is gone and I don’t want to see that traitor's face ever again. Tokyo wasn’t the right place for me to go, I shouldn’t have ever decided to come. What was I thinking?? I should have just stayed where I knew I would survive. At least I would’ve been safe instead of hurting all over again.

At that moment, I knew I needed leave. I wasn’t where I should be, where I needed to be. Boseong was a safe haven where I could stay immune from loss and pain. Tokyo left me vulnerable. My life rested in the hands of a thousand factors I barely knew about. At least in my rural hometown I could control my own fate. Nobody made my decisions for me, nobody could intervene with my plans. I would be in charge and there would be zero surprises.With that realization my stomach ache ceased and headache vanished.

I would leave that night. I convinced myself that I had enough money to pay for the plane ticket and a seat on a bus. Gathering my things, I squished them into the white duffel bag I used six years ago.

Wow, it’s been so long. How did I not realize my mistake earlier?

The day passed quickly. By the time I tidied my room and made myself a snack, the sun was on its way towards the horizon. Sitting on the coach, I savored the feeling of the worn pillows, staring at the bookcase. The books neat and in alphabetical order, I remembered Mrs. Choi.

How would she react to see that I’m gone? How will she know?

That’s how I ended up grabbing a piece of my homework and scribbling on the backside with my favorite pen, opting for Korean instead of Japanese. And as I read it now, tears fall gently from my eyes. I remind myself that it’s for the good of Mr. and Mrs. Choi. That it’s for the good of Minjun.

친애하는 최씨, 최씨, 그리고 민준씨,

여러분의 모든 지원에 진심으로 감사드립니다.

당신이 없었다면 나는 그것을 만들지 못했을 것입니다.

용서해주세요.

키스와 포옹,

한나리 ♡

Dear Mr. Choi, Mrs. Choi, and Minjun,

Thank you so much for all of your support.

I wouldn’t have made it without you.

Please forgive me.

xoxo,

Nari Han ♡

I glance at the clock, surprised to see that it is already 6:30. Time to leave.

Hurriedly picking up my duffel, I scramble to place the note where it would be seen: right on the dinner table, between the three seats. I sniffle as I glance at the empty spot beside one of the chairs: the place mine used to be. When cleaning up, I put it away, back in the closet of my bedroom. Or what used to be my bedroom.

Turning away, I swear never to turn back. I’m not going to change my mind anymore. This is it. Taking a deep breath, I reach for the door handle. I swear I can feel my hand shaking, but I try to ignore it as I check off my mental to-do-list.

I have my duffel. I wrote my note. I turned the AC off and made sure the sinks weren’t running. I said goodbye.

I hear the familiar squeak of the doorknob, proud of myself for deciding to finally move on. But when I look at my hand, I see it resting in the air, a centimeter from the cool metal handle.

How is it moving? OH NO SOMEONE HAS THE KEYS. Someone is breaking into the complex! What do I do, what do I do, what do I do?!?!?

As I’m panicking, the door creaks open. Shock fills my body, freezing it so that I can’t move anymore. Running is no longer an option. But how did they get the door open so quickly? Sometimes it even took me a couple of tries to get the wretched door to budge.

I’m ready for anything, whether I have to throw a pot or swing my bag to save myself. The door swings open wide, revealing the intruder.

A sudden cheery outbreak leaves my brain in jumbles.

“생일 축하해 나리! (Happy birthday Nari!)” a deep voice shouts, a grand smile blooming on their face. I’m taken aback as I realize they are speaking Korean, not Japanese. With a suitcase behind him, the thief/not-so thief opens his arms and gives a fun jazz-hands gesture.

Honestly, I would have felt embarrassed for them if it were any other person. But this isn’t just any person. He knows it is my birthday, he knows how to open the stubborn door.

Minjun came back.

He looks so grown and…different. His arms have grown more muscular, his shoulders broader and build bulkier. But he still has his baby face, his big soft eyes and warm smile. I know nothing about him has changed, just from the way his dimples indent his cheeks like they used to.

Tears overfill my eyes as my hands fly to my face, covering my mouth as I try to arrange my thoughts. My bag hits the ground with a “thump” loud enough to shake the building. I told myself I wouldn’t look back, that I would keep going no matter what. But this changes everything.

I can tell Minjun is startled by my reaction, but moisture forms in his eyes within seconds. I want to say so many things, but nothing is able to pass my tongue. Number one: I want him to know how mad I am. Number two: I want him to know how happy I am. Number 3: I want him to know well…how mad I am. Again. But all I can manage is a meek question, basically summarizing my whole train of thought.

“당신은 왜 여기에 있습니까? (Why are you here?)” I choke, anxious to hear a reasonable answer. You know, maybe an answer that somehow fixes all my problems will come up. That would be great.

This is the first time I’ve seen Minjun cry. And it is really touching.

His eyes puff up, red and swollen, almost immediately. His words fumble as he struggles to get his thoughts in order. But I get the story. And, boy, it is most definitely not the excuse that will fix all my problems.

Through stutters and pauses, he finally finishes. Running it over in my head, I try to make sense of it all. First, Minjun was sent away against his will. That checks out, especially since his parents wouldn’t be satisfied with a career any lower than a lawyer. Second, Minjun dropped out early because he hated it. That also checks out, since I know (from personal struggles) that he cannot sit still in a chair and focus for more than thirty minutes. But the third thing, well that’s what doesn’t check out. Minjun would never disobey his parents, he’s just not the soul to do it. But when he tells me he’s going to reject his scholarship to medical school, I can’t help but do a double take. But I can create a reason for his rash behavior, a question spills from his mouth and lingers in the air.

“어디 가세요? (Where are you going?)” he asks, gesturing to my bag on the floor as he wipes his tears with the back of his hand. A dark sheen covered his once bright eyes. I can feel my own grow wide as I feel my body stiffens.

What do I tell him? What should I tell him?!?

The silence drags on, a fog suffocating the two of us. Awkward, he asks again. He tilts his head slightly, an old habit of his for when he was waiting for an answer.

I need to decide whether I am still leaving or staying. Now. I’m prepared to fight myself internally, but my mind snaps to a decision in a second. I remember the pain and the heartbreak. I remember the loneliness and regret. A voice echoes in my mind, and I’m surprised to find it’s not mine.

It’s Appa’s. And you know what he is saying?

I’m proud of you Nari. Tokyo may not be the right place for you. And that’s okay. Make a decision that will leave you perfectly happy. Don’t worry about these other people. Don’t worry about me. Make this choice for you.

That pushes me over the edge. I’m ready to go.

“민준아 나 갈게 (Minjun, I’m leaving),” I say, finalizing my decision. It’s carved into stone now, and I’m not going to change my mind. This is it.

I pick up my bag with a heavy heart. At least I could say goodbye one last time. Pushing the door open, which had stayed ajar the entire time, I breathe deeply. Closing my eyes, my foot steps forward, leaving behind the place I felt I really belonged.

But everything happens so fast. Minjun’s hand grasps onto mine, pulling me into his embrace. I’m back in the apartment room. My bag is back on the ground. And I’m back where I belong.

He squeezes me tight, as if to ensure that I won’t run. My ear presses against his chest, listening to the thumping of his heart. His burly hand tangles in my hair. I soak up the feel of his arms enfolding me, sturdy yet still gentle. I rest my head in the crook of his neck and broad shoulder, his breath warming my cheek. My arms instinctively wrap around him, my hands patting his back steadily. For the first time in ten years, I feel truly safe. I feel truly happy.

This is where I belong. I belong in his arms. I belong here.

“절대 놓지 말아주세요 (Please, never let go),” I plead into his shirt, squeezing my eyes shut as I wait for a response. “제발 (Please).”

He whispers back without any hesitation, his voice soft but set, “절대 (Never).”

I know I’ve made the right decision as I relax in his arms, his warmth enveloping me.

“약속해요 (I promise),” he assures. And I know he means it. Minjun never breaks promises.