Something About Her

My encounter with her was not a coincidence, as is the case with people on the street or at school. You may call it fate, for meeting and watching over her is a direct command addressed to me by my boss with whom I have served for many years. I’m his favorite personnel, never argue, always do whatever he tells me to do.

I had no experience dealing with women and therefore this woman moved me to these wonderful new experiences inside my soul even though I only watched her pulling back her hair or stepping into high heels. She hardly did amazing things – but I enjoyed seeing her talk of trivial things, eat ice cream, and, especially, play music. One time I was deeply moved by the thrilling melody she played with her cello.

And when she made a mistake, however unrelated to me, I had got mad inside that I couldn’t accept her behavior so that I – who was usually calm and emotionless (even this thing had never approached me) – yelled at her and caused her leave in anger. My boss didn’t order me to yell; just do reporting to him. Which I deliberately didn’t do, because … because is there something in my heart? Because this time my emotions played a role, because for the first time I felt sure I had a mind of my own, which I had resolved myself.

Is this even true? I was acting awkward in confronting this reality, it was awfully unusual, it made me unable to sleep although many times I turned off the lights on the side of my bed and turned it on again because who knows it could wake me up from this madness.

Although we never met again afterwards and I was sure I was feeling fine, there was this strange drive spread through my fingers while pressing her phone number for unexplained purposes, and I forced myself to understand as she never picked them up.

My boss asked, “why are you doing this?” and I wasn’t sure how to explain. I reluctantly murmured things about conscience’s calling. He kept urging, distrusting. I didn’t have an idea yet that my boss had probably believed that I was secretly in love with her, which for him, was the reason for my defiance of duty. Not because I was a rebel. Not out of conscience. But because of her alone.

Something about her.

And so he had punished me real hard: injuring me to the last breath, wounding my body, even burying me alive.

I gradually realized that my disloyalty and dishonesty to his order is only a small matter; jealousy is the ultimate motive.

“Why do you punish me this way when I have been faithful to you for years?” I demanded, keeping my might to stay alive, crying my heart out.

“Do you really want her this much?” my boss asked in disbelief. It must had been quite shocking that his faithful dog apparently had a desire – that I broke through many hardest boundaries to earn it.

We were both silent. I ended his life. His men followed to do the same thing to me. I fell to the floor and could barely bear the remnants of my breath as my fingers, slowly – perhaps reflexively – dialed her number on my phone, out of the blue.

She replied on the other end. Her voice sounded delicate and weak. Finally, I thought, I really want to talk to you, I want us together to unravel any riddles of the world. Unable to speak, I heard somewhere the shuddering music she had used to play. The leaves were falling by the wind. Her smile to me behind the glass wall. My eyes blurred, remembering how I finally managed to smile when I first seeing her playing the music. I watched the leaves up there, and smiled again as my breath stopped.

——
Based on the movie A Bittersweet Life (2005), a Korean thought-provoking movie that has changed my life. I write this short story as my interpretation in regards of the movie, because it’s difficult to express my verdict about it perfectly – so much feels, so much lessons about life, so much pain it left you after seeing the ending credits. A very brilliant movie, I must say, very well-made, very astounding actors and actress; I haven’t seen any quite like this before.

After A Long Day

If I could finish a line or two on this writing tonight, which I started on the verge of tiredness and at the end of the day, I would be surprised to acknowledge how strong I really am.

One doesn’t need to endure the impact of concrete bumps, severe blows to the body, or salty drops of blood to understand the meaning of pain, injury and fatigue. The fact is that the simplest things like uncertainties and/or misfortunes of the fate of loved ones can be totally devastating to every heart. The absence of companion to share the day slowly wipes out any hopes. Losing the cause of laughter obviously makes loneliness such a loyal ally wherever you are.

Heck, this writing would not even exist if I was happy and felt the fulfillment of all desires. Being happy just doesn’t let my mind roams around and write about deep, appealing things – probably because my heart is bloomed with intense positive thoughts that creating smiles on my face while I’m listening to my favorite old tunes.

I mean I’m happy. The life that I’m living may only be a fantasy for many people. Then why do I seem to haven’t found something yet? Am I asking too much? Is it too high for me to reach?

Above all gratitude and peace in my life, I nevertheless still feel empty somewhere … though that doesn’t mean I would want to quit, cry and curse – I will be strong to earn it, even though I have to uncover the curtains of ashes and wash the dirt away.

If for them I project the image of a woman without blemish, or whether I am so sinful, they still don’t understand who I really am, and instead of trying to be they choose to stomp on the false impressions they want to keep: to make them feel better over their insecurities, I guess.

Depending on the others is not recommended by any paradigms but many people helplessly do that. They should have known that if someone makes himself his own hero to depend on then there should be so much destruction and loss to be prevented.

The Agonizing Chapter

I wake up to another bright morning. Despite having sank deep into the night and was lulled by sweet dreams, it was another figure that my brain brought back again. The figure I try to keep in a corner of the heart. Not because I want to forget – but continuing to live life along with it will obscure not only my upcoming plans but also blur my eyes.

Her departure was so abrupt. As usual she drove alone to work, even though I had reminded her to rest at home. She said her head was dizzy, but she really had to finish some important tasks. After having breakfast together and kissing the back of my hand she turned on her car. It’s only been two weeks since we occupied this house and she still had to remember the route to her workplace, and because sometimes some routes were unilaterally closed she had to rotate.

As usual I didn’t always contact her if not necessary. Perhaps, occasionally, I will remind her to eat and pray. She was more concerned about me. Always asking about my days, worrying about my health condition, always smiling to see my dreary or sullen presence now and then, and hardly ever complaining about the not romantic me. She’s always been like that even before we’re married. Although we weren’t always intensely corresponding but she always kept me in touch, wrote me almost anything. Her phone hardly ever left her except when she was with me. I don’t really see why she’s that attached to it when we’re apart whilst she can put it away while we’re together, on any activities, even though sometimes I had to command first.

She likes me very much, I mean even though I reprimanded her I still see a glimpse of sincere smile of her when obeying me. She hardly ever said no to me except for things related to ghost movies or kittens – two things I can’t bear. She would be very panicked to know my illness relapsed. Once she had left her office to pick me up, and I did not feel that bad.

Well, I love her, and that was one of the reasons when I married her two months ago. I do love her though I don’t always say it. Part of the sense of happiness she felt was that the three years dating with me had to end happily. How she had been faithfully longing for us. To marry the right man. How she had always wanted it to be since so young, about which she sometimes babbled to me in our spare moments together, which I didn’t always notice for its low urgency.

The happiness was all around: I was happy to be so grateful for marrying her. The main cause is because I really feel the perfections of living the life and I had became a much better person. I’m so relieved to be with the one who doesn’t complain and nag. The person who purely accepts me. And this kind of relationship is not easy to achieve – there are a million lessons and wounds to be taken first.

The clouds are constantly gray when my mind wanders into those times. If only I knew the happiness and the peace of life would be so alluring, I should have married her from the beginning we were together, three years ago. I should have been able to live this holy and graceful togetherness for many years to come. It’s not supposed to be here for just two months. Two months of magical chapters and bitter briefness.

The sun was nearly set and the usual traffic was so complicated when her tiny car was hit by a container truck with brake failures at an intersection. She certainly didn’t feel pain because God chose to hold her straight up, and mostly because I was the one who completely felt so much pain … mingled with countless regrets and eternal hurt, which I suppose I will bear until the end of my life.