"We were never close."
We were classmates in middle school. I sat next to you. At times, when we were too engrossed copying what the teacher was writing on the board, our heads alternating between looking up at the board and inches away from our books, our elbows would brush.
Sometimes you would give me a distracted “sorry” without even looking up from your book, too busy trying to catch up with the words which continuously appeared on the board. Other times, you would steal a second and look at me, all embarrassed smiles, and apologize. And I would blush.
Maybe, during times like these, it would be better if you didn’t look up. I couldn’t decide.
Then, in the subsequent years of middle school, you transferred to another class.
I longed to see you in the corridors, or in your homeroom while I walk by your class, in the cafeteria, with your friends in the soccer field…
Then high school came along. I anxiously checked the name list - beside our names were the classes we were allocated. I searched for your name before my own, praying so hard the numbers and alphabets next to mine would be the same as yours. No such luck.
As I made my way out of the crowd which had gathered before the board, I spotted you. Cue platonic, oh-its-such-a-surprise-to-see-you-again, smile.
“Hey! You’re in 3A2.” I say.
You seem to barely register the fact that save for the rare “hi”s exchanged along corridors, we have not spoken in the last 2 years. “Oh, really? Thanks!”
“Yup.”
Still, it is as though my word is insufficient. I watch as you squeeze into the crowd to double-check, drawn to the absent-minded smile on your lips which was intended for me but never directed my way.
And I’m in 3A3, I say to myself.
6 months of searching for you in the crowd, scanning the cafeteria each day in hopes of seeing your brilliant smile, trailing behind my friends when we walked past your class, watching you from behind as you walk. Away.
One day, the school organizes a field trip to the Han River. Our classes were assigned to go together on the same boat.
It’s late into the summer night and excited chatter surrounds us. I find myself drifting towards you. But as always, your back is facing me, and you are engaged in a deep conversation with your friend.
“I heard Kibum from the class next door did really well and some gallery is interested in displaying his work.” My ears prick as I hear my name, and my heart beats in anticipation as your eyebrows raise in interest. “Say, weren’t you guys classmates in middle school? Someone told me you guys used to sit next to each other.”
Please, please, please, I find myself mumbling softly under my breath. I have no idea what I am hoping for. Just some recognition or acknowledgement of my presence? A memory of all those years? Something?
“Kibum? Oh. Right.”
Please, I beg silently.
“We were never close.”
Against the strains of Arirang, I blink hard as the light show from the bridge ahead blurs, my mind willing the tears to go away as a door slams shut against my heart.
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another emo one. i credit the awesome Han river and newly found korean friends for inspiration. loving korea thus far! wish there were more moments of inspiration, instead of frivolous fangirl squealing on the streets of seoul though.
once again, totally a spur of the moment thing in my new hostel, hoping my laptop doesn't die on me, so its really raw.
Sometimes you would give me a distracted “sorry” without even looking up from your book, too busy trying to catch up with the words which continuously appeared on the board. Other times, you would steal a second and look at me, all embarrassed smiles, and apologize. And I would blush.
Maybe, during times like these, it would be better if you didn’t look up. I couldn’t decide.
Then, in the subsequent years of middle school, you transferred to another class.
I longed to see you in the corridors, or in your homeroom while I walk by your class, in the cafeteria, with your friends in the soccer field…
Then high school came along. I anxiously checked the name list - beside our names were the classes we were allocated. I searched for your name before my own, praying so hard the numbers and alphabets next to mine would be the same as yours. No such luck.
As I made my way out of the crowd which had gathered before the board, I spotted you. Cue platonic, oh-its-such-a-surprise-to-see-you-again, smile.
“Hey! You’re in 3A2.” I say.
You seem to barely register the fact that save for the rare “hi”s exchanged along corridors, we have not spoken in the last 2 years. “Oh, really? Thanks!”
“Yup.”
Still, it is as though my word is insufficient. I watch as you squeeze into the crowd to double-check, drawn to the absent-minded smile on your lips which was intended for me but never directed my way.
And I’m in 3A3, I say to myself.
6 months of searching for you in the crowd, scanning the cafeteria each day in hopes of seeing your brilliant smile, trailing behind my friends when we walked past your class, watching you from behind as you walk. Away.
One day, the school organizes a field trip to the Han River. Our classes were assigned to go together on the same boat.
It’s late into the summer night and excited chatter surrounds us. I find myself drifting towards you. But as always, your back is facing me, and you are engaged in a deep conversation with your friend.
“I heard Kibum from the class next door did really well and some gallery is interested in displaying his work.” My ears prick as I hear my name, and my heart beats in anticipation as your eyebrows raise in interest. “Say, weren’t you guys classmates in middle school? Someone told me you guys used to sit next to each other.”
Please, please, please, I find myself mumbling softly under my breath. I have no idea what I am hoping for. Just some recognition or acknowledgement of my presence? A memory of all those years? Something?
“Kibum? Oh. Right.”
Please, I beg silently.
“We were never close.”
Against the strains of Arirang, I blink hard as the light show from the bridge ahead blurs, my mind willing the tears to go away as a door slams shut against my heart.
web counter
-
another emo one. i credit the awesome Han river and newly found korean friends for inspiration. loving korea thus far! wish there were more moments of inspiration, instead of frivolous fangirl squealing on the streets of seoul though.
once again, totally a spur of the moment thing in my new hostel, hoping my laptop doesn't die on me, so its really raw.