Kaleidoscope
t h i r t e e n
I am tired Joon Myeon. So, so, so tired.
I am tired of this, of having to be strong, of holding on. I am tired of pretending that I’m okay, of playing nice. When I go walk into our house, exhausted after a nine hour long shift, I collapse on our bed and my eyes sting but I can never quite cry.
It’s tiring being alone, you know. It’s tiring to just exist.
Every morning, I’m awoken by the sound of Lee Myeon’s feet on the floor, running around like the little monkey that he’s become. Every morning I get up, I get Lee Myeon ready for day care, go to work, come back home and lie in our bed feeling so much of everything that I don’t know where I end and begin anymore. That was when Wu Fan called his American therapist and asked that she take a look at me. That’s how I got here, Joon Myeon, writing these letters to you; knowing that you’ll never get to read them once I’m done.
I am tired and I miss you and I just. I don’t know.
Would it be terrible of me to want to give up? Would it be horrible of me to want to just let go?
Tae Young comes over every now and then. He brings food sometimes, and takes Lee Myeon on little trips to the park, the mall, the city. He tries to get me to move on too. “It’s been too long,” he told me last time. “It’s been four years, Iseul. It’s time you looked forward instead of back, now.” I just shook my head and left the room.
And here I am now, my sweet. I am on our bed, my eyes stinging and hands trembling and still, I cannot stop writing. This diary has become so much a part of my every day life that as the day to give it back draws nearer, I find myself missing it. This is my connection to you, Joon Myeon, no matter how constructed. It is the only way I can talk, feel, breathe comfortably any more.
I go to work, come back and reach for this book to write down exactly what I would tell you if you were still here.
If you were still here...
No. I can’t. I don’t want to.
Come back. I miss you.
Please.
I am tired of this, of having to be strong, of holding on. I am tired of pretending that I’m okay, of playing nice. When I go walk into our house, exhausted after a nine hour long shift, I collapse on our bed and my eyes sting but I can never quite cry.
It’s tiring being alone, you know. It’s tiring to just exist.
Every morning, I’m awoken by the sound of Lee Myeon’s feet on the floor, running around like the little monkey that he’s become. Every morning I get up, I get Lee Myeon ready for day care, go to work, come back home and lie in our bed feeling so much of everything that I don’t know where I end and begin anymore. That was when Wu Fan called his American therapist and asked that she take a look at me. That’s how I got here, Joon Myeon, writing these letters to you; knowing that you’ll never get to read them once I’m done.
I am tired and I miss you and I just. I don’t know.
Would it be terrible of me to want to give up? Would it be horrible of me to want to just let go?
Tae Young comes over every now and then. He brings food sometimes, and takes Lee Myeon on little trips to the park, the mall, the city. He tries to get me to move on too. “It’s been too long,” he told me last time. “It’s been four years, Iseul. It’s time you looked forward instead of back, now.” I just shook my head and left the room.
And here I am now, my sweet. I am on our bed, my eyes stinging and hands trembling and still, I cannot stop writing. This diary has become so much a part of my every day life that as the day to give it back draws nearer, I find myself missing it. This is my connection to you, Joon Myeon, no matter how constructed. It is the only way I can talk, feel, breathe comfortably any more.
I go to work, come back and reach for this book to write down exactly what I would tell you if you were still here.
If you were still here...
No. I can’t. I don’t want to.
Come back. I miss you.
Please.