aleesake

[aleesake]

humans have an inherent need for stars. so much so, we even have a tendency of creating our own. ones to last us a lifetime. these man-made stars are held close to the chest. they twinkle, and they flicker and they’re resolute. it tickles, it burns. you can’t help but to look down, smile and clamp down tighter with charred palms. reminds me; a whole lot has to burn in order for sparks to rise high. jeongguk, for one, would reach soaring heights

up from here, sat beside the window, seoul’s skyline appears to be in reach. with the stretch of a hand, he starts tracing it. classmates turn pages and stick gum to the underbellies of desks. jeongguk doesn’t feel any need for that, instead, he feels out of place. if you'd ask jeongguk, he'd word it differently, with much reserve. a faithfully humble boy. one truth remains, though; he’s a star, jeongguk knows without knowing—a gut feeling, if you will. and who’s to deny that stars aren’t meant stashed away in dreary classrooms? remarkable, humble boys with bowl cuts are destined to be on big stages... in the meantime, this star lies dormant.

stardust—he's got heaps of it mushed inside of him. although the compound includes 'dust,' don't be deceived, it rests quite densely inside of jeongguk. it is heavy. think of it as all the sand from earth's seabeds compacted inside a teenage boys body. each grain laden with a duty to be carried out. granted, lullabies sung to anyone inclined to listen are as much as it takes to alleviate some pressure. in these small rooms sporting thin, faded-blue walls and student frowns, bearing the weight especially overwhelms him. he slumps forward on his desk, butt poking out the big gap the backs of chairs have, designated for seat-slumpers, and his head lolls to the left. a palm comes up to catch it. sadly, stardust is not discernible by the human eye. if it were, you could see it spilling out of his ear right now, as it rests on his hand.

it starts at the back of the classroom, the rainfall. pitter-patter on the roof, sliding down the ridges, trickling down the eaves. and before you know it, the entire building is doused in clear, wet film. like today, his favorite days are rainy ones. particularly the ones with stirry winds that shake the entire school from the ground up, its framework buckling at the knees. once the tearful groaning of windows reached his teachers' oh-so-gracious ears 'school's out, you're dismissed early today,' they would even say on occasion.

as a kid, jeongguk would get all panicky, convinced the sounds arose from an angry dragon, trampling on the city center like it's very own playground. it was only in the wake of adulthood he realised these rainy days come with a promise. the world slows, there's time, an abundance of it. a moment passes, then another, and another. he revels in it and allows for a deep breath. the two take a vow: please come more often the boy begs. become a star tinkle the droplets on glass.

the sky would often grant jeongguk rainy days.

[aleesake]

“ah, seriously…” if a national poll surfaced, tallying votes on the removal of a season, jeongguk’s choice would be no mystery. his big leather combat boots beat the ice beneath it to a pulp with a steady crunching, waging war against the pillowy texture. it’s almost rhythmical until unavoidably, he skips a beat. immediately, it becomes apparent why. “my hands,” he fusses. how cold it must’ve been to see that even the tips of his fingers have turned red. nevertheless, with a pink nose and an ever-so confident stride, jeongguk plows ahead through seoul's mean february climate.

on this early morning, the boy's on a mission, a record-store-going one. he's never been, and as a singer, he presumes, it's his duty to educate himself on every musical medium out there—even on unrelenting days like these! a boy who truly dedicates himself to his craft. while on this excursion, to his right he notices how han-river seems to be frozen over. nervous of the same fate awaiting him, his hands clasp together almost instinctively, seeking refuge and warmth at his mouth. he huffs and puffs, emitting a steady stream of smoke the same way a chimney would.

the streets are rather quiet today, not counting the elderly couple intertwining arms and rushing home as to save their carelessly packaged groceries from being ruined. they’ve both got hoods on, so jeongguk’s just barely able to catch how the sun casts shadows on their unhappy faces. endlessly beating themselves up for even venturing out of their warm abodes in the first place. it makes his mind wander. was he the only one daring enough to endure the weather? or rather, the only one brainless enough? he feels silly. it's probably the latter.

before he gets a chance to dwell, he sees it. the bulky, vertical aluminium sign, just a few dozen steps down the street, ready to save him from shivering to pieces. "…record town," he mouths from afar, and a small zap of pride zings in his chest at that. sketchy english-learning apps that light up jeongguk’s face for hours and hours on end proving to be worthwhile.

as he nears, more english is written on an acryl sign. it’s posted on the door now, level with his chin. he starts deciphering. this time ‘round, it’s difficult. eyes squint, not that it makes any difference, and “c, cl, cr,” he clatters. the letters are all fuzzy in his brain. a sigh leaves his lips and the fog it produces sticks to the clammy placard. inching closer, jeongguk runs a frostbitten hand over the silver letters etched across the glass door. now, the letters are clear as day.

“cr..osed,” he finally finds out

... “shibal! "

#17

[aleesake]

each time i find myself arguing with him, i'm reminded of mom. she's never shy of telling me how stupid she believes guys to be. in unison, he and i lift our feet, and when the sun hits our shins and it's rays penetrate pores, i allow mom’s preaching to be heard through me. “you boys don’t know anything, do you?”

“i guess i dont,” with my mouth forming an 'o' shape and brows that draw together, i shoot him a cynical glance. i don't really mean to. it's just that i didn't like that answer at all. before long he laughs, blaring blatantly the same way someone would when they're tickled at their armpits. my eyes open wide. the sound he makes is tall and heavy. all brain activity falters, because i can't seem to grasp how a boisterous noise like that comes from the sweetest, softest face in the world. a big sunbeam wells in my heart. i can feel my heart squeezing, trying it's hardest not to burst. to top it all off, he’s teasing me, right? what a prick! still, 'don't get angry at him', the sunbeam murmurs. once he's finished laughing for all the birds and bugs who've gathered around us to hear, a hand flies up to rest on his belly. pant, pant, pant, he goes. trying to calm down. "your face," he half-chuckles, a remnant of the amusement from a few seconds ago. apparently, i was so funny that it's taking him a while to recover. i'm puzzled, "what's with my face?" at that, his brown eyes turn into crescent moons again, and i too am infected with his laughing-sickness.

through a fit of giggles he starts up again. "when you're angry," my eyes try to follow when he points a finger right above my lids. "your eyebrows start wriggling like a caterpillar!"

#17