Song Sori murdered me then left the body behind. The following is the story that led up to it.
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I had zero friends and Song Sori had many. Sori sat on the corner of the classroom, by the window, and that became a sort of 'hub' for students to come together and chat with. Throughout the first semester, I sat next to her, but never was I invited to that Hub. I'd stare at them with eyes mixed with feelings of frustration and envy. I never met eyes with any of them either.
Even I could tell that Song Sori seemed to possess this ability to attract people, like gravity. It didn't look like she was even trying. Her nature simply found herself in that situation.
This one time, two students were fighting, one claiming the other had stolen their pen. The one with the pen made some flimsy excuse that it was a gift from his grandmother. Everyone else in the class ignored or watched. As the voices grew louder, and it became harder to ignore, Song Sori naturally stepped up and interrupted them. She listened to both equally, and calmly explained the other’s side to the other, as they failed to see each other’s perspectives. She came to the conclusion it was simply a coincidence. (Or maybe she thought that was the easiest way to end the conflict.) The situation soon resolved. The scene concluded so naturally that it felt like listening to a well composed piece of music. As you can see, there was merit to being friends with Song Sori, so everyone attached themselves to her. And Sori accepted that as it is.
I would lie on my desk and daydream alone. I wasn’t particularly interested in Song Sori’s existence, but sometimes I would fantasize - ‘what if I was in the same boat as her?’. I would always come to the conclusion that I would surely go mad. Even if my mental state and sanity itself had transformed. I think Sori herself was worn out from it too. But the fact that she maintained the status quo despite the hardship; I was curious with that element about her. Whether she had lots of friends, or that she spoke well, or that she was pretty didn’t really matter to me. I only had but one question. How come this hasn’t driven her mad yet?
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From when I was young, I did not know self-control. I had a tendency to obsess over one particular emotion. My anger would not quelch unless I beat someone up, and laughing all day at a joke would barely satisfy me. I’d especially cry a lot, even when I wasn’t a baby anymore. It wasn’t easy to stop once the tears had started to fall down. Adults sometimes went, ‘well she’s just a sensitive kid,’ but as I grew older, it became more rapid and unpredictable. Enrolling in middle school, I figured that I was suffering from some kind of terrible illness. I didn’t get diagnosed with depression until university.
Depression isn’t simply a temporary condition, but a constantly striking and perpetuating ‘state of mind.’ You can’t just shake it off. Furthermore, this ‘state of mind’ influences even one’s worldview; their thought process. Every action and each observation are presented through this filter. You can’t laugh at what’s funny, you hate what is lovely - and, most important of all, you shed tears at things you shouldn’t cry for.
Depression is deadly because it is attractive. Depression threatens one’s thoughts. Depression is envious of happiness itself, thus it forms this toxic relationship with humans. And at the end of it all, it whispers, “it’s okay. You were always like this.” Such a nonsensical lie. But I trusted it. This disease clouded my world.
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Now, I shall tell you of the time when I first cried in class.
It was during a Monday math class. Since Friday I had been spending my life in bed, except for when I went to school. It’s not like I didn’t wanna wake up. If someone had forced me to, I would’ve done so without complaints. I simply could not see the value in getting up and doing anything at all. Going to a good college is no good for a human garbage like me, so why even do homework. And who would even care about my hobbies? The more I thought, the more I got lost interest in not only dreams but the concept of living itself. So from Friday all through, of course, the weekend, I just slept. I more or less just told my family that I was sick. It wasn’t entirely a lie. So come Monday morning, the walk to school felt even heavier than usual. When I sat down, my body turned into stone, and acted like it didn’t want to go anywhere else. Then came class. I remained still, my body frozen up like a statue. When it was my time to hand in homework, I specifically stated: “I couldn’t do it.” Yes. With my ‘state of mind,’ I could not do it. Maybe some other weekend, but that Saturday and Sunday, it was impossible for me to do anything. My mind was corrupted, my body disabled; as if I had to bandage all of it.
It wouldn’t be graded anyways, so maybe that’s why I didn’t do it. The teacher seemed to have been aware of this, and replied with something funny. ‘Well, it’s that you didn’t do it.” He said this, sighed, then went to the next person. He did not pursue any longer. His words became like spears and striked me, penetrating my eyes. I couldn't blink for awhile. No, it hurt to move any muscles in my body. It seemed like the more I moved, the more it hurt. If it was going to be painful no matter what I tried, what was the point in risking myself? So I sat still. The background was filled with murmurs. It felt like the classroom had turned into a tornado, spinning around me, round and round. I felt trapped inside a fish bowl. I had to face reality. All that was to it was I could not write a letter of apology because of a lack of paper, but others told me it was my fault, that I was too weak-willed. I should’ve known that. I was suddenly reminded of this fact. Frustration with ‘why me,’ anger at ‘your fault,’ and futility towards everything; or perhaps towards myself for not being able to change anything. I was struck with these emotions all at once. Finally, something hot started to fall from my eyes. As soon as I realized this, I ducked and buried my face on my desk, pretending to sleep. But hiding my eyes only made it easier for the tears to come out. So I acted out on the only escapist method available to me at that time. I wrote. Tears would stop when I wrote. They would come back when I read it back. For the rest of the 30 minutes, I repeated these motions. By the time the bell rang, I already wanted to give up on everything. I was tired, like I had been part of a war lifetime in the making. And nobody - not even a single soul - had witnessed my battle.
The reason I call this story 'Summer Heartbreak' is because it is as painful as the joy of a summer break.
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To her, music was everything, and everything was music.
There wasn’t often a time to be alone for Song Sori. She was always surrounded by people - and seemingly deserved to be surrounded by people. Those kids around her - ones called ‘friends’ - seemed more like servants than pets.
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But I sat right next to her, so I could catch glimpses when she occasionally was alone. To repeat myself, I wasn’t really interested in her at the time, but anyone would’ve been curious. What does Sori herself actually like doing? Because it seemed like Sori’s hobby was to talk about other people’s hobbies. So naturally I was curious.
Whenever Song Sori was alone, she would put earphones on and listen to music. Countless times, I saw that scene of her listening to music, her eyes closed. The sunlight coming from the window was shining on her. Then, as if she had another eye somewhere else in her body, as soon as she noticed someone coming over, she would take them off, open her eyes and put on a smile.
I couldn’t think of this then, but when she closed her eyes, that expressionless face of hers - brightened by the warm sunshine - was more genuine and beautiful than her usual smile.
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I was disgusted by ‘being seen.’ I hated any places with eyes on them, not to mention public spaces. I wanted people to leave me alone. I hid myself whenever it felt like I was being watched. I learned how to blend into the background. That’s why I never felt lonely. I can’t make friends anyways, so why should I - that was my self justification. So I stayed away from people. And more than anything else, I couldn’t see myself right. I wanted to hide myself.
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It’s somewhat embarrassing to put it this way - but Song Sori found me first. I’m talking like I was some lost pet, but the fact that she looked at me, kept eyeing me out, and eventually talked to me - that was all unique to Song Sori. No one’s done that to me before.
The first conversation we had eye-to-eye wasn’t all that special. It’s weird for me to say this, but that day, I fell in love, even though I’ve never once - of course, even now - thought anything special had happened. Perhaps it was more nonsensical than anything else.
It was in recess. The classroom was fairly quiet. I was writing an essay. It was closer to an autobiographical format. I was organizing my observations on social phenomena and putting them to writing. This replaced conversations for me. Instead of understanding and recontextualizing information through talking with someone, I instead wrote it into words, all by myself. It was solitary, bitter, and painful. But I did this everyday. It was all I had.
“What’s that you’re writing?”
This is me being honest, but this really was the first time someone had talked to me in weeks. (Someone had found something I lost a while ago. But it’s not like they talked to me for me, so I don’t think this counts.)
Hearing that sound, I first instinctively covered the writings. In panic, I closed my notebook. In the process, my hand had hit the desk. That shock made a big ‘thump’ sound, and it became more of a mess when other papers on the desk started falling down. Song Sori glared. At first, she was taken aback. But after noticing my body shaking, she picked up the papers for me. I snatched them away from her like a thief. Hugging the papers tight, I stared up at Song Sori’s face. Her smile still remained.
“What’s that?” She asked, maintaining her stature.
“What?” I breathed heavily. Just letting out my voice hurt.
“You seem to be very into writing this thing... so I’m curious.”
Sori did this cute motion where she got her two hands together, then twisted and bent the fingers. I lowered my eyebrows. I didn’t blink once, and continued staring at her menacingly.
“Do you have to know that?” I gave not an answer but a question. But I didn’t particularly want an answer back.
“Eeehhh...?” Sori’s mouth went wide. There was worry in her face. “That means you don’t want to talk about it, right?”
I couldn’t say anything. Sori figured out the exact meaning of my words, and even answered with a question, just like me. I wondered if she’d just go away if I kept staring at her like this.
“Then, do you like writing?”
There was a certain warmth to her voice when she said this. Superficially, it would seem like she was just switching the topic, but in reality she had figured out where I wanted this conversation to lead. I couldn’t help but be stuck at this question as well.
That’s when I realized I had been holding on to these papers that fell down earlier, like it was my child. I unfolded them on my desk and started organizing them. As my arms moved, it felt like my mouth could move as well. Song Sori only waited for me.
“I don’t like it, per se...” I said, looking down at my desk.
“Yeah? Speak louder for me.”
“I don’t like it, but - “ I raised my volume. “ - it’s something I have to do.”
“Really? That’s amazing. I can’t write even when I want to. Do you like books?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Anything you’re reading right now?”
“There’s one, but I’m not telling you.”
“I see. I guess that’s how it is...”
Sori’s expression went gloomy, but there was still a bright smile on her face. Sori tried to sit next to me. I didn’t take my eyes off her. Sori coughed, and decided to sit in front of me instead. She positioned herself on the chair elegantly but fragile. She looked at me back.
“What are you.” I said.
“Me? You don’t know me, Sia? I’m Song Sori.”
“Not that. What are you supposed to be.”
“What am I supposed to be...”
Sori put her hand on her chin, and was lost in thought for a moment. It seemed like a question she had not heard before.
“I guess just, someone who likes being with people?”
“But sometimes you are alone.”
“Yeah. Sometimes you need a break. Like music.”
“Music?
When Sori mentioned music, I was curious. I did figure it was music that she listened to. But was this the reason she had not gone mad? Is this her shelter? I had not known music was something that incredible. I had not felt that the music - the rock ‘n’ roll - was something that could save people and bring about love.
“That’s right. Music is like rescue for me. Ah, it doesn’t rescue me from people though. Rather, it’s like it rescues me from myself. Listening to a song is like heading off for a journey. It’s like riding a train to an unspecified location, far away. To me, music is like my ‘saviour.’ Aren’t books like that for you too?”
“Huh? Yeah, sure.” I was so focused on her words that I wasn’t even aware that she had asked me something. She was unbelievably articulate.
“Well then, since you won’t show me your saviour, how about I show you mine?” Song Sori pulled out a phone from her skirt pocket.
Song Sori plugged the earphones connected to the phone in my ears. Her hands touched my cheeks. It was so much colder than I thought. But that was because my body was burning up. My body froze at that moment. My arms had stopped too. Paralyzed, I started listening to the song called love. That not only bound my body but my heart as well.
A guitar and some humming formed chords. The humming didn’t have as much power as a choir, but its texture gave to a clean and clear chord. The guitar and bass didn’t take up all of the soundscape, but especially the light bass sound was holding the foundation to every chord. Drums lightly came in, establishing rhythm. The singer’s melody had many intervals that were difficult to execute, but whether the notes were high or low, he sang on with warmth and leisure. Under this melody, the chords holding the basis for everything had an ascending progression. The way not only the instruments but also the voices kept reaching higher and higher truly reminded me of reaching for a ‘saviour,’ as if I was climbing the stairs to heaven.
The name of the song was “Here There and Everywhere.” The 1966 song by The Beatles.
“
To lead a better life
I need my love to be here
“
- “Here There and Everywhere,” The Beatles (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xdcSFVXd3MU)