소예님께 / To Lady So-ye

Het
PG-13
In progress
8
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planned Maxi, written 7 pages, 3,274 words, 2 chapters
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Dedication:
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Interlude I: “첫 페이지—소예의 일기”

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Interlude I:

“첫 페이지—소예의 일기”

Interlude I: “The First Page—So-ye’s Diary”

      The purple diary laid on the mind-numbingly white bed. The room was dark—dangerously still, even. Shards of the fragile nightlight littered the floor as gusts of wind barged in from an open window.       Isko laid there too, eyes open but dull, struggling to sleep. The silent night breeze flipped the soft cover, fluttering open to the first page effortlessly. The smell of old paper instantly spread across the room. An entry was written on the blank page where the title should be, with ink softly traced but harshly fading Hangul letters. —1988년 8월 3일(August 3, 1988) Dear diary,       Hello! My name is Yoo So-ye, and this is my first-ever diary! I don’t like the idea of a diary because maybe someone will steal it, but Appa says it’s going to be good to write about my stay here in the Philippines. Oh, yes! Today is my first day in Cebu, and I’m here because Appa has to do something with his job here so that we can earn lots of money! I’m very shy in places that I don’t know, so I might be awkward here, but that’s okay… because I already have a friend!       I don’t know his real name because talking in English is hard, but I call him Isko for short. He’s a nice guy, and he wants me to join him all the time, but Appa doesn’t want me to go far from the house. Appa has been telling me to practice speaking and writing in English so that I and Isko can talk more, but I feel like this diary will sound better if I write it in Korean. Appa told me that we’ll only be here for a few years, though, because it’s just a “contract.” Don’t know what that is, but I think that means me and Isko can’t be friends forever… Cebu is really beautiful, and I like the night sky here. It never disappoints me when I look up. I think that’s all that happened today, goodnight! —Yoo So-ye.       The wind calmed, the diary still open. Only the ink seemed alive—like it was remembering for him.

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