No One Writes Back

by Jang Eun-Jin

I left home with an MP3 player and a novel in an old backpack. And with Wajo.

I do, however, like to write when I travel. Written words are less extravagant than photographs and souvenirs, and they are serious and contemplative. Words penned while traveling do not lie; they’re not for showing off, but for making you reflect on, and take care of, yourself.

I dare say that in life, it is when we travel that our minds and hearts are the most open. It’s a time when we think more than at any other time in our lives.

Cup noodles seem to taste best when I eat them at a convenience store.

Someone who packs his bag with all kinds of stuff ends up suffering from just that much fatigue and stress, even while traveling. The weight of the bag alone will guarantee that. The trip, intended as a way to unburden yourself, suddenly becomes a burden in itself.

I stand for a long time in front of the mailbox, not knowing where to go, like a lost child. My mind goes blank. I come to myself at the sound of Wajo barking. I look around me. Which way should I go? My fate depends on the direction I take. I don’t think I can come to an easy decision today.

For him, silence was more awful than darkness.

“Just call me 0.” “Why 0, of all numbers? Do you like 0?” “It’s a state of nothingness.” “Are you saying that you want to be someone who doesn’t mean anything to me, like the number zero?” “Exactly.”

“0 believes that numbers don’t betray or lie, so why don’t they write back?”

“You don’t get any letters because you only think about getting them. If you want to get them, first try sending them. You’ll be sure to hear back.”

There’s a chance for you to do what you want with your life. Like we did back then, you can just run and get on a train, and clap your hands when you see a tunnel. And when you come out through the long tunnel, you’ll have changed for sure. Like I did. I want to end this journey soon, if only to get on a train with you. See you soon. Till then, take care.

He emptied his cup of coffee with a bitter look on his face. It was the kind of expression I liked the most. For some reason I felt that someone who drank coffee with a bitter look on his face wouldn’t lie.

a question suddenly rose in my mind. What was true beauty? Was it beauty if you found it in something ugly and insignificant?

Then I look for a long time into the black eyes that can’t see. There must be a very thick darkness, unfathomable to me, beyond those eyes. A universe where no star or moon rises despite its darkness.

I can still hear very clearly the sound of water dripping behind me. It sounds like the sound of teardrops in a way, and the sound of blood, in a way.

After that, I realized that everything in life happens in a day.

Life is bearable when you have someone to write, and someone who writes you back. Even if it’s just one person.