NAMJOON YEAR 22 JULY 13:
Namjoon has started working night shifts at the gas station since last month. He has also started going to the library every day. In the library he tries his hardest to concentrate and browse through some magazines but it is not easy. On the way back to the gas station from the library, he notices a woman. This was the same woman who he had seen distributing flyers on the overpass that day, and who also came to the same library. Namjoon feels that they are similar- going to the same library, taking the same route, sighing the same way. He had even bought a hair- tie for her on a whim after seeing her yellow elastic hair-tie. He notices the woman had fallen asleep when her stop arrived. He hesitates to wake her up. In the end he leaves just putting the hair-tie on the bag and gets off. He remembers that a few days ago he had seen graffiti on the wall near the bus stop and he had automatically looked around for Taehyung, but judging by the spray cans still left it seemed as if he had run away in a hurry.
TAEHYUNG YEAR 22 JULY 10:
Taehyung is on the run from the police. He had lived in this neighbourhood for 20 years so he knew every nook and cranny, but each corner instead threw him into the memories of the past. The police were after him for the graffiti at the bus stop. He had done graffiti there after a long time, in company of the girl he had caught thieving at his convenience store. Taehyung felt like he could understand her sense of loneliness, and they hung out together often, eventually doing graffiti together. The bus stop had been one where Namjoon got off, and where the police were also likely to catch him. The last time he had seen Namjoon was at the hospital, and he came close to seeing him one day while seeking shelter from his Dad’s violence , but sat outside the lit container instead. In the present moment, Taehyung hides in an alley but knows it is of no use. He comes out and surrenders with his hands raised.
JIMIN YEAR 22 MAY 11:
Jimin has been transferred to the surgery ward since two weeks. At first he is surprised by the relative freedom of the surgery ward , but eventually comes to the conclusion that they are the same. The only difference was that he was allowed to roam freely in the hallway. Jimin would often run in the hallway or dance around in the lounge. While running at full speed in the hallway once, Jimin came to a grinding halt right in front of the exit door. He had to take only 5 steps more to completely exit the hospital through the door that was marked ‘off-limits’. No one came running to stop him either, but he couldn’t do it because this part of the hallway was too similar to the stretch of the hallway in the psychiatric ward. Jimin reflects on how he was a model patient in the psychiatric ward. Apart from a few seizures, Jimin rarely caused trouble. He wasn’t always like this though. When he was first admitted at the age of 8, he tried desperately to escape from the door as his Mom left. The nurses sedated him , and his efforts to escape continued for a while and life became a cycle of seizures, injections and injections induced sleep. He reflects back on the day he was brought to the hospital- how he ran in the rain with the backpack on his head and took shelter in the warehouse at the arboretum. The musty smell of the room and the screechy metallic sound haunts him. Jimin felt like his blood had turned to mud -and would often wash himself repeatedly because he felt ‘dirty’. When asked by the doctor, he denied remembering it and continuously lied to the point of becoming a model patient now who never struggled to escape. Occasionally he was sent to schools and he remembers the friends he made 2 years ago, who he had to say goodbye to because of the seizure at the bus stop when he saw the shuttle bus to the arboretum. Two weeks ago he’d gotten into a fight over a boy he calls stupid for trying to escape, and was transferred to a 6 person room. After some days he discovers that Hoseok is in the bed next to him, he gets happy but chooses to avoid him all day to hide his mental illness. While hiding he sees Jungkook and others who had come to visit Hoseok.At night, tired and hungry, he meets Hoseok who offers him bread- and asks him to not worry because he has narcolepsy too and thus not very different from him. Jimin remarks that Hoseok had not changed one bit.
NAMJOON YEAR 21 DECEMBER 17:
Namjoon is at a bus stop in a countryside village. We come to know that he has shifted there with his family in Year 20 for two reasons: the presence of a country hospital for his father’s treatment and employment opportunities for Namjoon himself. He works as a delivery boy. Being the only part time job available in the town; competition was high and the delivery boys often competed against each other as rivals, and went as far as picking up trash for the people they delivered to. Though rivals, Namjoon also felt sympathy for them, and was often reminded of his friends from high school. In the winters, deliveries were risky as they involved driving a motorbike over snow. Ultimately the competition boils down to only two delivery boys who were poor enough to consider the risk: Namjoon and “ Taehyung”. The real name of “ Taehyung” is Jongsik/ Jonghun but Namjoon prefers to call him Taehyung. One particular day, Namjoon convinces the eatery owner he works for to let him do the delivery in spite of the danger of snow. “Taehyung” looks at Namjoon oddly and his body is covered with bruises and bleeding in a way that suggests that he was being hit at home. Namjoon struggles with riding and ends up skidding -his left ankle is hurt and there is a scratch on the scooter. However, he braces himself for another round of deliveries just when his mother calls to inform him that his father fell in the snow and needs to be hospitalized. Angry that the meager money he earns will be spent so quickly for his father, Namjoon leaves and gives the key to Taehyung He comes to know that “Taehyung” died that day due to an accident. The police blame it on his poor driving skills and his lack of helmet. Namjoon spots a never before seen helmet at the counter but doesn’t speak up. With the death of “ Taehyung” , Namjoon feels increasingly guilty for being the one who survived, and for now getting more income as he was running all the deliveries now. A week later he overhears a stranger remarking that wet leaves and calcium chloride cause a greater danger of skidding than snow itself. Namjoon remembers how he himself had laid the wet leaves and the salt to prevent the road from icing over. This increases his guilt even more and he wonders if he is to blame for all of this. Feeling suffocated by his desolate conditions, Namjoon leaves the village and boards a bus to Songju. Remembering his father’s words, “ Go Namjoon, you must survive”, he scrawls the same on the window panes of the bus: “ I must survive”.
When I came to my senses, I was at the bus stop. I looked back to see how far I had walked, but the hospital was already out of sight. I waited for the bus and then boarded. It was a bus to that place. I hadn't planned it, but maybe I already knew in my heart. That I had to go back to that place. Had to know the meaning of what happened there. I looked out the window at the passing summer weather and thought to myself could I trust the hyungs? When I got off the bus. It drove off right away. A cloud of dust swirled up. I walked slowly toward the site of the accident. I thought about that night. The huge moon hanging in the sky, the world upside-down, the headlights that came toward me in my reversed vision, the shape of the car that passed me and disappeared, the lights of the tail lamps. An engine sound that seemed somehow familiar. I laid on the asphalt just like I had that night. I tilted my head and looked up at the sky. It was getting dark, but I couldn't see the moon. It was a quiet street, but if a car were to come, they might not see me and I could have another accident. As I thought that, I asked myself once again. If I couldn't trust the hyungs, who could I trust? TRANSLATED BY @ORIGAMYFIREFLY. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST.
I rested my head against the bus window. From the library to the gas station. The scenery passed by the window, almost frighteningly familiar since I took this route every day. Would there come a day I could leave this scenery behind? I felt that it was impossible to predict what tomorrow would bring, nor to hope for anything. I could see that there was a woman sitting in front of me, her hair tied with a yellow rubber band, her shoulders lifted and then dropped as if she was sighing. Then she rested her head against the window. For around a month already, we had studied at the same library and gotten on the bus at the same stop. We hadn't spoken a word to each other, but we looked at the same scenery and lived on the same time and sighed the same sighs. The hair tie was still in my pants pocket. The woman always got off the bus three stops before I did. Every time I saw her leave, I wondered if she was going to distribute fliers. What kind of time was she spending, what kind of things was she enduring? How strongly did she feel stifled at the thought that tomorrow might not come, or that from the beginning there had never been such a thing as 'tomorrow'? I thought things like that. The woman's stop began to approach. Someone pressed the stop request button and other passengers got up from their seats. But in the midst of this, the woman didn't stir. She just stayed in her seat, her head against the window. It seemed like she was asleep. Should I go and wake her up? I fought with myself for a moment. The bus approached the stop. The woman didn't move. People disembarked. The door closed and the bus started to move. The woman didn't wake, even as we passed the next three stops. As I moved to the bus door I fought with myself again. It was clear that once I got off the bus, no one else would pay attention to her. She would wake up somewhere far from her stop, and it was impossible to know how much more tired she would be today because of it. I left the bus stop and started to walk toward the gas station. The bus took off and I didn't look back. I had left the hair tie on top of her bag, but that was it. That wasn't a beginning, and as such nor was it an end. It was nothing to start with and there was no reason for it to be anything. So I thought it really didn't matter. TRANSLATED BY @ORIGAMYFIREFLY. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST.
The people waiting for the first bus rubbed their hands together in the cold. I looked down at the dirt, clutching the strap of my bag. I was trying not to make eye contact with anyone. It was a countryside village where only two buses stopped per day. From a distance, I saw the first bus approaching. I boarded the bus behind everyone else. I didn't look back. When I was passionate about something, when I barely had something in my grasp, when I had nothing left but things to escape--I had conditions. I wasn't to look back. The moment I looked back, the efforts I'd made until now became little more than seafoam. Looking back. That was a kind of suspicion, a kind of lingering attachment, and a kind of fear. Only when I had overcome these things could I finally escape. The bus started off. I had no plans. I had nothing I was passionate about, nothing in my grasp, no particular reason to escape. It was closer to thoughtlessly running away. My mother's tired face. My wandering sibling. My father's illness. Starting with the situation in our house that grew more difficult with every passing day. From my family, who enforced sacrifice and tranquility, and from me who pretended to know nothing and restrained myself, trying to adjust and grow resigned. And most of all, away from poverty. If anyone asked if it's a crime to be poor, everyone would say it's not. But is that really the truth? Poverty gnaws on so many things. Things that were precious become meaningless. You give up on things you can't give up on. You grow suspicious and fearful and resigned. The bus would arrive at a familiar stop in a few hours. When I left that place a year ago I had left no messages behind. And now I was returning with no sign or warning. I tried to recall my friends' faces. I had cut off contact with all of them. What were they all doing these days? Would they be glad to see me? Would we be able to get together and laugh the way we had back then? There was frost on the windows and I couldn't see the scenery outside. On top of the frost, I slowly moved my finger. 'You have to survive.' TRANSLATED BY @ORIGAMYFIREFLY. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST.
In the end, I had to go to the Flowering Arboretum. I had to quit telling myself the lie that I didn't remember what had happened there. I had to stop living in hiding in the hospital and stop having seizures. If I wanted to do that, I had to go to that place. With that intent, I went to the bus stop every day, but I couldn't ride the bus to the arboretum. Yoongi hyung came and sat next to me after I'd already let three buses go by. I asked what was up, and hyung said he was bored and had nothing to do. Then he asked why I was sitting here like this. I lowered my head and kicked the dirt with the toes of my shoes. I thought about why I was sitting here like this. It was because I had no courage. I wanted to pretend I was okay now, that I knew a little, that I surpassed it on my own, but in truth I was afraid. I was afraid that I might encounter something, that I might not withstand it, that I might have another seizure. Yoongi hyung looked relaxed. He slumped down like he had not a thing in the world to worry him, and said that the weather was nice, said all kinds of useless things. After I heard that, I realized the weather really was nice. I had been so worried that I didn't bother looking at my surroundings. The sky was so blue. A warm breeze blew on occasion. From far off, the shuttle bus for the arboretum was coming. The bus stopped and the door opened. The driver looked at me. On impulse, I spoke. "Hyung, do you want to come with me?" TRANSLATED BY @ORIGAMYFIREFLY. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST.
My side hurt so badly it seemed to be tearing. Sweat fell in drops. In the nooks and crannies of the railroad, in the vacant lot behind the convenience store, under the overpass--the girl was nowhere to be found. I had even run to the bus stop, but as expected I didn't see her. The people waiting for their buses looked at me strangely. What had happened? We hadn't promised to meet, but it was still strange. That girl always appeared from somewhere and followed me around. Even if I told her it was annoying, it was no use. But now she was nowhere to be found, even in the places we used to go together. I came to a familiar wall and slowed my steps. There was graffiti there we had drawn together. It was the first thing she had ever drawn. On top of it there was a large "X" drawn. It was her. I hadn't seen her do it, but I knew. Why? There was no response. Instead, several after-images overlapped on the wall. Her laughing at me after I had laid down on the railroad tracks and hit my head. Her helping me up after I'd fallen trying to help her run away, her angry face after I'd stolen and eaten her bread. Her cloudy expression when we passed in front of a photo studio with a family photo in the window. Her gaze following the students we passed by, unbeknownst even to her. As we had sprayed this wall together I had said, "if you have a problem, tell me about it, don't just grumble to yourself." The X was drawn over all those memories. It seemed like it was saying all of it was fake. It seemed like it was saying they were all lies. Without realizing, I had made my hands into fists. Why? Of course there was no response. I kept walking. We were alone again. Me, and her. TRANSLATED BY @ORIGAMYFIREFLY. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST.
Jimin's mother paced back and forth through the emergency room. After checking that the name on the head of the bed and the IV bottle were properly placed, she brushed a blade of grass from Jimin's shoulder with one finger. I approached hesitantly, feeling that I should tell her why Jimin was in the emergency room, about the seizure at the bus stop. Jimin's mother seemed to discover my presence only then, and she looked at me with a long, evaluative gaze. I didn't know what to do, so I hung back. Jimin's mother said only 'thank you' and then turned back to him. The next time Jimin's mother looked at me, the doctor and nurses had started to move the bed and I moved to follow. Jimin's mother said thank you again and pushed at my shoulder. Rather than pushing, it would be more correct to say that she touched me slightly and then pulled her hand away. But I suddenly felt an invisible line being drawn between Jimin's mother and myself. That line was sure and solid. It was cold and sturdy. It was a line that I could never surmount. I had lived at the orphanage for 10 years. I knew that much with my whole body, my sight, the air. In a moment of bewilderment, I took a step back and then collapsed to the floor. Jimin's mother looked vacantly down at me. She was a small and beautiful person, but her shadow was large and chilly. That shadow fell over me, collapsed on the emergency room floor. When I lifted my head, Jimin's bed had left the emergency room and could no longer be seen. After that day, Jimin didn't come back to school. TRANSLATED BY @ORIGAMYFIREFLY. PLEASE DO NOT REPOST.