Waiting at the train station, just then, to say hellos and bid goodbyes.
I quit my job.
Lying neatly on the polished wooden desk is my resignation letter, and the one person, staring at me -- wondering, but least shocked -- and sitting rather comfortably on his rather comfortable chair, his comfortable swivel chair, comfortably swiveling (despite the weight, okay), is my long-time friend, long-time foe -- my workplace's supervisor, Mr. Kang, or Kang when we were at eighth grade. He's been tapping the pencil up and down on his desk making a click sort of sounds. What kind of gesture he has, truly is of supervisor's. I shouldn't be complimenting him now, should I? ...
The place is at high tension of gloominess, and I'm standing for over thirty minutes now -- on the same floor, on the same, exact, white tile -- desperately and helplessly waiting for a favorable response. The over-the-top pulse beating, well, is over-the-top -- that is to say, it helps me, surely, not.
Up, down, up down, up---
I hold tightly my breath as silence has continued to reign.
"So ...?" My mouth moved on its own -- and it was just a thin breath of air.
"..." No audible sound came through.
"Resignation, accepted."
"..." Thirty minutes past, surely, he jests.
He could've said it from the very start I laid down the letter. So all I needed is to speak. I sighed despite myself.
"..."
Like the arrogant jerk he was, he gave me one of those irritating smile he'd known making in front of me -- still, when we were eight -- for years, yet it is but endearing. He irritates the best of me, that didn't change, and the fact -- foes are still foes.
"Don't say that with such dissenting and hearty tone, sir. You've just made me stand for almost an hour, thank you very much."
Silence for a second, and I'm hanging in here -- Kang heaved an outburst, so mirthful, so mockingly mirthful. A superb outburst of amusement. I want to clap.
"And your laugh doesn't fail to deliver creeps on me. It still makes me cringe, you know."
He cleared his throat and turned his back to me. An audible eherm, indeed.
"Best to you." He raised his right hand, as salutations. Though the way he spoke reminds me of a person chanting a mantra, really.
"... Thanks for everything."
And he did stop ticking his pen up down, up down, afterwards.
Somehow, the tensed atmosphere from an hour ago has inflated into something what we could call friendship bond. Well, somehow, just somehow.
My footsteps resonated in the room as I walk my way towards the door.
...
Actually, I was not that nervous.
I'm nervous to what I'll be doing next. That so excited, that so nerve-wracked, I am, now. I kid to myself.
Oh ... morning sun.
Why am I standing still -- like one waiting for nothing -- at the entrance door of this office -- of this office residing in ramshackle gates of a nearby really, really big building, I mean those really, really, big commercial ones -- by the way? And by the way!
... Kang did laugh to my joke, right?
Guess I shouldn't be kidding myself now at this hour ... or should I? I mean, I realized (just this now) I'm a good joker myself. Wow.
I'm currently thinking myself of diving in countless alps of clouds in the sky.
Because, clouds might be a little less cool than water ...
Or, it's just maybe because of the sun. Can't blame it, anyway.
There are skyscrapers, at least, and their walls made out of ice. Of course, this might be what they call civilization or that I'm probably blind, if not.
Skyscrapers which are standing tall, high and mighty, before the luminous, gigantic sun above. It shines blindingly, as like every infrastructure towers in looms. Its heat has never failed to squeeze sweat in every pores of my face. Not my type of luxury, the skyscrapers, I mean.
There's air pollution, too. In fact, pollution, all over.
So, I should just be standing here, I realized.
Wait, wait, that's gone too far, or I've gone too far. Where am I really headed anyway!
I don't know that myself (too) but there's something, somewhere, the letter is saying -- and that's exactly should be it.
The letter I've been holding on to since I got to the office, now looks crumpled from the forceful clench because of that teeth-gritting (and boring) scenario. He probably noticed it, could care less about it. And, I couldn't care less.
It bears a missive I could only be familiar of -- it was written by a left-handed, old woman who's been working for forty years as public servant, or one could say it's like that. Of course, she's no dog of nation, because that woman is very strong-willed -- hardened like cement she is -- she can't be just ordered around, the fact that it's her own volition what made her very mighty in everyone's eyes. I remember the days.
She's never changed, as old-fashioned as she was seven years ago -- like a rock she is.
In cursive, like pasta in curls.
In curls, like the sun is today.
Heat continues its penetration as I remain standing. I should be going by now, shouldn't I?
I really should be going by now ...
At the train station--- it's surprisingly quiet, and it's already past noon. So, busy places can get this quiet at some point, quite the news. No train at sight yet, I felt my limbs griping. After all, I just did a somewhat kind of marathon in this cosmopolitan, metropolitan area -- from the office to my apartment room, to this very point -- an obstacle course with houses, buildings, people, and cars -- so to speak. (Wait, that would be parkour, now.)
...
No people, and silence, and silence. Dead hours, is it ... I-I'll just sit, coughs.
A minute wait for the train, is also quite the news. Well, it's not that quite long, actually. Just one minute, is too much for someone like me. It's coming, already ...
Crisp sound of a gull's cry, a gull's cry, a gull's ... crisp sound of a gull's cry ...?
I arrived near the seaside, it seems.
I got to doze off, at least, and very peacefully too.
...
I dozed off, rather peaceably, and too much. Too much is too much to say, too, now, now here.
Seagulls gawking, where am I headed, now. Wait -- wait again. Wait again for the train. I sat on the wooden bench, and in an instant -- discomfort, an instant discomfort, in this instance -- a wooden seat indeed. To satiate this discomfort, I should be standing up. Now, this is civilization ...
I've been sleeping a lot lately, aren't I?
And, what's with all the civilization I've been spouting, lately ...
Sighs. My mind, is really in turmoil, right here, right now, right in this place. My stomach, is in turmoil, too. Growls, ouch.
To doze off hunger ... is a really bad thing.
And to leave without eating is irrational, a part of miscalculation, really.
Now, someone ask me what is one plus one, please?
And there is, a somebody, somehow.
Somebody I know, somehow -- a vending machine. At the corner of this already-dilapidated station, standing in a quite unpleasant, slouchy posture, a vending machine, all right.
Like a hero facing the sun with its might and triumph. All the glory ...
I greeted the fellow, somehow, by 'good afternoon' -- out of desperation, out of luck, out of hunger. But it greeted me no less in a wrong time zone, least surprising to say, 'good evening' ...
It's been kicked, slapped, smashed, juddered, took jabs, took somersaults, took head buts, err ... suffice to say, it's just a piece of junk now. This is really getting bitter to my tastes now, and I can't at least spare a taste to this current scenario of things. I haven't even asked what is one plus one, and this-- oh, what good luck. Staring daggers at this useless thing won't lead me out of the darkness. I should have really set my phone an alarm time ...
Why am I remembering such an unimportant thing, now? Let alone sleep tight.
"Mister, mister."
I think someone's calling on me.
On the wooden bench, I drowned myself, my face rather, to a bright orange sunlight, after a hundred bouts of desperate attempt to knock over a can -- a can of soda, a can of coffee, or a bottled water -- at least, on that thing. Well, there was nothing, of what the least I could expect.
And there's a high schooler sitting beside me, of what at least I could tell. A high school girl, of course. What time is it now ...
"You seemed ... err ... thirsty so I ..."
I stood up.
"What time is it now?"
"H-huh ... uh ... five ... I guess ..."
"Did the train pass here already ...?"
"Uh ... y-yes."
So, I would stay in this who-knows-where for a night, uh-huh. I'd thought so, I'd thought so. Overnight excursion doesn't sound bad, well ...
"... Ah, sorry for surprising you."
"Y-yes ..."
I sat again on the rather comfortable wooden seat, bench rather.
"By the way, you are ...?"
"... Uhm ... I-- I ..."
"Huh ..."
"... Please h-have this ...!"
She ran. Did I frighten her? ...
Sighs.
I shouldn't be concerning my matters towards those things now. I turn the cap of the bottle ... priorities, priorities -- I kept on mumbling. A bottle of mineral water.
Priorities, sighs.
All I currently have with me is my cellphone, my backpack, and clothes it has. I didn't get to prepare much and the realization just hit me now.
Oh, and the bottled water.
Ah, what remote area I have gone to. Waiting should prove my perseverance, I now understand, very, very much.
Be patient, be relaxed, be okay.
"U-uhm ..."
The girl just this moment ago.
"... please drink the water."
"... Hey. Did I, seem that craving ...?"
"Ah, n-no ... I mean ..."
"I see."
I jugged it all down.
"Thank you. I feel slightly better now, I think."
"Uh ... y-yes."
"Were you also waiting for the train?"
"... Yes."
So, that was it ...
"... Please don't think it was your fault. Don't concern yourself about me."
She straightened her back and said that while she let a faint smile drew on her face. Now that I think about it, she has quite the soft voice ...
Oh, and you just made me feel truly blameworthy ... thank you very much.
And, I was alone, and was left alone, at the station -- till there were teardrops [of utter boredom], till that afternoon dawned upon, again.
And there she is, here, like today that was yesterday, and yesterday that is today--- again.
A pensive look -- of longing, of loneliness, of sadness -- crossed her face as she gazed at a distance -- like a wax doll's eyes cast on a fixed gaze, at a gaze on what she can see in her eyes, on her front. A look of overflowing emotion in her eyes was exceedingly, increasingly resembling of a cry. Somehow, I feel I've been looking on the floor for awhile now ... and I did get enough of sleep. In fact, I think, I've set a new record.
"Aren't you coming in?"
I asked her.
"I ..."
"This door will shut soon, hurry up."
"I ... I just ..."
"Hurry up now ..."
"I just wanted to go on the shore ... I-- I will go now ..."
Dawn is breaking ... at the cursed train, still, the ringing sound of my cellphone awaken me, thankfully. Now, I remember ... I should really set this phone an alarm time. For real, huh? For real.
After all, I keep on remembering, and remembering, of something ... that I can't sleep.
... "..."
The old woman -- grandma, I should say -- asked me the same question, since I was eight, over and over, again and again. And over and over, again and again, what I could just only do was to agree. It was yes, yes, yes, and yes through and through.
Heck, what do you want me to do now? ...
I just arrived here. The scenery is as breathtaking as usual ... everything is as peaceful as usual, there're constructions everywhere, from roads to market-size shopping complex -- sure, everything seems going smooth, very smooth, and peaceful. It's always good here.
I've missed nine calls, thinking it was urgent, I sped my way through here -- at blurred pace, I ran, from there to here. I realized, then, it was just a prank played on me by my ever playful grandmother. Mud has it now, completely stuck, on my rubber shoes. Like a big chocolate I want to eat, shaped after sneakers, with the exact size. But it looks more like of a sculpture out of clay. Sneakers, sculpture, clay, hmm. Can't be eaten, how sad.
I hope there would be someone who would create such creation. And I would eat it, wholly.
Starry, starry night, I wish upon a star ...
No solution, no resolution. It's best to just let time pass this over. Till that time, I guess. Till what time, it is.
There I have it! ...
I realized my bag isn't lightweight, after all.
And the bedroom is as small as ever. It seems cleaned.
I put down my backpack on the floor, sat on the bed, closed my eyes, and thud. The soft fabric smells of starch, it's quite nostalgic, and it's still as rough and hard as it always was, and is.
My arms felt heavy, my hands felt empty, as I put my right on my forehead. I could feel, I could feel the weight. So it is not empty.
In some way, this palm would earn resolution ... that at least is what I've thought of.
