Namjoon: 17 December Year 21

The people waiting for the first bus rubbed their hands in the cold wind. I grabbed my bag strap and looked down at the dirt. I tried not to make eye contact with anyone. This was a country town where just two buses stop a day. I saw the first bus in the distance.

 

I got on the bus following behind the other people. I didn’t look back. There was a condition I had to follow when there was something I desired, when I got my hands on it, and now, when all that was left was to escape. Don’t look back. The moment you look back, your efforts until now vanish into thin air. Looking back. It is a matter of doubt, reluctance, and even fear. You have to beat it to finally escape. 

 

The bus departed. It’s not like I had a plan. It’s not like there was something I desired, and I got my hands on it and was escaping. Rather, it was more like I was running away blindly. Running from my mother’s tired face, my lost brother, and my father’s disease. From my increasingly hard family situation. From my family members that demand both sacrifice and peace. From the me that resigns pretending to know nothing and shows restraint in order to adapt. And most of all, from poverty. 

 

If asked if poverty was a sin, anyone would say no. But is that really the case? Poverty gnaws away at a lot of things. The things that were precious to you become nothing. You give up on things that you can’t give up on. You begin to doubt, fear, and resign. 

 

The bus will arrive at a familiar stop in a few hours. I didn’t say goodbye when I left that place a year ago. And now I’m going back with no sign or warning. I recalled my friends’ faces. I had cut off contact with all of them. What has everyone been doing? Will they be happy to see me? Will we all be able to laugh like before? I couldn’t see the scenery because the window was full of frost. I slowly moved my fingers over it. 

 

“You need to survive.”

 

@shootinghearts_