memories 1
For Johanna Niko ,
Someday, when you are old enough to understand, you will know and appreciate the meaning of your name, and why you are different. Because you are. For you to come into this world…it must be fate.
It must be God’s will.
**
February 14, 2008. A friend of mine asked me to accompany him to a pub with live performances. I reluctantly agreed, because I wasn’t keen to hang out till late. Most of the performances were actually so-so. Until this particular group came: a girl and three guys.
As one of the guys began to play the keyboard, I straightened up immediately. The song was all too familiar. Even if I hadn’t heard it in a while. How could I possibly forget it? As the girl began to sing, I saw 2006 flash by in front of me- the best part of my life. Maybe you would think it’s kind of sad, that I can specifically pinpoint the best part of my life. But that is the truth. That period, however short, was really the best part of my life.
Even if it didn’t last.
Even if it was all a lie.
Silbermond’s Das Beste.
**
After that, I decided to write.
This is the story of my friend. In her story, I see bits of mine as well. Our story.
Where should I begin? How do you choose the point to start, when you don’t know where it begins, and where it ends? Is there ever a beginning or an end, or are our stories like the threads of a never-ending carpet, interwoven with one another; part of a collective whole?
**
“So, this is your room.”
He proceeded to show me around, explaining in a mixture of English and German, the various appliances and features. “The fridge is here, this is for boiling water for coffee or tea…”
I only understood fifty percent of what he had said. But it probably didn’t matter, because much of it was common sense, basic knowledge anyway. Not much different from Japan, or Korea for that matter. Anyhow, the underlying principle is always the same. A Math teacher once said that all problems may look difficult, but when you strip them down to their most basic form, they essentially revolve around very simple concepts.
My landlord finally left me alone in the room. Correction: my room. My new home.
What’s a Korean doing here in Germany? Well, there is quite a sizeable number of Koreans here, particularly in Cologne. That’s not really a reason, right? But that’s because I don’t really have a good reason why I am here, why I threw everything down, boarded that long flight to come to this foreign land.
Maybe it runs in the blood.
My name is Jang Woo Suk, born 14 May 1984. I am a Korean by birth. I say that, because when I was five, my whole family moved across the East Sea, from Pusan to Tokyo. I went to Japanese schools, speak Japanese, have Japanese friends and support the Yomiuri Giants and FC Tokyo. So I am basically Japanese, just that my name is Korean.
I studied history at a university in Tokyo. For two years, it was ok. But I realized that enough was enough; I needed something new. That was when I decided to pack my stuff. I needed to break out of my life. I chanced upon a map of the world in the campus, and closing my eyes, pointed randomly. Germany.
I didn’t know what I would be doing there. But I have never been out of Asia, so I thought it would be a good chance to do some travelling as well. I found myself a language school- after all, whether I intend to study or work, I would be living there for a while, and for that, I would definitely need the language.
And so, on the first day of 2006, I left my family in Tokyo and left for Cologne with no knowledge of the language, no knowledge of what I was doing with my life- just a German-Japanese dictionary I had picked up at a bookstore.
**
The waitress at the entrance greeted me with a smile as she looked expectantly at me.
Suddenly, I was at a loss for words. What was I to say? Fortunately, he spotted me and waved.
The waitress noticed him and smiled, gesturing for me to enter.
He got up and pulled the chair for me, helping me with my coat, as he always did. After I was comfortably seated, he returned to his seat. We sat quietly, poring through the menu.
“Decided?”
I nodded and pointed to my choice. He glanced at it and signaled to the waiter. After our orders were taken, we were left in our own world again- our world of awkward silence.
“Busy with work?” he asked casually.
I shrugged. “Not really.”
He nodded. Fortunately, our dinner came shortly after that, sparing both of us the trouble.
“Oh, everything is in order. There shouldn’t be any problem with the process,” he suddenly mentioned.
We were getting divorced, after a three-year marriage, the last year of which we lived separately, as stipulated by law. Perhaps that was why we didn’t really have much to say to each other. What was there to say, other than the usual formalities? Don’t get me wrong; we were parting on amicable terms. But I guess it’s really kind of awkward for both parties of a relationship that is on the verge of breakdown, or has already broken down. It would have been funny if we could sit and chat as though nothing had happened.
Why did we even bother to meet then?
I didn’t really have the answer to that. Perhaps, out of habit? We always have dinner outside on Wednesday nights: at a nice restaurant which we would take turn to pick out.
“Habit” is a big word.
We were done with dinner. He helped me with my coat and we stepped out into the cold night. There was no cab in sight.
“I am sorry,” I said.
“For what?” he smiled, asking.
“For this, for everything.”
“You tried your best, didn’t you? If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out.”
A cab appeared and he flagged it down. The cab came to a halt and he opened the door for me. I
got in, thanking him. He leaned towards the window, “Sophie, take care of yourself. Ask me out for a drink sometimes. Bye.”
He stepped back onto the pavement as the driver stepped on the accelerator. Instinctively, I turned back, but he was already out of sight.
Out of my life.
**
I needed to register myself at the town hall of my district. My landlord gave me a map and tried to give me directions. I figured I was better off finding it myself. He had wanted to bring me there, but I had rejected him; I needed the space and time to explore the surroundings by myself.
So, on Thursday morning, before the sun had risen, I was already out of the house. I didn’t really have any difficulty finding my way. Some people say Tokyo is one of the messiest cities in the world; even if you were to have a map, you might not be able to find the place you are looking for, because there are so many side lanes, and the buildings aren’t really in running order. Compared to that, this was nothing. I settled what I needed to settle within forty minutes or so, and was out of the town hall. By this time, the sun was starting to awake from its slumber.
I stood at the traffic light, along with a few other people. As we waited for the green light, a bike glided to a stop beside me. I turned to look at the newcomer to the waiting party; it was a natural reaction.
It was an Asian girl. Under her winter cap, under her scarf, I could spot her Asian features; no question about it. Japanese. I was 80% sure. She was the first Asian I saw on the streets; there were many at the Hauptbahnhof area, on the day of my arrival.
“Excuse me, are you Japanese?” I asked in Japanese.
She turned and gave me a quizzical look. Then I noticed her earphones. The green man came on. She smiled and rode off. Too fast for me to catch up with her.
**
The whole process lasted only 10 minutes.
Fabian and I left the court, officially no longer man and wife.
After one year of waiting. After three years of pain. Fabian could have prolonged the process, but he understood that when it’s over, it’s over.
That was why he let me go.
**
There was a bookshelf in my room, lined with books, books whose titles I didn’t quite understand. Mostly German, perhaps. There were also a few travel guides- even one of Japan. I flipped through it quickly, all the information was a little outdated. I checked the publication date- 2000. 5, I mean 6 years is a long time. Tokyo has since changed a lot. Even so, looking at pictures of my hometown, it seemed as though a long time had passed since I left Tokyo.
Amidst all these books, there was also a leather-bound one tucked away in a corner. I pried it loose from the rest and pulled it out. I examined it carefully: the pages were a little yellowed, but it was pretty much still in good shape.
I opened it to the first page. “1998.”
The next page was filled with words, written in an elegant, cursive handwriting. I reached for my dictionary.
“First day of the new year; Happy New Year to myself. A lot of- celebrations- going on- yesterday, so it’s nice to have some- peace- for a change. What are my- thoughts- on the New Year? I haven’t really thought about it. But I –hope- it will be a good one for everyone. I could –certainly- do with some –luck-…and some –happiness-.”
“I could do with some too.”
**
I stared at the small nametag with my name on it. With a rueful smile, I put it back on the dressing table. Sophie Richter-Kehl was no more. I pinned on the new one which I had brought along. Sophie Kehl.
I didn’t really want to throw the old one away. I just wasn’t the kind to throw things away; I would keep just about everything and anything. Is it for keepsake, or is it because I just don’t have the heart to discard old things that have become meaningless? Does that make me a coward?Perhaps that is the root cause of everything. I pulled open a drawer and tossed the nametag into it, into a dark corner.
Someday, when you are old enough to understand, you will know and appreciate the meaning of your name, and why you are different. Because you are. For you to come into this world…it must be fate.
It must be God’s will.
**
February 14, 2008. A friend of mine asked me to accompany him to a pub with live performances. I reluctantly agreed, because I wasn’t keen to hang out till late. Most of the performances were actually so-so. Until this particular group came: a girl and three guys.
As one of the guys began to play the keyboard, I straightened up immediately. The song was all too familiar. Even if I hadn’t heard it in a while. How could I possibly forget it? As the girl began to sing, I saw 2006 flash by in front of me- the best part of my life. Maybe you would think it’s kind of sad, that I can specifically pinpoint the best part of my life. But that is the truth. That period, however short, was really the best part of my life.
Even if it didn’t last.
Even if it was all a lie.
Silbermond’s Das Beste.
**
After that, I decided to write.
This is the story of my friend. In her story, I see bits of mine as well. Our story.
Where should I begin? How do you choose the point to start, when you don’t know where it begins, and where it ends? Is there ever a beginning or an end, or are our stories like the threads of a never-ending carpet, interwoven with one another; part of a collective whole?
**
“So, this is your room.”
He proceeded to show me around, explaining in a mixture of English and German, the various appliances and features. “The fridge is here, this is for boiling water for coffee or tea…”
I only understood fifty percent of what he had said. But it probably didn’t matter, because much of it was common sense, basic knowledge anyway. Not much different from Japan, or Korea for that matter. Anyhow, the underlying principle is always the same. A Math teacher once said that all problems may look difficult, but when you strip them down to their most basic form, they essentially revolve around very simple concepts.
My landlord finally left me alone in the room. Correction: my room. My new home.
What’s a Korean doing here in Germany? Well, there is quite a sizeable number of Koreans here, particularly in Cologne. That’s not really a reason, right? But that’s because I don’t really have a good reason why I am here, why I threw everything down, boarded that long flight to come to this foreign land.
Maybe it runs in the blood.
My name is Jang Woo Suk, born 14 May 1984. I am a Korean by birth. I say that, because when I was five, my whole family moved across the East Sea, from Pusan to Tokyo. I went to Japanese schools, speak Japanese, have Japanese friends and support the Yomiuri Giants and FC Tokyo. So I am basically Japanese, just that my name is Korean.
I studied history at a university in Tokyo. For two years, it was ok. But I realized that enough was enough; I needed something new. That was when I decided to pack my stuff. I needed to break out of my life. I chanced upon a map of the world in the campus, and closing my eyes, pointed randomly. Germany.
I didn’t know what I would be doing there. But I have never been out of Asia, so I thought it would be a good chance to do some travelling as well. I found myself a language school- after all, whether I intend to study or work, I would be living there for a while, and for that, I would definitely need the language.
And so, on the first day of 2006, I left my family in Tokyo and left for Cologne with no knowledge of the language, no knowledge of what I was doing with my life- just a German-Japanese dictionary I had picked up at a bookstore.
**
The waitress at the entrance greeted me with a smile as she looked expectantly at me.
Suddenly, I was at a loss for words. What was I to say? Fortunately, he spotted me and waved.
The waitress noticed him and smiled, gesturing for me to enter.
He got up and pulled the chair for me, helping me with my coat, as he always did. After I was comfortably seated, he returned to his seat. We sat quietly, poring through the menu.
“Decided?”
I nodded and pointed to my choice. He glanced at it and signaled to the waiter. After our orders were taken, we were left in our own world again- our world of awkward silence.
“Busy with work?” he asked casually.
I shrugged. “Not really.”
He nodded. Fortunately, our dinner came shortly after that, sparing both of us the trouble.
“Oh, everything is in order. There shouldn’t be any problem with the process,” he suddenly mentioned.
We were getting divorced, after a three-year marriage, the last year of which we lived separately, as stipulated by law. Perhaps that was why we didn’t really have much to say to each other. What was there to say, other than the usual formalities? Don’t get me wrong; we were parting on amicable terms. But I guess it’s really kind of awkward for both parties of a relationship that is on the verge of breakdown, or has already broken down. It would have been funny if we could sit and chat as though nothing had happened.
Why did we even bother to meet then?
I didn’t really have the answer to that. Perhaps, out of habit? We always have dinner outside on Wednesday nights: at a nice restaurant which we would take turn to pick out.
“Habit” is a big word.
We were done with dinner. He helped me with my coat and we stepped out into the cold night. There was no cab in sight.
“I am sorry,” I said.
“For what?” he smiled, asking.
“For this, for everything.”
“You tried your best, didn’t you? If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out.”
A cab appeared and he flagged it down. The cab came to a halt and he opened the door for me. I
got in, thanking him. He leaned towards the window, “Sophie, take care of yourself. Ask me out for a drink sometimes. Bye.”
He stepped back onto the pavement as the driver stepped on the accelerator. Instinctively, I turned back, but he was already out of sight.
Out of my life.
**
I needed to register myself at the town hall of my district. My landlord gave me a map and tried to give me directions. I figured I was better off finding it myself. He had wanted to bring me there, but I had rejected him; I needed the space and time to explore the surroundings by myself.
So, on Thursday morning, before the sun had risen, I was already out of the house. I didn’t really have any difficulty finding my way. Some people say Tokyo is one of the messiest cities in the world; even if you were to have a map, you might not be able to find the place you are looking for, because there are so many side lanes, and the buildings aren’t really in running order. Compared to that, this was nothing. I settled what I needed to settle within forty minutes or so, and was out of the town hall. By this time, the sun was starting to awake from its slumber.
I stood at the traffic light, along with a few other people. As we waited for the green light, a bike glided to a stop beside me. I turned to look at the newcomer to the waiting party; it was a natural reaction.
It was an Asian girl. Under her winter cap, under her scarf, I could spot her Asian features; no question about it. Japanese. I was 80% sure. She was the first Asian I saw on the streets; there were many at the Hauptbahnhof area, on the day of my arrival.
“Excuse me, are you Japanese?” I asked in Japanese.
She turned and gave me a quizzical look. Then I noticed her earphones. The green man came on. She smiled and rode off. Too fast for me to catch up with her.
**
The whole process lasted only 10 minutes.
Fabian and I left the court, officially no longer man and wife.
After one year of waiting. After three years of pain. Fabian could have prolonged the process, but he understood that when it’s over, it’s over.
That was why he let me go.
**
There was a bookshelf in my room, lined with books, books whose titles I didn’t quite understand. Mostly German, perhaps. There were also a few travel guides- even one of Japan. I flipped through it quickly, all the information was a little outdated. I checked the publication date- 2000. 5, I mean 6 years is a long time. Tokyo has since changed a lot. Even so, looking at pictures of my hometown, it seemed as though a long time had passed since I left Tokyo.
Amidst all these books, there was also a leather-bound one tucked away in a corner. I pried it loose from the rest and pulled it out. I examined it carefully: the pages were a little yellowed, but it was pretty much still in good shape.
I opened it to the first page. “1998.”
The next page was filled with words, written in an elegant, cursive handwriting. I reached for my dictionary.
“First day of the new year; Happy New Year to myself. A lot of- celebrations- going on- yesterday, so it’s nice to have some- peace- for a change. What are my- thoughts- on the New Year? I haven’t really thought about it. But I –hope- it will be a good one for everyone. I could –certainly- do with some –luck-…and some –happiness-.”
“I could do with some too.”
**
I stared at the small nametag with my name on it. With a rueful smile, I put it back on the dressing table. Sophie Richter-Kehl was no more. I pinned on the new one which I had brought along. Sophie Kehl.
I didn’t really want to throw the old one away. I just wasn’t the kind to throw things away; I would keep just about everything and anything. Is it for keepsake, or is it because I just don’t have the heart to discard old things that have become meaningless? Does that make me a coward?Perhaps that is the root cause of everything. I pulled open a drawer and tossed the nametag into it, into a dark corner.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home