memories 2
"So, good afternoon, Jang. Settling in well?” my landlord greeted me with a smile as I met him at the stairway.
“Good afternoon. Yeah, quite well.”
“What is your given name again? It would be better for me to call you by that.”
“Woo- Suk.”
“Voo- Zuk?”
“Close enough,” I smiled.
“I hope I get it right the next time,” he smiled. “See you.”
“See you,” I turned to open my door. “Oh, by the way…”
“Yes?”
“Who used to live in this room?”
“You mean before you? Well, there was an Italian, a French, an Australian as well as a Russian. Before that, my daughter used to live there. When she was around your age. That was around 8 years ago.”
“I see…the books…”
“Most of the books belong to her. But it’s ok if you want to read them. I mean, she didn’t take them with her when she moved, so I suppose she doesn’t want them anymore.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“Welcome.”
I went into my room and picked up the diary again.
**
“Verena, here!” I called out.
Verena looked over and smiled in recognition, before hurrying over. “Sorry I am late.”
“It’s ok.”
“What would you like, Miss?”
“Err…give me a Snowball. Thank you,” Verena ordered, after giving the menu a quick scan. She caught me giving her a strange look. “What is it?”
“Must you order that?”
“Can’t I?”
I nodded and raised an eyebrow, “Sure, sure.”
Both of us laughed.
“So, Sophie, what does it feel like to be Sophie Kehl again?”
I smiled and shook my head, “No special feeling, I guess.”
“You took a gamble and lost.”
I focused on stirring my Mint Julep.
“How I am supposed to face Fabian?”
“Don’t see him then. Cologne isn’t that small.”
“It’s because of you, Sophie.”
“I am sorry. I didn’t wish for it to end up like this too.”
“5 years, Sophie…”
“Look, Verena, I tried. It just doesn’t work.”
She shook her head, “It’s not really your fault. It’s Fabian’s fault. He was too blinded by love. He loved you too much.”
I took a sip from my drink.
Verena laughed, “It’s God’s fault. It’s his little joke.”
**
12 January 1998
I think a new guy just moved into Mr Weissbach’s house. An Asian. Chinese, Korean or Japanese, I won’t know. Why do I even need to know? I might not even see him at all. Maybe he’s some weirdo who coops himself up in his room every day. Maybe we go in different directions every morning. This might be the first and last time I see him. Before I know it, he might already be on his plane back home.
How long will he stay? 3 months? That’s the average, I guess. Who will be coming in 3 months later? An African?
We should play a guessing game.
I smiled as I read this entry. His daughter really wrote randomly.
**
“You know, Sophie, I have always regretted that day.”
“Which day?”
“That day at your house, when I told you to look.”
“Look at what?”
“Who are you trying to kid? Anyhow, I really regret it. Oh well. Take care, Sophie. Bye.”
That day.
Maybe I should start from the beginning: how we met. Even if you were to ask me this question 10, 20 years later, I would still be able to tell you clearly.
That day, Verena was at my room. She had come over for a visit. I was preparing lunch when she called out to me from the window.
“Look!”
I stole a glance out of the window. “What about it?”
“He’s gotta be crazy, opening his window on a cold day like this.”
“Maybe Asians are different.”
“Do you think he is Chinese, Korean or Japanese?”
“Aren’t they all the same?”
“They aren’t.”
“Ok. Lunch is ready,” I went over to her. She was still by the window, staring at the window directly opposite.
The window was opened, and he was staring at the street below. Then he looked up and noticed the two of us staring at him. We both turned away instinctively. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he had looked away again.
“Ok, let’s eat,” I pulled her away from the window.
I knew nothing about him at that time. I never really gave much thought to it.
I never really expected to see him again. I never really expected him to stay.
**
15 January 1998
Oh my god. I actually saw the Asian today. Let me start from the beginning.
I was helping out at the shop when he came in. I heard the bells and emerged from the back, with a smile, expecting one of the usual customers. When I realised it was him, I was so shocked.
He asked for Houjicha. In German. I recovered my composure and told him to wait as I searched for it. Finally found it and showed him. He was happy with it. There was no sign of him recognising me.
Looking back, I realise that maybe he didn’t really see us clearly. Or maybe to Asians, we Europeans all look the same too.
He is probably Japanese.
“Houjicha? Good taste. But you don’t have to be Japanese to buy Japanese tea, right?”
I read her diary every day, with the help of the dictionary of course. Perhaps I shouldn’t be. But it was hard to put down.
Reading this entry, I suddenly felt like running. I changed into running attire and stepped out of my house.
“Where are you going?” my landlord was just coming back.
“I am going for a run.”
“It’s cold outside.”
I smiled and shrugged.
I needed to run. I needed to find her again. 1 million people- I didn’t believe that I couldn’t find her again, out of this 1 million people.
**
I didn’t manage to find her.
22 January 1998
I met him at the supermarket. We bumped into each other with our trolleys at the corner with the dairy products. He asked if I was the girl from the tea shop. I said yes, and asked how the tea was. He said it was just like back home. He then told me that he went back to the store just yesterday to get another kind of tea, but I wasn’t there. I told him it was my parents’ shop, and when I wasn’t working, I would pop by to help out. But there usually isn’t much business. He asked me what sort of tea Germans drink. I don’t really know, because I am not a tea lover. My parents love tea, but not me. That’s why I avoid going to the shop as much as possible. But sometimes they have to run errands and they get me to stay in it. On my off days of course.
He nodded in understanding and said he had to get on with shopping.
Talking to him, I forgot that he is a foreigner.
**
24 January 1998
I saw him by chance. In his room, from my window. It actually slipped my mind that he is living directly across the street until I chanced upon him, sitting by the window, reading. I stood by the side, so that it was less obvious. As I observed him, I wondered: what is his name? Does he really come from Japan? Why is he here?
Questions, questions, questions.
I felt so much like opening my window and shouting across to him.
Oh my god, what did I just write?
“Have you fallen in love with him?” I asked under my breath.
How do people fall in love, anyway?
**
26 January 1998
I was busy with work the past 2 days. Never really bumped into him, nor seen him in his room.
Was he at home, or was he out, exploring the town?
I slotted a postcard I had picked up at this page and closed the diary.
Where could she be?
“Good afternoon. Yeah, quite well.”
“What is your given name again? It would be better for me to call you by that.”
“Woo- Suk.”
“Voo- Zuk?”
“Close enough,” I smiled.
“I hope I get it right the next time,” he smiled. “See you.”
“See you,” I turned to open my door. “Oh, by the way…”
“Yes?”
“Who used to live in this room?”
“You mean before you? Well, there was an Italian, a French, an Australian as well as a Russian. Before that, my daughter used to live there. When she was around your age. That was around 8 years ago.”
“I see…the books…”
“Most of the books belong to her. But it’s ok if you want to read them. I mean, she didn’t take them with her when she moved, so I suppose she doesn’t want them anymore.”
“All right. Thanks.”
“Welcome.”
I went into my room and picked up the diary again.
**
“Verena, here!” I called out.
Verena looked over and smiled in recognition, before hurrying over. “Sorry I am late.”
“It’s ok.”
“What would you like, Miss?”
“Err…give me a Snowball. Thank you,” Verena ordered, after giving the menu a quick scan. She caught me giving her a strange look. “What is it?”
“Must you order that?”
“Can’t I?”
I nodded and raised an eyebrow, “Sure, sure.”
Both of us laughed.
“So, Sophie, what does it feel like to be Sophie Kehl again?”
I smiled and shook my head, “No special feeling, I guess.”
“You took a gamble and lost.”
I focused on stirring my Mint Julep.
“How I am supposed to face Fabian?”
“Don’t see him then. Cologne isn’t that small.”
“It’s because of you, Sophie.”
“I am sorry. I didn’t wish for it to end up like this too.”
“5 years, Sophie…”
“Look, Verena, I tried. It just doesn’t work.”
She shook her head, “It’s not really your fault. It’s Fabian’s fault. He was too blinded by love. He loved you too much.”
I took a sip from my drink.
Verena laughed, “It’s God’s fault. It’s his little joke.”
**
12 January 1998
I think a new guy just moved into Mr Weissbach’s house. An Asian. Chinese, Korean or Japanese, I won’t know. Why do I even need to know? I might not even see him at all. Maybe he’s some weirdo who coops himself up in his room every day. Maybe we go in different directions every morning. This might be the first and last time I see him. Before I know it, he might already be on his plane back home.
How long will he stay? 3 months? That’s the average, I guess. Who will be coming in 3 months later? An African?
We should play a guessing game.
I smiled as I read this entry. His daughter really wrote randomly.
**
“You know, Sophie, I have always regretted that day.”
“Which day?”
“That day at your house, when I told you to look.”
“Look at what?”
“Who are you trying to kid? Anyhow, I really regret it. Oh well. Take care, Sophie. Bye.”
That day.
Maybe I should start from the beginning: how we met. Even if you were to ask me this question 10, 20 years later, I would still be able to tell you clearly.
That day, Verena was at my room. She had come over for a visit. I was preparing lunch when she called out to me from the window.
“Look!”
I stole a glance out of the window. “What about it?”
“He’s gotta be crazy, opening his window on a cold day like this.”
“Maybe Asians are different.”
“Do you think he is Chinese, Korean or Japanese?”
“Aren’t they all the same?”
“They aren’t.”
“Ok. Lunch is ready,” I went over to her. She was still by the window, staring at the window directly opposite.
The window was opened, and he was staring at the street below. Then he looked up and noticed the two of us staring at him. We both turned away instinctively. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that he had looked away again.
“Ok, let’s eat,” I pulled her away from the window.
I knew nothing about him at that time. I never really gave much thought to it.
I never really expected to see him again. I never really expected him to stay.
**
15 January 1998
Oh my god. I actually saw the Asian today. Let me start from the beginning.
I was helping out at the shop when he came in. I heard the bells and emerged from the back, with a smile, expecting one of the usual customers. When I realised it was him, I was so shocked.
He asked for Houjicha. In German. I recovered my composure and told him to wait as I searched for it. Finally found it and showed him. He was happy with it. There was no sign of him recognising me.
Looking back, I realise that maybe he didn’t really see us clearly. Or maybe to Asians, we Europeans all look the same too.
He is probably Japanese.
“Houjicha? Good taste. But you don’t have to be Japanese to buy Japanese tea, right?”
I read her diary every day, with the help of the dictionary of course. Perhaps I shouldn’t be. But it was hard to put down.
Reading this entry, I suddenly felt like running. I changed into running attire and stepped out of my house.
“Where are you going?” my landlord was just coming back.
“I am going for a run.”
“It’s cold outside.”
I smiled and shrugged.
I needed to run. I needed to find her again. 1 million people- I didn’t believe that I couldn’t find her again, out of this 1 million people.
**
I didn’t manage to find her.
22 January 1998
I met him at the supermarket. We bumped into each other with our trolleys at the corner with the dairy products. He asked if I was the girl from the tea shop. I said yes, and asked how the tea was. He said it was just like back home. He then told me that he went back to the store just yesterday to get another kind of tea, but I wasn’t there. I told him it was my parents’ shop, and when I wasn’t working, I would pop by to help out. But there usually isn’t much business. He asked me what sort of tea Germans drink. I don’t really know, because I am not a tea lover. My parents love tea, but not me. That’s why I avoid going to the shop as much as possible. But sometimes they have to run errands and they get me to stay in it. On my off days of course.
He nodded in understanding and said he had to get on with shopping.
Talking to him, I forgot that he is a foreigner.
**
24 January 1998
I saw him by chance. In his room, from my window. It actually slipped my mind that he is living directly across the street until I chanced upon him, sitting by the window, reading. I stood by the side, so that it was less obvious. As I observed him, I wondered: what is his name? Does he really come from Japan? Why is he here?
Questions, questions, questions.
I felt so much like opening my window and shouting across to him.
Oh my god, what did I just write?
“Have you fallen in love with him?” I asked under my breath.
How do people fall in love, anyway?
**
26 January 1998
I was busy with work the past 2 days. Never really bumped into him, nor seen him in his room.
Was he at home, or was he out, exploring the town?
I slotted a postcard I had picked up at this page and closed the diary.
Where could she be?
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home