Work Text:
6 April 2007
Ikjun-ah,
Today, I moved into my new apartment. It was just a small space, but thankfully I got all of my stuff to fit. It was small but it was nice. My bed was cozy and I can’t wait to come home to it after a tiring shift at the hospital. My kitchen is good enough for someone who probably won’t use it much, but what makes it perfect is that it had a nook. I think what would really complete it is a nice coffee machine, or one of those pour-over jars? But then, I’ll likely be running on instant coffee just like before, because what kind of surgical resident has the time to craft her own coffee, anyway?
My apartment has a balcony. I think it will be perfect for eating sujebi on a rainy night, or indulging in a bowl of nurungji on a slow morning during day offs. As I am writing this, I’m here sitting on my balcony, which by the way, overlooks the famous Yulje Medical Center. Oh, have I mentioned that I start my residency there on Monday?
I still can’t believe it, though. I’ll be training in the hospital I’ve always wanted to work at. Then after, I’d come home to my perfect, cozy little apartment, but then I’ll be too tired to cook so I’ll just eat ramyeon. Do you still remember when I was just telling you about these things? These plans I had for when we finish medical school?
Because I do. I still remember telling you what kind of furniture I would put in my future apartment, what kind of plants I’ll be placing in my tiny balcony to take care of, or how well stocked my pantry would be.
I also still remember how my words would stop at those mundane things, but my thoughts would continue to fleet to the dream of having you, included in my plans. How it would be such a dream to come home to you after a long, tiring day. And whenever it’s your turn to tell me about your hopes and dreams, I would always find myself waiting for you to say my name.
I’m still in awe of how fast time flies Ikjun-ah. I’m here now, doing exactly all of those things I planned and I’m writing to you because you are still the first person I want to tell all these things to. I want to tell you how I think my life is going exactly as planned. How everything is slowly coming together, how the pieces are finally falling into their right places. Like how you always said they would.
How I got everything I’ve always wanted and more.
The only difference is you’re still not here.
Everything I’ve always wanted is here now. Except you.
Songhwa.
She puts down her pen, before slowly ripping the page off of the pad, folding it into three, then slipping it into an envelope. She places it carefully into the box, one that is full of envelopes, all addressed to the same person; the one where her heart leads to: Lee Ikjun.
She put the lid of the box back on. Afterwards, she downed a shot of soju, before picking up her pen again, writing another version of the letter she’d written earlier.
--
fin.