A year has passed already since I’ve
started to feel this huge emptiness in my mind. I’m unsure about why this is
happening to me, which makes me feel more scared and anxious about my feelings.
But I know for sure that there is a big hole through which all of my souls and
spirits sink out. I started to ponder upon my past, although I was afraid how
much it would pain me. My mind takes me back to exactly a year ago, when I lived
a cosmopolitan life in New York.
“The most
important thing in design is simplicity. Once that’s lost, it ought to go straight
toward the trash bin.”
“I’d like to
see your work by tomorrow. Please don’t roll your eyes. In the real world,
you’re not going to have all the time in the world to create something, ”
remarked the professor condescendingly.
Six days had
passed since I had had a restful sleep.
When I heard
him giving us another assignment, I really wanted to kill him. But I stayed
quiet because everyone else only groaned in silence, although many had
sustained dark bags under their eyes all semester. Yet, they kept strong as if
they were machines, endlessly producing things creatively. On my desk, there
were countless empty coffee cups and energy drink cans rolling around in such
an ugly manner. Especially, the design on the can that reads, “MONSTER,” painted
with some sort of green and red thunder motif made my eyes hurt. I had many
horrible experiences, and I felt dying. So, I came back home.
I came into my room to sleep. Hours
later, insomnia struck again. I thought I might as well listen to some old
music and wondered if my brother still had CDs in his room. He was away at baseball
camp for the summer. We used to be close. But as I had left home for college
and was too busy with school, and as he started to become more private, as I
imagine boys typically change in high school, we drifted apart. Except for his
occasional Facebook posts, I realized how little I knew about who he was.
As
I stepped into the room, I knew it would be a good place to start. In the
corner, there were his drum set and a poster of the periodic table. As I got
into art and literature, he became so interested in math and science, which I
could not share with him. On the shelves there were tons of science and math
books, and his old red Phillies baseball hat.
In
search for CDs, I opened the shelves of his desk and came across a black
leather notebook. Inside it said, “A Writer’s Notebook.” This must be someone
else’s, I thought. Feeling curious, I opened the middle, and on the page there
were notes.
I know that you don't like rap music that are always
the same. I think I don't like it either. This is surely not enough to
stimulate your long-lost senses. The interesting thing is there are people who
become more alive and heated when they listen to this kind of music. That's why
they do it for their entire life.
‘What
the…?’
I
could never expect my brother to write randomly, especially in a “writer’s”
notebook. He’s always been a math and science geek. .
The real reason I hate
rap songs…It's not because of the repeating lyrics or stupid cacophonies.
It was when I was in middle school. Everyone always listened to rap music. I
was a newcomer in the class and I invited my classmates to
my birthday party. Surprisingly, many students came to have lunch.
However, before they were served dessert, they all left.
I was surprised to read this. I
thought my brother loved rap. He was always blasting from his room with his
friends. My brother had always been well liked, I thought. He often had his
friends over at our house and was always playing sports or doing things in
schools. I took the notebook back to my room and started to flip through the
pages. There were tickets to a movie he went to, and he wrote:
I don’t care
What they’re going to say
Let the storm rage on,
The cold never bothered me anyway
Oh,
I’d heard this cheesy song before.
Is there something wrong with me? When K looks at me, I get
nervous. My heart beats faster than ever. The contours of K’s face are just
perfect. I find myself thinking about K when my mind wanders.
Eww. Maybe I
shouldn’t be reading this, I thought.
With his baseball glove on his hand, he just smiled while he
stood beside the big tree. Under the warm shadow of the tree, we were in
absolute peace. Being caressed by the nice summer breeze while it whistled
through the green grass, I was happier than any moment in my life.
This must be an idea
for a novel. I was impressed at how interesting it was for him to write from
the girl’s point of view. I flipped through more notes and came across a small
photograph. It looked as if it had been cut from a larger one. It was a face of
an unfamiliar boy who smiled back at me.
My brother came home
from camp the next week. When I saw him, I gave him a smile, hoping that he
would somehow know that I loved and supported him no matter what, and that I
would always be here for him.
He smiled back.
