Parents Leaving

 

As much as I acknowledge the importance of being alone, and being able to thrive by oneself, I hate being alone. 

We arrived at the place I was to stay. It was a Korean church (or rather, a christian temple of sorts, it was weird). Our family is not religious, but I was legally required to have a guardian, so our broker introduced us to this pastor family. I have only had one encounter with the church. When I was nine, I was home alone. A church person (evangelist?) rang our doorbell. A regretful decision, but I opened the door. This person asked me what my dream was, and the next thing I remember was this person’s hand on my head, and praying that I become the president. I cried out of fear. I’m not quite sure why, but that person’s completely unbased, but extreme certainty, was scary, I guess. I also wondered, what if someone else prayed to become president? Who would win the election?

My family rented a car and travelled. We had good food, saw some cool things, the usual tourist  attractions. My father claimed that this would be our final family trip (we of course went on many trips after this). He was always like that. His apocalyptic(?) philosophy perhaps shaped my attitude towards farewells. The four of us - mother, father, brother and I - we travelled. I can’t recall an especially impactful memory. We just did the touristy things, took photos, and ate good food. Back then I would have much rather sit at home with my new laptop.

As I grew accustomed to the days and nights of this place, my mother cried. It was our last night. She wailed. I had no idea what to do. Of course it made me sad, and I wanted to cry as well, but I thought that wouldn’t be helpful for all of us to cry. Father consoled her, and my mother slowly regressed into a muffled cry. That night, that room, became hell to me. I couldn’t do anything, and I didn’t want to do anything. My head hurt terribly and the only thing I can think of was her to stop sobbing.  Only my mother’s sorrow filled the large, dark room, and I couldn’t breathe. I closed my eyes. As I was shutting my 14-year-old self, morning came. It snowed outside, making everywhere white and bright. I was supposed to go to school today, but it was canceled due to the snow. I didn’t get any sleep, so I had a headache. I stared outside, with the cold, dry air on my face, at the completely white scene. If I kept staring my eyes hurt, which made my head hurt, but I kept staring. My family was loading the car. Probably due to the snow, it was completely silent outside. Amid the complete silence, I heard the trunk shut. Thump. I can’t recall much after that moment. I can only remember the slowly leaving car, my mother crying, and my father holding back his feelings. 

After the thick smoke of the diesel Mercedes disappeared, it was once again silent. My eyes hurt so much. The car was long gone, and I was just standing there, like a fool. Nobody was consoling me, nor I had anything to do. It felt like I was left at this giant, white vacuum. I hurried back to my room. I noticed that my hands were cold. My room was a very honest cube, and had nothing but the bed and a cheap, plastic desk. As if I was possessed by something, I turned on my laptop and started playing video games. I was a soldier in a first-person shooter game. I slowly devoted myself to the rectangular screen. To escape from the reality of a 14-year-old boy left alone in a foreign country, I devoted myself to the soldier who respawns and charges forward despite being shot, and blown up.  It might just be my youth, but I could not deal with the reality - it was too painful. So I incessantly played video games, read comics, and watched funny videos. Seldomly the power would go out, or when I had to turn off the computer, I was left alone in that giant, silent, dark room, all by myself, with my thoughts, and with my being. As I lied on that bed, staring at the silent ceiling, the image of my mother crying, the car leaving, and the feeling that I was completely alone, strangled me. Then I would have an intense headache, leaving me with nothing but sadness, and I would loudly cry like a mad person. I would wake up from the episode, and it would be morning. I would eat the bagel sandwich that my host parents prepared for me, and I would plunge back into a world of denial. I spent 10 days doing this. They were hellish. Like the character in my game who respawns and running back into the battlefield, I also mechanically paralyzed myself every day, passing time. I hated the today that was no different than yesterday.