By Zephyria He could only exhale the breath he had been holding back, his voice barely pushing out through trembling lips.
“How… how did you get here…”
There weren’t many photos hanging on the white walls. Some photos were hung side-by-side as if they belonged together, while others were placed above and below each other. Some maintained a distance from other photos. What was clear was that Choi Hong-seo already knew more than half of the photos adorning both walls.
From the center of the long hall, Choi Hong-seo slowly stepped backward. Then he turned and stepped backward again in the opposite direction. He spun around the hall like someone surrounded by predators, not knowing what to do.
Before leaving for the rooftop bar for the final moment.
These were the photos that Choi Hong-seo himself had deleted one by one in a hotel room in Bangkok, Thailand. Those deleted photos had reappeared here, in this faraway place, at ‘Rampas’s’ exhibition.
It wasn’t just photos; the pain he felt at the time, as if he were erasing his own memories, life, and existence, had awakened fiercely from its slumber in his heart. Choi Hong-seo’s shoulders began to heave irregularly. Just like when he had trembled and sobbed then. But the tears hadn’t come yet.
“……”
Choi Hong-seo’s gaze stopped at a photo of a bird flying in a pale, empty sky.
He remembered it as a photo taken in Jakarta.
But there was nothing to indicate the location. A lone bird flew in the cloud-filled sky. Even that bird appeared very small.
What truly caught Choi Hong-seo’s eye was the other photo, placed right next to it: a photo of Rampas.
It was a tree.
Bare branches seen from below, looking up. The tree’s arms and embrace, almost stripped of leaves but still open to the sky. It was as if it were telling the bird, tired from flying endlessly in the empty sky, to come here and rest its wings.
Thus, the bird and the tree were side-by-side, like a single, connected artwork.
Only then did a hot tear drop. The tear, which had gathered in the corner of his eye instead of flowing, had grown larger and larger until it was as big as a pearl. It fell heavily towards the floor without even crossing his cheek.
There was also a photo taken from the window of the last room he stayed in, the Bangkok hotel room, during a squall. The city was blurred by the pouring rain, and all the lights were smudged. It looked as if a thick fog had descended.
Rampas’s photo was next to it again.
It was a black-and-white photo of the sea, with waves crashing violently. The colossal surge seemed ready to swallow the person taking this photo on the beach.
This was sorrow.
He didn’t know much about art. He didn’t know how to appreciate paintings or photographs beautifully. But he could understand it, not through theory, but solely through the emotion conveyed. He knew the person who took this photo was in immense sorrow. That he had already been swallowed by those waves.
As if responding to the photos Choi Hong-seo had left with photos, they were paired.
“Let’s not share this one via messenger, but show it to each other in person when we meet again later. Okay?”
“Or, we could have a joint exhibition later.”
He had rushed here with the sole intention of keeping his promise to visit Rampas’s exhibition. But he had prepared for the realization of many more promises.
Tears blurred his vision like a squall.
This was his love, and the fulfillment of his promise.
He knew he was buried in his love.
He traced each photo with his gaze, looking at them for a long time. He carefully captured them with his phone camera. Then, leaning against the window, he sat on the floor and spent time there.
The sunlight that had filled the far corner of the hall slowly receded like the tide. The sunlight, which had receded to the tips of Choi Hong-seo’s outstretched feet, retreated past his knees and thighs. He sat there like that.
He didn’t want to leave. That place was heaven, a fairy tale world, and Lee Hae-sung’s embrace. He liked it so much that he thought he wouldn’t mind if it became his grave.
There were no photos that specifically identified Lee Hae-sung or Choi Hong-seo. But if the deleted memory was restored, there would be no problem. The photos of them taking pictures of each other, which they had hesitated to delete until the very end, would all have been safely recovered.
He remembered telling himself that deleting photos wouldn’t make him forget him, and even if he forgot his own existence, he wouldn’t forget him. That memory shook his emotions.
He raised his head and turned his gaze towards the window he was leaning against. A rather large commercial building was visible across the street, and the sun was distorting above the palm trees planted in the building’s parking lot.
Watching the red-soaked sun paint the entire air in shades of orange, he got up from his seat. He couldn’t even gauge how many hours he had been there. It felt like only ten minutes, and yet it felt like a lifetime, a strange sensation.
The woman guarding the gallery was organizing something behind the counter.
“I’m sorry. Did I stay too long?”
“Come here and have a cup of tea before you go.”
She smiled as if it were no big deal and gestured to the sofa in front of the counter.
Perhaps sensing his unfamiliarity with English and wanting to be considerate, she didn’t speak to him while he drank his tea. She was probably just packing up sold artworks, one by one.
The warm, fragrant herbal tea replenished the moisture lost from crying and calmed the intense emotions that had arisen. The anxiety and tension he had felt on his way here had vanished, replaced by a comfort akin to returning home.
As she began to move the packed artworks from behind the counter, Choi Hong-seo put down his nearly empty teacup and quickly stood up.
“Let me help you.”
“Oh, thank you.”
After carefully placing about six or seven artworks by the entrance, it was truly time for a deep sunset.
“Can I come again tomorrow?”
“Michelle.”
“……”
“Call me Michelle.”
“Can I come again tomorrow, Michelle?”
“Of course. As you can see, our gallery is very quiet. Visitors are always welcome. Especially a precious guest from far away.”
“Thank you.”
He couldn’t understand everything she said, but he could guess from her expression, tone, and a few words that she was welcoming him. He still had a few more days. He planned to visit every day until he returned to Korea.
“Uber?”
“No. Hotel, Uber, no.”
She understood his meaning from the short string of words and kindly called a taxi for him. While waiting for the taxi, she also introduced him to another taxi app besides Uber.
In the hotel lobby, no one paid any attention to Choi Hong-seo. Although there was a doorman, it wasn’t a five-star hotel that politely welcomed every arriving guest. The doorman, who had firmly told him no to Uber and called him a taxi, was now taking a commemorative photo for a family staying at the hotel. He was friendly, unlike how he had been with Choi Hong-seo. Having received a tip, he repeatedly bowed his back towards the departing family.
Choi Hong-seo watched the scene with indifference while waiting for the elevator.
He returned to his old, dingy room and immediately collapsed onto the bed.
He had been tense all day due to the long flight, and the only food he had eaten within the last 20 hours was a bit of in-flight meal. Yet, he wasn’t hungry at all. It wasn’t that he lacked appetite; he couldn’t feel hunger.
Without changing his clothes or covering himself with a blanket, he curled up like a fetus and fell asleep. He was filled only with the anticipation of tomorrow, wanting to go to Rampas’s exhibition again. Tomorrow, he would take his time and look at the souvenirs. He thought he saw mug cups while drinking tea…
With such thoughts, a smile on his lips, he drifted into sleep.
The next day, he left the hotel a little earlier than the day before. He had breakfast provided by the hotel, and after a good night’s sleep, he felt much less tired.
He walked to the shopping mall behind the hotel and bought a small bouquet for Michelle, then called a taxi using an app. Unlike yesterday, everything went smoothly. He even had enough leisure to lean back against the seat in the taxi and watch the scenery outside as he drove to the gallery. It wasn’t the beautiful scenery people typically associate with LA, but since the destination was beautiful, the journey didn’t matter.
Fortunately, Michelle was very pleased with the modest gift.
“Thank you so much yesterday. It’s nothing special, but please accept it.”
He spoke haltingly, having looked up and practiced with a translator beforehand. She buried her nose in the bouquet of purple, orange, and yellow chrysanthemums, inhaling their fragrance, and nodded with a smile.
“How could you have such a lovely thought? Since you brought me a gift, you can stay as long as you like today too.”
Like a grandson visiting his grandmother’s house and running to his secret attic room. Choi Hong-seo ascended the stairs to the second floor. He felt the same flutter of excitement as yesterday, but he wasn’t as nervous. After all, he now knew what awaited him there. There was no need to count. He wanted to go up quickly.
However, with about six or seven steps left to the top, Choi Hong-seo couldn’t take the next step. He gripped the strap of his bag, which he had been holding loosely, so tightly that his knuckles turned pale yellow.
In the all-white space, bathed in sunlight as it had been yesterday, he stood.
In front of the photos of the bird and the tree. Wearing the ivory boat-neck knit he had worn on the day they walked up Namsan together. He was looking at Choi Hong-seo, who had stopped on the stairs. In the reflected light, he looked like an angel.