Read Online The Girl Who Wrote Loneliness by Kyung-Sook Shin - Free Book Online Page B

not been able to write about you is that my heart was still aching,” would that have made a good excuse? That I had not been able to write about them because just the thought would fill my chest with pain? If I had told her that I was sorry, that I was only sixteen years old then? It was not that I was ashamed of them. It was that I had not walked out of that place in a natural manner. I had run from that place, aghast at the turns of a fateful life. I had run and had never taken even a step toward that direction ever again. Without realizing what I was doing, I stepped over the other side of the stepping stone. ButI could not say I had really crossed to the other side.
    Wherever I was, at whichever point in time, the loneliness lived inside of me, taking up the same amount of space as the village where I was born and grew up, but opposite in meaning. The only reason I was not able to directly address them through my writing was because it allowed not even a glimpse into the sense of happiness that I get when I think of the village where I was born. It only allowed memories of the crammed room that I had to share with Brother and Cousin, of the feeling of desolation, like being locked in the attic, or the sound of heavy footsteps that one makes when the only thing that keeps them walking is the determination to live on—and finally, there would be Hui-jae, blocking my way.
    As long as Hui-jae was there, looking the way she did, I could not figure out how I could go back to that place or how I should approach these girls who had been my friends.
    I was sixteen years old when I walked into that lone room and nineteen when I ran out from it.

    I could not quite find a way to make peace with those four years of my life. I did not know how to accept the fetters of life that had bound me, who had walked out of nature directly to the factory without any connecting bridges in between. Nor could I accept the young women, around my age, some perhaps five or six years older than me, whom I saw there . . . and this city, where nature’s breath could no longer reach.

    I remember lunch break on our first day at work. One by one, Foreman hands out meal tickets stamped with the word “Lunch.” The cafeteria is located on the roof. Cousin and I walk side by side up the stairs. People in blue uniform shirts form a queue that starts from inside the cafeteria all the way out on the roof. A spicy aroma spills from the kitchen. After a long wait, I receive a food tray containing a lump of rice with a strange substance poured over it.
    “What is this?”
    “It’s curry.”
    Cousin pronounces the word aloud, “curry,” and glances at me with eyes that seem to ask what the problem is. Curry? I have never heard of this food before. What kind of food looks like this? I am doubtful about its dull yellow color. I spoon up a small amount and take it to my mouth. It’s nauseating.
    “I can’t eat this.” I put down my spoon.
    “It can feel that way at first, but you’ll learn to like it after a few tries. Try to bear it.”
    I try another taste but I feel like I might lose my breakfast. “You’ll have to finish on your own.”
    Unable to sit through the meal because of the smell, I empty the tray into the food trash pail, return the tray and leave the cafeteria. I stand around on the roof for a while and come back to the assembly line. At the number one seat, I rest my head on the conveyor belt, which has come to a stop for lunch break. Then Cousin shakes my shoulder.
    “Have this then.”
    A pastry bun with red bean filling.
    “Where did you get this?”
    “Where do you think? I went outside and bought one.” Cousin opens the wrapper and puts the bun in my hand. “You sure are strange. Making a fuss about nothing at all.”

    A life different from ours. A person different from me. When I heard Ha Gye-suk say the words, Your life seems different from ours now, I felt blank, thinkingof Mom. Could it be that I had been ashamed, as Ha