Gray Days

She woke up on the floor with only a well-worn blanket atop her. Since it was March and technically spring, the heating system was turned off, which meant the floor was cold. But she did not mind. It had been her choice to sleep there, after all. Anyone who did not know her well did not know her background, would have thought her crazy, of course. How does one explain the strange comfort of doing something again as an adult that was once so familiar to you as a child?

As she sat up on the chilly wooden floor and looked around her apartment in the pre-dawn grayness, she knew it was going to be one of those days. One of those days when she would not follow her usual rigid routine with vigor and urgency, but rather keep her schedule languidly with an air of melancholiness. She was not a depressed person, not anymore; still, she had yet to experience such highs as ecstaticness and exuberance. Most often she described herself as content, when she felt the urge to live quietly and normally, with her past as distant vignettes. Then there were the times she found herself craving comfort, overtaken by emotions and moods she could not quite articulate, and retreating into herself. These she called the gray days.

What had brought about this particular gray day? She never knew the particular trigger, yet she could pinpoint the onset. 

Two days earlier, on a chilly and overcast Sunday afternoon, she had met friends in another district of Seoul. One of them had had their last day of work on Friday, which meant the clock was ticking on their legal presence in the country, and their departure was imminent. It would be the last time they hung out, and she knew it, although she said nothing and instead greeted her friends with a cheerful “Hello!” when they stepped off the train around noon. 

Their plans, as usual, were not set in stone, and they had ended up wandering from one end of the district to the other. From the traditional market in an obscure neighborhood that proved to be somewhat of a letdown to the far livelier and trendier area around the universities. They went through narrow alleys and along crumbling side streets, browsing in small boutiques and vintage shops, as the gray sky began to weep noiselessly and pelt them with heavy tears. Hours passed by as she and her two friends nibbled street food prepared by wrinkled-faced ajeummas, stopped at a themed café inspired by Miyazaki, and stuffed themselves with a late lunch of Mexican fusion. It was there, at the Mexican restaurant, as she went to the counter to explain that her friend didn’t get his soda, that the finality hit her. Already it was 4 in the afternoon, and the rain was showing no signs of letting up; still, she did not want their time together to end. What was this finality she had felt? People she knew were always leaving to return to their home places; but although she left occasionally, she was always coming back.

Sighing, she now got up and folded her blanket as neatly as she could, remembering the days when she got scolded for doing it hastily and sloppily. Even that memory brought her some comfort because she could always expect it, day after day for so many years. On her gray days, though physically in the present, her mind and psyche craved the old and familiar. Once her blanket was folded and put away, she flipped on the electric kettle and began to take her daily regime of vitamins. Her stomach gave a small protesting cramp, and she remembered how her day out with friends had extended well into the evening.

After lunch, to get out of the rain, the trio had gone into a multistory shopping complex and spent over an hour traversing the seven floors. In and out of pop-up shops as the Mexican food settled in their overstuffed stomachs. On the anime-themed floor, she felt like an elementary school student again as she walked the aisles, seeing all of her old favorites, Final Fantasy and Full Metal Alchemist, Bleach, and even Black Butler. While they were inside, the sun had gone down, and still the rain was falling. It was a heavy, harsh, and punishing rain. Yet, she didn’t want their time together to end.

“Maybe. Let’s find somewhere to get a drink?” She had suggested. This suggestion she had made, despite previously telling herself she would not drink this year. Usually, she was so strict with herself, and it had been months since she last touched a drop. But with her friends? She wouldn't get the opportunity to again and probably would never see them again.

It had happened before, people just left her life with no goodbyes and without her really noticing. In fact, it had become part of her life philosophy: people come, and they go, nobody stays forever, and at the end of the day, you only have yourself. This time felt different, though. Yes her friends would go, but before that happened; she wanted just one more night together. 

The area around Hongik Station was packed with such places, cheap restaurants and watering holes, nightclubs and bars, and her friend soon spotted a second-floor Izakaya. Soon, they were sheltered and seated, picking from a table-side screen. A tiny bottle of sake was gone in two toasts and followed quickly by a round of highballs. Soju was ordered, first the familiar green bottle, and then a brand with no picture was chosen. It proved to be exceptionally smooth and very deceptive. Four bottles were drunk over the course of hours, along with two more rounds of highballs interspersed with casual, often humorous conversation as the group reminisced. It was not until the group stood up to leave after 9 p.m. that they realized how drunk they were. The time had flown.

Although she had wanted to go home cheaply by train, it had not been possible in their condition. Her friends had picked her up when she fell and bundled her into a taxi, taking her to her apartment and seeing her inside safely. They had gone out of her way for her, and although the situation was played off lightly the next day in messages, guilt still panged her. That day, a Monday designated as a public holiday, she had not gone out at all. Instead, she had a quiet day in, taking care of her body and doing household chores. Throughout the day she had played oriental RnB, lofi, and chill music until she stumbled across one particular song with a refrain that resonated with her.

I mustn’t cling to this fear. Time…..heals all things. 

Quickly she had found the song on Spotify and added it to her custom playlist. It restored in her a sense of normalcy and grounded her in the present. With that reassurance, the day had gone on, and the sun had set. After her evening meal, she had laid on her bed, scrolling on her phone and existing with her feelings. 

When the time came to sleep, she had gotten off of her bed, craving the familiarity of something hard and stable under her body. Dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants underneath the thin blanket, she felt like she was back in her teenage years. Outside her window, the sounds of typical urban life had lulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep. Time…..heals all things.

Now, it was the next morning, and she had had the best night of sleep in a long time. From the kettle, expertly flicked off just before boiling, she poured water into a cheap plastic cup to make milk tea and gulped the beverage with relish. The snow predicted in the forecast had already begun to fall, and she decided to forego her usual morning jog. Instead, she opted for a slow morning at her computer, pecking out yet another book chapter and allowing herself further recovery. Her work would not begin until the afternoon.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed.

Sunday night was epic. Lol. Until we meet again, my friend!

The message was simple, but the finality turned down the corners of her mouth for a brief moment. Then she took a deep breath and smiled slightly. 

For sure. Godspeed and safe travels!