Red-Eye Rhapsody

The young woman was jolted awake by a sudden ache in her left ear. After a boarding time pushed back not once but twice, she and one hundred and seventy others had been ushered on to the rather battered Boeing 787 well after midnight. Although she could afford to travel on a better, more reliable airline with some ease, she had booked with a budget airline. After she had settled in a reasonably comfortable position in her seat, using her coat as a blanket, she closed her eyes and allowed her neck to go slack. According to the latest forecast, before she had set her two phones to airplane mode, she would probably not need it at her destination, so it might as well be useful to her now. Her body was heavy with exhaustion, although her mind had remained largely alert. Now she was once again fully awake and reaching for the bag she had been forced to stow prior to takeoff. 

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen, we are now about 20 minutes away from our destination and our flight assistants will be coming around with landing cards shortly.” The captain announced. “And once again, I do apologize for the delays.”

She pulled out her two phones, one that only worked in the country she was coming from, and the other more suited to international locals. To save herself astronomical roaming fees, she activated the sim card in her Samsung Android and prepared to activate the E-Sim in her Galaxy Z Flip upon landing. The latter automatically calibrated itself to local time, 03:44 a.m. It would be at least eighteen hours before her eyes closed again.

All around her, couples and families stirred. Her seat was beside the window and to her left a couple, who had fallen drifted off hand-in-hand and the woman’s head on her beloved’s chest, now awoke and righted themselves in their seats in preparation for landing. Across the aisle, a middle-aged man tenderly ruffled the hair of the younger man next to him, and instantly she knew that he was actually a teenager and the man’s son. There was a dull tugging in her chest, and she looked away, stretching her neck and peering out the window in hopes of glimpsing the sprawling metropolis coming into view. All around her were happy people, either returning from or embarking on shared holiday trips. And although happy in her own way, she did not have the tolerance for such wholesomeness so early in the morning, on three hours of sleep. Unfortunately, there were few conversations taking place around her that she could not understand fairly well. 

“How much do you think a taxi will cost?”

“Wake up, honey, we’re here!” 

“Ah, my neck! Gonna need a massage at the hotel later….” 

The seatbelt sign came on and the descent began. It was rocky and nerve-wracking, but that is what happens when you book with a budget airline. Naturally, her hands found the armrests and held on for dear life, squeezing blood and the melanin itself from her knuckles. The popping in her ears ceased, replaced by a pressure balloon that refused to pop. Clouds fleeted away, the twinkling of pre-dawn urban sprawl appeared outside the window, and at last the plane touched the runway. 

Always Stand By Me

She read the message imprinted on her bag for the umpteenth time and smirked at its irony before loosening her seatbelt and draping it across her chest. Her coat, she would drape over the handle of her carry-on when it was taken from the overhead rack. Although the plane would offload from front to back and her seat in L was exactly in the middle, a sudden surge of energy caused her to shoot out of her seat immediately. 

Her row mates were not amused, side glancing at the awkward waif of a vicenerian now towering over them. Suddenly she was conscious of her appearance, how her simple white and black long-sleeved t-shirt and black sweatpants contrasted sharply with the woman’s smart taupe pea coat. However, their glances did not persuade her to sit down again. The offboarding of the plane proceeded as announced and when the knot of cranky passengers finally reached the row in front of them, the man seated in the aisle seat rose and unpacked the overhead bin. After he had handed down their carry-ons to his partner, he fetched the young woman’s small suitcase and said with a tight smile in perfect albeit exaggerated English, “Is this yours’?” 

Always sensitive to the tones, facial expressions, and probable thoughts behind those expressions, she accepted it with a quiet, “Thank you.” This was followed quickly by an unconscious repetition in the language of the country she had just left behind but had grown accustomed to over many years. Nevertheless, it never ceased to amaze her that though she had not lived in the country of her birth and partial origin since she was a small child, others always assumed correctly that she was a native English speaker. 

Her carry-on suitcase was silver, her favorite collar. For distinction, it bore two keychain tags, one on the zippers and one on the top handle, one that said Seoul My Seoul and the other a puzzle piece with the words A Missing Piece of Someone’s Heart. For some strange reason, not unlike how she’d previously felt, reading the words made her feel a certain pull in the chest.

“We’re getting off now.” The man in the aisle said and dragged her back to reality. 

She joined the glut of passengers and inched her way down the aisle to the door, greeted by a biting wind that told her the coat she had draped over her suitcase was better draped over her. As she made her way towards immigration, she removed her travel documents from her cross-body bag and glanced around. “I remember when this place hadn’t even been built.” 

Truth be told, when she had initially arrived in the country some twenty years before, the new airport had not yet been opened. Instead, she had arrived in a small bare-bones airport with only one terminal, some 5 kilometers away, and far less busy.

Her father had been wheeling a suitcase, their passports in hand and his mind preoccupied with some adult matter he would not share with her. In truth, he seemed to have all but forgotten about her, striding ahead. All around them, mothers had held their children’s hands tight, while wrought-nerved husbands had shepherded their families along. The woman, then five or six years old or thereabout, had instead memorized the pattern on her father’s long-sleeved plaid shirt and followed it like her life depended on never losing sight. Those gray and white checked squares, white and black crisscrossing lines had led her along from the arrival gate to immigration. Then, as was the case now, there was no need for landing cards for the young woman and her father had not been temporary guests just passing through. No, after many plane rides, they were finally at the final destination, the place that would be her home for years to come. 

A young, fresh-faced agent waved her forward and she handed over her passport and residency card to start the process. Glasses off and look at the machine, index fingers on the digital scanner, and a visual identification. “Do you have another passport? Which one of your parents is a citizen?” The man behind the desk asked. 

“My father.” She said casually, having already expected the question. 

“Ah! Welcome back.” Her satisfactory answer led to the return of her documents, and the plexiglass gate doors opened. 

With only her carry-on suitcase, she bypassed the luggage claim and instead made a beeline for the ATM before finishing the set-up of her Z Flip. 

05:27 a.m. 

Always conscious of her bank balance and never one to spend recklessly, she would take the first subway train of the day rather than a taxi. A 7-11 on the way to the subway’s entrance beckoned to her, though, the need to stay on her feet and stimulate her mind during the half-hour wait overriding the heaviness in her legs. A snack would settle her stomach and soothe her nerves.

On the counter, a large slow cooker held whole eggs stewing in a thick brownish-black broth. A warming case contained a variety of stuffed steamed buns. All sorts of tantalizing chips lined the shelves, some familiar and several she had never heard of before. Salty lime, takoyaki, mala hotpot, and chicken tomato. From the coolers, she took a bottle of royal milk tea and, from the shelves, a brown bun stuffed with sweet cream cheese. She did not need or want a meal, only a small boost to keep her going. 

Purchases in hand and travel card topped off, she opted to use the standing table along the wall outside the store to eat her snack. Others squatted along the opposite wall with a natural ease that had always eluded her. Out of habit, she swept thick black flyaway wisps away from her forehead and rotated her neck until it cracked, then practically inhaled the pastry like she’d not seen food in a week and chugged the tea. Within three minutes, she was again on her way. 

The old airport had been far less elaborate and the only option had been to take a shady overpriced taxi or overcrowded bus. Her father back then, like her, had also opted for the cheaper option and ushered her out into the muggy mid-morning heat to find a bus that would take them into the city. By nightfall, she had been falling asleep next to him on a hard, narrow mattress shoved in the corner of a distant relative’s living room, her body half on top of his to keep them both off the floor. Although, on the bus, he had seated her next to an unassuming middle-aged woman and disappeared to the back of the bus. The woman aside from looking at the little girl curiously had said nothing and pretended to sleep while the girl craned her neck to peer out the window taking in the sights of her new surroundings so unlike any she had ever seen before. Her haphazardly pulled-back hair had hung in a damp puff, bothering her neck and constantly being batted by her hand to relieve her irritated skin. The humidity was hanging thick in the air on that sultry late spring morning all those years ago and her young mind, full of wonder mired by uncertainty, had struggled to process the scenes unfolding before her eyes as they whizzed by outside the un-airconditioned bus. Lost in a daze is how she had remained until she became aware of something being held under her nose. A chunk of fruit in the hand of her seatmate. Her nose had twitched from the strange odor that penetrated into her inner world. She had taken the morsel with a cautious glance, put it in her mouth, and tried to chew quietly making it last, until the bus stopped, and her father came forward grabbing her hand to usher her off.

“The first train bound for the main station will arrive at 5:58 a.m. Please form an orderly queue and do not crowd the doors.” An automated voice announced. 

In a throng, ignoring the voice’s warning, the crowd surged forward the moment the entrance to the subway platform was unlocked. The acclimation came quickly and like a well-seasoned local, the young woman made her way along scarcely glancing at any signs or listening to any announcements, which she understood although certain words and their exact meanings alluded her. Only one thing stood out to her. Where she had come from, everyone pushed and shoved their way onto trains the moment the doors opened, packing themselves like sardines. Here they milled about preoccupied with phones and each other, and lined up neatly only when the approaching train could be heard, waiting until passengers disembarked before getting on. On board, since it was the first train of the day, she found a seat easily and made her carry on her seatmate. 

The city was coming slowly to life outside the window, and again she could not help being filled with nostalgia, fatigue fading away. Yes, she would enjoy a full day in this city she had been away from for far too long, so long it had almost become unfamiliar. It was almost amazing how fast time could fly, and it was a struggle to stay present. Awakened by the earlier snack, her stomach called for more food, and she knew how she would start the day. 

At the main station, she transferred to the yellow line and rode three stops. Outside the station, her eyes were alert, searching for a line of people. Where there were people, there was a hole in the wall cranking out the morning staples, and she soon joined one such queue. Thankfully, it moved quickly as those who wished to dine inside the minuscule establishment stepped aside. The right words came to her, albeit with rusty pronunciation, and she was soon on her way again with a plastic bag full of fried donuts and dumplings looped over her wrist, a separate one with three sealed cups hooked on two fingers.

Off the main road and down a side street to a less prominent building in a block of ten. She entered through a common door guarded only by a pensioner inside a side room of the lobby. This was not the stomping grounds of the ultrarich or famous. In the elevator, she whispered a little prayer as it lurched and clanged grinding its way up the shaft. 

From her cross-body bag, she produced a key and inserted it into an unassuming metal door at the end of the hallway. There were no numbers, and she hoped her memory had not failed her. Luckily the door groaned outward and an inner door was slightly ajar, allowing her to slip inside where she stepped out of her Vans and forewent slippers. 

Inside, the combined living room and dining room were simply furnished: a black leather three-seater couch in the living room across from a mounted flat screen and a square table with only two chairs in the dining room. As she offloaded her purchases on to the table, a sharp intake of air behind her stopped her in her tracks. A door had been opened without her hearing it, and her quiet arrival was discovered. 

“What….what is this?” 

Recognizing the voice that she had long since become used to, the young woman let out her own breath and adopted an equally long-perfected persona. 

“Good morning.” She turned to greet her father’s wife. “Did I wake you? The minced dumplings are still your favorite, right?” She made a point to raise her voice as the correct words to make herself understood came back to mind. This was because the older woman hardly knew a word of English. 

A suspicious nod and the latter quickly retreated. 

“Darling, wake up quickly. You sleep like a rock when it’s your day off! Hurry up and come to breakfast.” 

Soon, her father, rubbing his buzzed head, emerged, to find his only child had repurposed a crate from the kitchen to be a third seat at his table. Words failed him though and all he could do was make his way over to the table to his usual seat. As she conversed politely with her stepmother, all he did was sip on his hot beverage and watch her unwaveringly. What was he thinking? Except for a very brief drop-in well over two years ago that had ended without goodbyes, they had not met, and their chats were few and further between. 

Finally, he gulped the remainder of his drink, set the drained cup down with purpose, and said with the slightest smile, “You know, my daughter, I remember when…. a little girl was so quiet and shy, I called her Mouse.”