James had also included a line of personal advice which had made me pause.
Since you’re new to this, I would also recommend going through your social media accounts to ensure there is nothing on there you wouldn’t want others to see. Your name being attached to articles will open you up to the court of publicopinion. Some people might see this as an invitation to pass judgement on you and your life.
It made me remember all the times Joon and I had had the tenuous conversation about how people might view our relationship. Had we ever gone public, everything about my life, including my social media would have been scrutinised with an intense level of detail. For a time, it had made me paranoid enough that I’d gone back through years of my accounts, deleting anything even remotely questionable – from pictures of drunken nights out with friends, to opinions expressed on pretty much anything.
I went through my social media now, excitedly adding ‘Freelance Journalist’ to my bio, and then feeling like a fool, I removed it twice before leaving it up.
While I was there, I flipped through the last few photos I’d uploaded. There weren’t too many, just a few from Korea. Views from the banks along the Han river during the light show, selfies from walking around Gangnam and so many pictures of food.
Then there was the picture I’d taken in the bathroom where Jihoon’s skincare was side-by-side with mine. Symbolic of a shared life.
I smiled, remembering the day we’d moved in.
It was still early enough in Korea to call Joon. I dialled his number, wanting to hear his voice and tell him all about The Loop.
He didn’t answer. I tried again, but got the same result. He was working so hard, I hoped he was taking care of himself.
I sighed, putting my phone away. I filled out the documents and sent them back.
Later, when I was lying in bed, room dark except for the light of my phone screen, I let curiosity get the better of me.
I searched for online journalism courses.
Just out of interest.
Chapter 17
The first article I submitted toThe Loopa week later did not go viral. I hadn’t expected it to, not really, and it was almost a relief that it didn’t.
If I was really honest with myself, it was with anxiety, not excitement that I watched the number of ‘like’s going up. It felt… exposing.
My blog had felt like a more personal space where the people who visited were already on my side, having found their way through shared interests, but this – having an opinion piece I wrote to be submitted so publicly – felt like standing in the middle of the road and hoping not to get run over.
James had emailed me after I’d submitted it to say that it had been accepted and would be posted later that day. He followed it up by passing on the advice he’d been given years ago.
Don’t watch the page. Ignore it completely, and for the love of God, do NOT read the comments.
I’d seen enough vitriol in online comment sections to see this for the wisdom that it was, and so I shut the lid of my laptop not long after the article went live.
The urge to check had been nearly overwhelming, and eventually I had to resort to extreme measures.
I dug out a pair of old trainers, put my hair up in a ponytail and put my headphones on. I waved goodbye to my bemused parents, closed the front door behind me, and set off down the lane at a gentle jog.
At first, I enjoyed the day. The sun was shining, but not too hot. Sheep grazed in the field across the road, and old dry-stone walls crisscrossed the vast, patchwork green of the land as far as the eye could see. It was a glorious day for a run.
With energetic music providing the backing track to my new season, new me, I felt fantastic.
Until I didn’t - which was approximately ten minutes later.
I don’t know who I thought I was. I didn’t run. I especially didn’t cross country run. Jihoon often ran outside in the pre-dawn hours, but the most I ever stretched to was a gentle thirty minutes on an elliptical, which – as I swiftly discovered – was a very different beast from pounding the pavement in the real world with my old, worn-out trainers.
Trying to pretend I was finished, instead of dying, I turned around and walked back, briskly for anyone watching, doing my best to ignore the ache in my side.
“Good run was it, love?” Dad looked at me over the top of his newspaper, and even though only his eyes were visible, I could tell he was grinning.
“Bit out of practice,” I puffed, bending at the waist and pretending to stretch.
“I’d have thought you’d need to be in practice before you could get out of it,” Mum remarked lightly as she walked past.
