“It’s okay,” I say, propping open the box I set down.
“Oh, baby… it’s more than fine. It’s yours, which is good. It’s good you have your own space. You’ll be able to process it all.”
I can’t even bring myself to answer.
Sometimes… I feel like I don’t even sound like myself anymore. I’ve always been an optimist. Always a “look on the bright side” type of person, out to spread cheer and compassion.
I wish I could say I was still that way. That I could somehow get the old Monroe back the same way I got my old apartment.
But as I dig inside the box and start pulling out my things, deep down I know it’s not happening. There’s no returning to the Monroe I once was because that Monroe is gone.
Her heart has been broken and her spirit crushed.
Just existing and staying out of bed all day feels like a feat in and of itself. Yet when Idogo to bed, I end up lying awake for hours. I’m an insomniac who can’t turn her brain—or shattered heart—off long enough to trulyrest.
It’s a paradox I’ve stopped trying to figure out. I’m slowly realizing maybe this will just be my new reality from now on.
The once-bright woman who was beat down by life circumstances so much, she’s going through the motions.
A knock at the door saves us from the awkward silence.
Kelly bursts in like a ray of chaotic sunshine, armed with a bottle of wine and a bag of takeout.
“I come bearing housewarming gifts!” she announces, kicking the door shut behind her. “Also, I’m starving, so I hope you don’t mind if I eat while I help you unpack.”
“Not a problem,” I answer. “But you didn’t have to bring us food.”
“Please, you’ve been living off of protein bars for a month. You need to fill your stomach with real food. Hi, Mama Ross!” she exclaims, waving at Mom as she puts down the bags and bottle of wine. She turns back around to survey the half unpacked apartment. “Okay, this is cute. Very... vintage. Very ‘struggling artist in a K-drama’ vibes.”
“You might need to work on your compliments.”
“I mean it in a good way! You’ve seen my place. Mildew showers and the landlord with the belly shirt and tuna breath. Trust me, you’re making out like a bandit. How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” I answer numbly. I’ve turned my back to her and Mom, rummaging through the box more out of distraction from having to meet their eyes when the dreaded question is asked.
Is there any answer I could offer other than fine? Other than okay and alright?
I don’t want any pity, and I don’t want them to feel compelled to console me either. Like with most things as of late, I’m not surewhatI want…
Mom and Kelly share a glance then change the subject.
“Okay, then let’s get you unpacked. We’ll have you settled in in no time.”
The next hour passes quickly as we work through the boxes and suitcases and put things away. Kelly provides running commentary on my wardrobe and what items she’d love to borrow some day, obviously still trying to lighten the mood.
Mom does the same, cracking jokes about how we need to go shopping at Seomyeon’s underground mall again, mentioning how she’s brought extra suitcases to South Korea for a reason.
If I didn’t know any better, things would almost feel normal.
Almost.
Except the heaviness in my heart never relents. It never eases up. There’s no break from the ache and the dull pain that remains.
It’s become a part of me I’ll have to learn to live with.
“So,” Kelly says, pausing mid-fold with one of my sweaters in her hands. “Are you coming back to the academy? Everyone keeps asking. Even Mr. Noh-Memory asked how you were doing.”
The mention of school evokes a complicated twist in my stomach. I loved teaching—my students and classroom and the sense of purpose it gave me.
