as i approach the last few days of summer, i began to reflect on what i had planned for myself.

senior year.

the moment that i’ve waited a whole lifetime for, but wasn’t ready to take the train with the destination titled “adulthood.” a year from now, i’d be a high school graduate. a year from now, i’d be eighteen. and a year from now, i’d be in a whole different spot than anything i could ever imagine it to be as of now.

i find myself with several thoughts as a seventeen year old. years full of rebelling, learning, and something that i am still doing as of now, healing. even now, i am still recovering everything that had occurred.

the way my heart aches when i pass by the school, when melancholia turned from an episode to a season of misery, and how i still have fears instilled in me. but with time, we heal. the depression that swarmed my life like bees attacked me. my grades plummeted, i lost all motivation to do anything that i once liked, and there was the seesaw feeling of not wanting to go anywhere but my room, or to run away to the other side of the country. i disappointed my english teacher that believed in my writing ability, and even more myself knowing that i was capable of doing my assignments. but with everything in me, the thoughts were too hard to bear. i thought i had betrayed myself the most because of this slump, and i was left. distraught.

i had hope in myself when i scored the highest possible score on a writing assessment. i thought that if everything that made me, me was drained, there was academic proof that i was inherently a good writer. at the time, it meant the world to me that my writing ability remained even when i couldn’t recognize myself.

as writers, we bleed and use it as ink for our writing: every single moment seeps into the words that we write as we compose musings that serve as fragments of our identity. to write was to breathe, to be a writer was to live. as i spent my junior year desperately trying everything to survive, i sought solace in words and memoirs that validated my experiences. when you think there isn’t a single drop of life in you, return to books and you’ll shortly become yourself again. prose, writing you’ve discarded or never posted, a favorite book that changed your life trajectory—we sew everything we love into a quilt. each film, book, song are fragments of who we are.

being seventeen was a sour, conflicting age that left me full of chaos and dread. i was relieved that i didn’t have a cake or had to blow candles. wanting to survive another week was a wish for me. for all the times i couldn’t picture myself alive, i read and i read. it was my way of living, an iv that kept me alive when stomaching food was difficult enough.

it is certainly a matter of what will you do, but also when because time is not unlimited. what will occur? if you decide to drag something for so very long. if you decide to not let go. to cling so desperately onto something that you know you cannot have. or rather, something that is a part of you that is no longer present. something that you thought was there.

but no matter how much you tried, whatever fades away will disappear. it shall descent to nothingness.

it leaves you with sentiments, memories, and sometimes a mark. and that mark used to be on my fingertips. but that too, faded away.

i found myself thinking that i was a musician my whole life. or, the adolescent years of my life which i had thought would shape the future years ahead of me. i was wrong, very much wrong. though, the mix of ambition and stubbornness was a daunting match for the occurrences that would lead to these bittersweet sentiments of mine. music, was a cause that i could never simply get rid of. the thought of quitting cello, music, and terminating this so-called part of me was frightening to think about.

identity wise, i had consistently considered the aspect of being a musician part of who i was. it was not like it was false, or a lie because it was true. like any other cellist, i read my music, tuned my strings, attended rehearsals, and practiced— or, i should have… was that what caused me to have these sentiments, or, was it something much more complicated and complex? not necessarily, but the point here is that the more time that you put off a decision that you necessitate to make, the more it consumes you in the end.

i considered myself to be “indecisive” but in retrospect, i was an adolescent with the desire to not face my own problems. do not misinterpret this, i believe that one can have difficulty when it comes to decision-making. in my context, i was evading this decision because i did not desire to cope with it. the substantial musician in me, and the other priorities i have in my life. this was not just a decision, but a test to confirm where i stood with this presumed “conflict.” how did i deal with this? or, what were my reasonings and the experience that occurred as a result of this?

cello, my pride, my joy. an attempt to please someone that heavily implied that they had the desire for me to partake in learning this instrument.

i have wrote this part of the story several times, so i think that i should not include it here. it was much obvious that this was not a battle, but a scenario in which i could only pick “one” option. what was the other option you may ask? well, that is difficult to respond to since that is not a definitive answer. as you age progressively, the amount of responsibilities you acquire does too.

at first, it was passing by an old painting that was always there. you do not think about it much, but it has been there so much that it is basically a part of you. you visualize it every morning, and before you sleep. it is a part of your identity, and it is difficult to eradicate. i will not discuss regarding metaphysics but, it felt as if i had another form when i engaged with music. you become a focused, careful, analytical individual. you are not yourself when you play an instrument, you become one with the instrument itself.

i suppose that was why i was so afraid of quitting or “temporarily terminating” the action of engaging with my instrument. especially when you are on stage, it calls out to you. all of that suffering and endless “torture.” i began to wonder if all of this suffering was worth hanging onto. the pain, the moments where it felt like clinging so desperately onto something that didn’t give you what you originally did it for. a momentary, sensation of musical pleasure to erase all the bitter feelings i had harbored. the moments of callused fingers, silent resentment towards practice sessions that weren’t up to par like they usually would, and standing in a room full of musicians being distraught. music was a spark that was once ignited, but was blown away by a gentle, caressed whisper of defeat.

H Mart was a place of comfort and familiarity. A place where I did not have to be South Korean or of Korean origin to appreciate what it had to offer. The kind of warmth that felt like a hug, the cups of hot water and the stew in a stone pot I consumed that descended through my body as I digested it. The kick of spice in my throat as I held the heated, metal bowl with my cold hands after being in the frozen fish aisle.

A place that was the norm, the usual, the ordinary the place I felt like I belonged for some strange reason. That because I had such sentiments, I did not desire anything but that. But for some reason, I felt estranged in such a place where I was frequently familiarized with it. Perhaps it was the fact that I had not been there in so long, but everything felt like a distant memory, far, far away. So far away that it was way out of my reach. Beyond the boundaries of what I was capable of holding onto and experiencing.

In spite of that, my only other thought was because the fact that it was not my H Mart. How foolish, it seems, because it does not belong to me! I am not Korean, nor do I have any sort of blood, even if it was just a single drop in me. The results of my DNA ancestry test would probably prove that…

Regardless, H Mart has witnessed me throughout the various phases I have experienced. Every single age I have ever been or reached has seen an H Mart. Of course, with the exception of the years that I resided in South Florida. I grew up with H Mart, and it was always there with me. Something that I had desperately clinged onto in hopes that it would never leave me. Or, the nostalgic sentiment I had, desiring to return to the place that I knew I would never go back to. Not just the H Mart in Texas, but my childhood days of innocence as well. At least, I could not picture myself returning there anytime soon.

The city that I grew up in has changed, for the worse or the better, that was not my decision to make. I was merely another living entity residing in this city that was once sparsely populated. The place that I had grew up in was always subject to change. Cities grow with people entering them, people departing from them, corporations and companies expand, houses get purchased, and infrastructure continues to get built. The city that I once resided in will never revert back to what it was initially. And there I remain, looking at the location on Google Maps as I have thoughts of being in my childhood H Mart.

Inside, there are mothers searching for groceries, a group of teenagers buying snacks, and a child following their parents around. There is a food court with delicious Korean food, a warm stand of sweet potatoes with a “CAUTION: HOT” paper on the stand, an assortment of different teas and instant noodles, and a Korean bakery with a French name. Everyone there does not have the sentiments that I do since H Mart is just another day of shopping for them. To me, I could stand there, or sit at one of the tables near the food court. Anyone could find me browsing around any section without searching for anything in particular. Old ladies walking past by me and giving short glances near my direction. No, I do not necessitate any help.

At times, I do wish that I could stand there forever. It does not matter if I appeared strange to the individuals within my vicinity. Just a moment—or rather, a couple of hours. Please. Let me to remain there like I used to when I was younger. Before the world decided to fly by so quickly. Prior to proportionality commencing to disrupt the tranquil days of my life.

One day, if I ever get to return.

If I ever get to be in that H Mart once more.

I would like to be the child I once was, for the amount of time that I am provided.