Page 19 of When Worlds Collide
The room was massive, bright and airy and filled with people speaking a broad spectrum of languages. I clearly wasn’t the only tourist.
Several banquet tables were set up for breakfast, containing a mind-boggling array and variety of dishes spread from one side of the room to the other. I did a brief drive-by of all the tables before I grabbed a plate and a tray and cherry-picked various dishes, before choosing a table near the large windows overlooking the expansive gardens.
I alternated between staring outside, where it had started to drizzle, and people-watching in the room. There were different bubbles of people in groups, couples or even on their own, like me. We were adjacent, but separate from each other, just going about our days. Laughing, talking, quietly eating.
There was a word for this; I’d read about it briefly when I’d been at uni, studying experimental musicians for a term.Sonder. The realisation that every person around you has a life, unique thoughts, and experiences every bit as rich and vivid as your own. That everyone is the main character in their own story.
That’s how I felt right then, watching all those strangers go about their day, eating breakfast with their families, planning their day, with their own individual dreams and worries.
Oddly, it helped me to put into perspective the past couple of days, to remember that I was the main character, not some plot device to be dragged through someone else’s narrative. I think… I think I sometimes forgot that. TK had certainly made me forgetit, and… sometimes so did Jihoon. His spotlight was so bright, it was easy to disappear inside it. But it wasn’t mine. I wasn’t sure what, or where mine was yet, but I knew I needed to find it – or make it myself.
After breakfast, I went in search of the indoor pool. A good swim sounded like just the thing to chase the shadows away this morning.
I hadn’t brought a suit with me from LA, but there was apparently a small boutique down here where absent-minded guests could buy such things. Thankfully all the signs in the hotel were in English as well as Hangul, so I had no trouble finding it.
It was kind of similar to those small, luxury shops you see in duty free areas at the airport. Bright spotlights made everything seem neat and shiny – even the clothes hanging uniformly on racks that were neither overstocked, nor under. It wouldn’t have surprised me to learn that they used a measuring tape to ensure only the right amount of clothes were hung on the racks at any one time. The inoffensive music that played in the background was the musical equivalent of the colour palette ‘pastel’.
I was greeted on entry by a friendly looking young woman who bowed politely, looking so earnest I was momentarily taken aback. I was too used to the syrupy-sweetness of American shop workers who told you to ‘have a great day’, or surly British teens who pretended they hadn’t seen you whilst they covertly checked their Instagram.
The young woman respectfully kept a few feet between us and said something to me in Korean that I caught exactly two words of: ‘I’ and ‘you’. I got the general gist and asked – self-conscious of my inability to speak any other language than my own – if they sold swim suits.
She smiled kindly at me, and replied in accented, but clear English, “Of course, follow me.” She led me to a display along theback wall where there was a small selection of one-piece suits. She left me alone to browse, but honestly, I wasn’t that fussy and had soon picked out a plain black suit with a racer back.
Though I hated to admit it, I felt out of place in my baggy jeans and vintage t-shirt. It wasn’t even the good kind of vintage. It was faded and just kind of old, whereas everything in here was elegant, and frankly out of my budget on a good day. The suit – according to the rough conversion I’d done in my head – added up to a half-day’s wage for me. Although, to be fair, intern wages were basically like working for the price of a coffee, so that was maybe not the fairest of comparisons.
Pushing down the rising feeling of inadequacy, I paid for my new swimsuit and went off in search of the pool.
It turned out to be on the other side of the hotel, but I didn’t mind the walk. It served to shake off the remaining funk, and by the time I walked into the all-inclusive changing area, I was in much better spirits. The hotel supplied everything: robes, towels, various toiletries. It felt more like a spa, and it was absolutely the fanciest pool I’d ever been to. But again, that wasn’t a fair comparison to the local community pools I’d grown up with.
I was low-key expecting someone to ask me to leave, or prove that I was somehow allowed to be there, but no one even looked my way.
Having changed into my new suit, I followed the signs to the pool, although I could have just followed the scent of chlorine and ended up in the same place.
I was immediately impressed. In a theme I was beginning to recognise, the entire back wall was glass, looking out on the extensive gardens, which while not looking their best owing to the cold season, I suspected were pretty awesome in the summer. What greenery the outside lacked was made up for inthe warm, humid hall. Real trees and trellising plants crowded the other side of the room, making the whole area feel more like a botanical garden than an indoor pool.
There weren’t many people here. Whether that be due to the time or the season, but either way, I took it as a bonus.
I spent a couple of hours alternating between leisurely laps in the big pool and bubbling away my worries in the jacuzzi, and by the time I decided to get out, I was more clear-headed and light-hearted.
As I floated, worries sunk to the bottom of the pool like discarded stones. I resolved to finally talk to Jihoon about what was really going on with Pisces and ENT, rather than stew in worry over it.
When I got back to the hotel room, I pushed open the door and called out, “Joon?” But there was no reply. I didn’t need to look around to know – he hadn’t been back since this morning. There was a stillness here, like settled dust motes.
I’d left my phone in the room when I’d gone down for breakfast, and looking at it, I had no missed calls or messages, bar one from Becka apologising – again – for the comment about being a secret girlfriend.
I hadn’t necessarily expected to see anything from Jihoon, but I was still disappointed that there wasn’t. Being here, alone, felt like being in storage, just waiting to be pulled out. I walked over to the big windows, staring out at the unfamiliar view. Seeing the sprawl of the city reminded me of the parallels I used to enjoy drawing between LA and London, and I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d ever find such parallels here.
I sighed and tossed my phone onto the couch before I went to retrieve my laptop out of my bag. I set it up on the dining roomtable and sat down, resolved to do something productive with my time, since I seemed to have so much of it.
By the time the door lock clicked, I was mid-way through another blog post about the way the music industry dealt with – or ignored – mental health in its artists.
I looked up just in time to see Jihoon toeing off his shoes.
“Hey, you,” I said, closing my laptop.
“Hi,” he said tiredly. “Have you been in here all day?”
I looked down at my watch; just after 3:00 pm. “No, I went downstairs for breakfast and then I had a Pretty Woman moment, then I went swimming.”
