Page 18 of XOXO

“I want to go there. It’s my top choice.” That and the Berklee College of Music in Boston. Except that Mom prefers I live in New York City, closer to my dad’s side of the family.

The guy gives me an appraising look, and I instinctively stand up straighter. “Oh yeah? For... dance?”

I blush. “Cello.”

“Right. So what brings you to Seoul?”

“I’m visiting my grandmother for a few months. I actually arrived here a few hours ago. From LA.”

“That makes sense. You look like an LA girl.”

I wasn’t exactly sure about the dancer comment, but there’ssomething about this one that gives me pause.

I think he’s flirting with me. This is the second time in so many months that a guy has flirted with me.

While not as absurdly handsome as Jaewoo, café boyiscute. And older.

The door opens behind me and a guy wearing a delivery outfit calls out, “I have a big order today, Ian-ssi.”

“My name,” the café boy says to me. “Ian.”

“I’m Jenny.”

“Wait one sec.”

When he returns, he hands me a to-go cup. “My number’s written on the side. I took a semester off from school to pay some bills, so I’ll be in Seoul. If you have any questions about MSM or just wanna hang out, give me a call.”

“I—I will, thank you.”

“See you around, Jenny.”

He starts readying the large order for the guy and I make my way to the door, glancing down at the side of the cup where he’s written in neat marker:Ian Nam, guide to all things MSM, plus his phone number.

I control my facial expression until I’m out the door, then sort of fast-walk down the street, my heart racing. Within only a few short hours of landing in Seoul, a cute Korean boy who works at a café and goes to mydream school,gave me his number and may or may not have asked me out on a date.

Maybe this is a sign of how I should spend these next few months in Seoul, going on dates, spending my time on activitiesother than cello practice or lessons.

I stumble a bit, as a memory rises up, of Jaewoo across the table from me in the small tent stall in LA, listening attentively as I opened up to him about my father. I feel a tightness in my chest, remembering how happy and hopeful I felt that night, which makes it all the worse that he never texted me back. But it’s my fault. I let my guard down. If I had just allowed that night to be what it was always meant to be—a distraction—then I would have never felt so disappointed.

Five months in Seoul, five months to have new experiences and make the most of each moment, and then I’ll return home, hopefully armed with the fiery determination to go after the future I’ve always wanted.

Bolstered by this resolve, I spend the next hour walking around the neighborhood—there’s a subway entrance only a few blocks from my grandmother’s house and a restaurant that specializes in juk, or Korean porridge, tucked into a quiet corner—before returning to the apartment.

The rest of the day is spent with my halmeoni. She and my mom must have at least come to a truce because my mom is cordial and Halmeoni is positively chipper. We take a taxi to the clinic where Halmeoni will spend most weekends after her treatments. This is actually where I’ll come to visit her, since when she’s at the apartment during the week I’ll be at the dorms.

Afterward, we grab lunch and walk around the area. Mom wants to avoid jet lag, so we attempt a little sightseeing but bysix, I’m asleep on my feet. I manage to stay awake for another two hours but doze off on the cab ride back, waking only to stumble up the stairs to the apartment, where I hit the pillow and sleep for twelve hours straight.

Eight

The next morning Halmeoni takes Mom and me to the juk restaurant down the street. It’s a chilly morning and the porridge, made of boiled rice, warms me right up. Afterward, we walk over to the area around Gyeongbokgung Palace. It’s walled off and requires an entrance fee so we don’t go inside, but Halmeoni and I have a fun time walking around arm-in-arm and exclaiming over the tourists and locals dressed in brightly colored hanbok, presumably rented from the traditional Korean clothing stores located on every street. Mom spends the majority of the time on her phone, already getting calls from her work back home, though I don’t mind; it gives me more one-on-one time with Halmeoni before school starts.

Around noon, Halmeoni is showing signs of fatigue so we head back to her apartment. Then at four I go back out again, this time on my own. Since I’m moving into my dorm at Seoul Arts Academy tomorrow, I have to pick up my school uniform at a store in Sinsa-dong.

Mapping out a route on my phone, I head over to the subway, where I’m surprised to find it connects to a huge underground shopping mall.

I’m immediately overwhelmed by a hundred sights, sounds, and smells. Different aisles branch off in seemingly endless directions, filled with shops selling everything from Korean brand clothing to cell phone accessories to cosmetics to adorable socks for ?1000 a piece, which equals to less than a dollar. There are dozens of food and drink stands, restaurants, bakeries, and cafés. I spot a few familiar chains, like Dunkin’ Donuts and 7-Eleven, and a few unique to Korea and Asia, like Hollys Coffee and A Twosome Place.

I could spend hours down here and still not see everything. A group of schoolgirls pass in front of me, heading toward a shop selling corn dogs topped with cheese mustard and sweet chili sauce. I’m tempted to stop for a pre-dinner snack, but a glance at my phone reminds me that I don’t have long before the uniform store closes.

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