100 and Under

I’m Not Home

100 and Under — Fall Competition

I’ve always disliked waking up early, especially when the cold weather approaches. I’d bury myself under the blankets and search for hidden warmth. Inching closer to my mother, using her as a shield against the persisting cold spell. Unfortunately, my mother’s internal alarm clock never allowed me to sleep in, rendering school tardiness obsolete.

“Wake up.”

She’d gently tap my shoulder with her index finger, like a woodpecker’s beak tapping a tree’s bark for insects. Her tapping was insistent until I woke up.

I’d shift the other way after reaching for my uniform. Buying myself more time under the covers by suggesting my clothes were too cold to be worn.

The sun ceased to shine as bright as it used to. Its rays stopped tickling my cheeks and lingering on my eyelids; there’s nothing to urge me out of bed. Instead, the sun rests behind a cloud, whereas I had to surrender my comfort.

I’d rub my eyes, hoping to erase the sleepiness drawn in my eyes.

It never worked.

My blinking slowed down as I brushed my teeth and blankly stared at my reflection. Head slowly dangling until it would abruptly jerk upright. I’d sneak glances from the open bathroom door, hoping to see my dad still sitting on the couch. He enjoyed sipping a bit of his coffee in front of the TV before having to leave for work.

We sat next to each other on the couch while I’d slip my shoes on. My eyes inspected the room to see if my mother was nearby, her absence signaling it was safe to rest my head on my father’s knee. He’d stroke the top of my head, lulling me into another drowsy trance.

I longed for a couple of extra minutes inside. Eventually, I’d hear a deep sigh followed by a stern,

“Grab your backpack, let’s go.”

Once she zipped up my sweater, out the door, we went. I complained the entire time we walked to school.

“It’s too cold.”

“I’m still tired.”

“My feet hurt.”

“You tied my hair too tight.”

I’ve outgrown the complaining, or at least I thought I did.

In the last couple months, the bustling streets of South Korea have become more and more familiar. The kind face of the grocery store owner constantly stands out from the crowd. Grocery shopping instantly became the highlight of my week.

Drastic changes in the weather are forcing me to scavenge for oversized jackets. Though I’ve always preferred winter, Korean winter is ruthless compared to the refreshing California breeze.

I’m freezing…

every

single

day.

Korea doesn’t have fall.

Well, this year didn’t.

We went straight from the summer heat to the freezing winter. The leaves didn’t even have the chance to change color, drying overnight and promptly disappearing. Fall has never been my favorite season. Time goes by too quickly, rushing the sun to set earlier and melting the days away.

Fall serves as a reminder of what I didn’t accomplish.

An indication that the older I get, the quicker time escapes me.

Every morning, I find myself yearning for a couple of extra minutes in bed and wishing I was a child again. It used to be easier to opt-out of the day and stay home. I reach for my clothes and tuck them under my blanket, letting the warmness embrace us. Taking shelter under the blankets feels safe, but I must force myself out of them.

If only I had a little more time.

Just a little longer.

I look around my apartment, searching for a familiar figure hurrying me out of bed.

How long has it been since I’ve sought refuge next to my mother?

I’m not home.

I haven’t been home in months.