There are days when the mind is unusually noisy. It’s a day like today. I’ve been drowning in a sea of work, waiting for something to happen, and then I look at the clock and realize it’s midnight. I turn off the lights in my deserted office and stumble out. Unfinished tasks buzz in my head like the sound of mosquitoes. I rub my temples, but it doesn’t help. At the intersection of Seolleung Station, I am lucky to find an empty taxi. Perhaps it’s the fatigue in my voice as I tell him where I’m going, but the taxi driver steps on the gas without another word. I sink into the backseat, looking like a skinny, twisted radish, and my gaze drifts from the window to my smartphone. I scroll through the news, but nothing catches my eye, so I turn on KakaoTalk. I see your name, and for some reason, a birthday emoji is glowing next to your name at the top. Oh, your birthday is today.
There was a time when all of my relationships fit neatly into my life sphere. It was like in high school. When I went to school, my friends were there, and when I came home, I had dinner with my family. Even if I didn’t try to keep in touch and meet up with them, I saw them every day, and it was natural to share those routines. I studied, played a little soccer on my lunch break, sometimes went to karaoke, and all my life shares with you all.
The first time that pattern broke down was when I went to college. My high school friends, with whom I shared my daily routine, scattered to the eight corners of the country with their university acceptance letters in hand, and we no longer shared our daily routines spontaneously. I could only see your faces when I found a reason to meet and made an appointment. Out of habit, I hesitate to share my daily life with you. I realize that I don’t share my daily life with you as spontaneously as I used to, and that I only have the opportunity to do so a few times a year. Each of us has other friends with whom we naturally share our daily routines, and our routines have become distant.
This pattern continued to repeat itself at every juncture: military, graduation, and corporate jobs. Acquaintances would enter my life, stay for a while, and then leave again. Friends who were naturally together were suddenly out of reach unless I deliberately reached out. I made up various reasons to meet you for year-end parties and reunions, but somehow, every time, I felt that your older face was getting stranger and stranger. In my memory, you are still a boy, but I don’t know why your face looks so old, or when you gained so much weight.
Tap your name alongside the birthday emoji to open a chat with you. Go to the Gifts menu and select the Coffee gifticon. Write a message wishing you a happy birthday and sending you a little love. I add a few words about how it’s been a while and how you’re doing. When I look up, the taxi is passing a Sadang. Even at this late hour, the place is bustling with people. Even though the windows are closed, I can still hear the crowd. I received a text from you. Apparently I wasn’t the only one picturing you, and you’re happy to see me. We exchange a few more words of small talk, and then we make an appointment. This Friday, in the evening, at the Sadang. At that point, I put my phone down. I will meet you again, face to face. We’ll talk about our childhood, our daily routines, and I’ll ask how you’re doing. There’s no point in lamenting how far apart our lives are. Once a year, I have a good excuse to reach out to you: your birthday.