Chapter 2: The New Room
"…sitting behind is care, but no effort left is there to share."
One of the girls the room definitely recites her poem the least emotion. That last line tells everything why. Almost eight students have been called in front, and so far, their language is flawless. Most of them must have been to a state of America or Australia, but the Asian accent still finds its way to be felt between their words. Everyone is expectant to be called as Mr. Hwang once again stands in the middle of the front aisle.
"Thank you Karen. And for the last presenter, let's have…"
I can feel his intention to call on me. The willingness in the faces of my classmates is not strong enough to overpower my intimidation to be called in front. And without a doubt…
"Marcus, please recite to use your poem that we may have a glance of who you are."
Everyone is, once again, clapping at this new student who is the most foreign of all. The mere minute left for me to write has not given me enough time to artfully word the obscurity of my gender.
Amidst the overflowing fear to be hated, I stand before these new faces who have no clue who is about to speak to them. South Korea is known to be one of the most conservative nations of this modern world, and what I am about to tell them will definitely alter their view—and to which direction, I am not sure.
There is a heart that beats
Covered by skin and muscles inside my chest.
For all, it works to provide life.
For some, it pumps to keep themselves alive.
For few, it throbs for someone else's love.
For me, it beats under my chest
Still unsure of which it for exists.
I anticipate my speech to end in silence, but the burst of applause tells me that they did not grasp the hidden message that lingers with those words. They may have been amazed by the integration of elements in writing a good literature, but their focus to that makes me upset because the essence of my poem has not been savored accordingly.
Nonetheless, Mr. Hwang's eyes whisper a message of understanding and worry. This gesture explains how much competent he is for this subject because he has the ears and eyes to discern.
I thank the bell for ringing right on time. With that, I have a plausible reason to escape from the hook of everyone's attention. I rush to grab my things from my seat and pretend to take my time putting them back to my bag. I should feign being slow to buy them time to leave the room.
"Marcus, your poem is substantial and creative." Mr. Hwang compliments when everyone has left the room except me.
"Inside you is a poet whose composition is destined to be heard. To be written in just few minutes, your poem is just great."
"…and brave." A third person's voice cuts my conversation with Mr. Hwang.
His subtle movements make I and Mr. Hwang believe we were alone in the room. Nonetheless, there sits the tall guy whose desk is opposite of mine. But the growing pace of my heartbeat is not caused by his presence, I assessed. It is his comment which rushes the rhythm of my breathing.
I know I am required to give the next comment, but there is nothing in my mind now that I can grasp to tell. Good thing the tall guy leaves the room right after he feels the awkward atmosphere.
In all the classes I have for this day, that last class is the most memorable. By that, I mean, a bittersweet-kind of memory. Until now, my thoughts are hovering around the quick comments I received from being myself. I wonder how bare that line was.
Still unsure of which it for exists.
It can mean "unsure" of which person it is existing for. It can be that girl who attended the same school as I back in elementary, or that other girl who lives next to us back in the Philippines. However it can mean, I know in myself that it means it is unsure whether a man or woman it exists for… and two of the people in that room understood what I meant. Mr. Hwang's reaction has an embrace of encouragement, while that guy's comment does not clearly reveal anything at all. And that mere thing makes it even worse to think about.
The depth of my introspection allows me to reach the dormitory unwittingly. There I stand in front of the door to room 408, thanks to that other guy in the elevator for assisting me find the place faster.
On that door, there is my name and someone named "Kim Seung Min". He clearly is Korean, I thought. My roommate, I hope, is the best person I will ever meet in this country.
I tap the card that guy handed me in class. The door produces some sound which tells me it is unlocking. I clutch the knob. The room is more stunning than I expected! It is bright and very conducive for learning and writing those masterpieces I am about to create.
I remove my shoes before entering the bedroom proper as Korean culture has taught me. I caress most of the furniture in the room, and the mere touch of them shows me "heaven"!
I have never lived in this kind of luxurious room! I sniff the luxurious air that lingers inside my new room for almost a year. The scent is so aromatic that my eyes unconsciously closed themselves to heighten the moment's feeling. But that grand moment is snipped by the opening of the bathroom door.
Surprisingly, it is that tall guy in the classroom.
More surprisingly, he seems to know I am his roommate and my presence does not seem to bother him at all.
And Most surprisingly, he is not wearing anything at all!
Let me correct myself. He is wearing his nude boxers. Sorry for the wrong info.
Weekly Power Status
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