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/consider before reading/ /consider before reading/ /consider before reading/



I just found these miscellaneous sentences in my notebook, and I felt like I was ready to tell you about another story of mine. So here it is, my next letter to you, Mark.


It was the most difficult time of my life, I have never gone through such terrible feelings before. It was the roughest, the darkest and the loneliest. Until now I still joke that it was the most horrible time which I would never ever dare to forget. Though by now my life still can not be called vitality, it’s still better than that time.


I hardly remember I was living, I just survived. The next day was exactly the same as the day before, nothing changed but I was also too afraid to change.


I woke up,

did assignments which made me feel like I was in hell,

and ate something,

and drank something,

and just walked.

Walked alone on the streets and one time I kept wandering until I realized I was lost.

Yes, getting lost in alleys of Seoul, GPS died and I felt cold all over my body. Those sloping streets kept mocking me as if they knew my numb toes would be able to give up at any time.

I got lost, inside.


I remember days that I woke up, denied to open my eyes, still lay in the bed until my body felt sore and my stomach hurts,

So I went to the common kitchen, cooked some ramyeon and tried my best to avoid facing anyone, even the house cleaners, although Korean ajummas always acted friendly, I was just too tired to answer questions, or even manage a shaky lift of my lips.

Despite of being fluent in language, or self-confidence about culture and everything, I couldn’t help it.

I think that people didn’t see much expression on my face, it showed nothing but insensitiveness.


I think I talked the most with securities of the building, because I had to leave my room and go downstairs for taking parcels from him. He’s always been kind to me, I really appreciated his warm heart. I gave him my favorite Vietnamese mixed coffee and he told me it tasted like hot chocolate, how nice was he.

But I had to give up drinking it soon after that time because it made my stomach churn from anxiety.


But the whole distance from 4th floor to the ground always made me tense, even felt fearful. I didn’t want to meet anyone in elevator, I just wanted to be alone. I felt insecure whenever I was put into conversation which I had to talk in Korean or English. It’s too overwhelming. So I hid myself as much as possible.


The worst part in the whole story was, I couldn’t dare to talk to my parent, I couldn’t make a word to help them understand my feelings though just a little bit. I was supposed to be happy, and everything must be fine, so I tried. Until my last effort didn’t work anymore.


Every time it was my turn to do presentation in class, I just hoped that my body was made of glass, so that people couldn’t see me because I felt like a fool and every word they spoke out only pushed me closer to the verge of shattering into tiny pieces.


I wrote a lot of sweet nothings on papers during class, words at that time I wished there was someone would tell me. But I ended up doing it alone, so I drowned myself even deeper by words, eyes zoomed out and ears buzzed from the lecture. I try to find comfort zone because if I hadn’t done it, I must have exploded from stress, and I needed to write it in my mother language.




I’m not doubt that the professor of New Institutionalism of Politics is the kindest Korean professor I have ever met. He was too gentle and he treated me too soft with his sympathy, so I couldn’t face him anymore. I was too ashamed.

But in the end, he was the only one who patiently sat across me and heard about my problems, witnessed tears filled my eyes without judging or blaming.


It was just all my false at the first place. I screwed everything up. I didn’t deserve it, the scholarship, the expectation and the trust of everyone. I’m just a hopeless and disappointing soul.


I used to think that it was too late for fixing things right. But I’m trying, trying to not give up dealing with this world yet, trying to find myself back, and trying to fight against all difficulties.


But Mark, although I want to see you so badly, I’m afraid I’m not strong enough to do it. Do you think that it’s was too late for me to be cured?


I’m such a coward, aren’t I?



From –G. with so much fear.