On Loneliness (1)
My home had stopped breathing.
The clock's second hand carved time into tiny fragments. Aside from the occasional groan of the old refrigerator, every sound in this space had died. Or to be more precise, it wasn't entirely silent. Within that stillness, the only living things were the beating of my heart and the sound of my breathing. My own existence was the sole noise in the room.
My fumbling fingers found the phone. Its screen sliced through the darkness with a sharp glow, briefly illuminating the dust motes suspended in the air before scattering them. There were no unread messages. Nothing to read, either. Hope always resolved into the same inevitable disappointment. It was past time I stopped expecting anything at all, yet my foolish fingers still opened the group chat with my old classmates out of habit. The last trace of conversation was a trivial meme someone had posted four days ago. No matter how far I scrolled, there were only fragments of meaningless chatter. Everyone was probably too busy taking care of their own lives. Or perhaps they'd already moved far ahead and forgotten about someone like me.
My unanswered questions dissolved into the cold air of the room. The only reply was the faint cloud of my white breath.
A familiar emptiness twisted the corner of my mouth, but the expression quickly faded, leaving nothing behind. I stepped onto the cold floor, pushed two slices of bread into the toaster, and listened to the ding—the first conversation I'd had all day. The electric kettle followed with a bubbling second exchange. Machines were honest. Give them power and they always answered with sound. Unlike people.
I chewed the strawberry-jam toast without tasting it. It was less about flavor and more about replenishing the calories needed to survive. After all, there was no one to share my thoughts with, no one to open their mouth and beg for a bite. Every meal was simply a task.
City lights blurred through the gap in the curtains. Beneath those countless glowing windows, how many other worlds were lying awake like mine? Each one cradling its own stories, passing the night in joy or sorrow. None of their orbits overlapped with mine.
Suddenly, memories of noisy campus nights flickered past like a distant landscape—the times when I'd laughed until I nearly broke at the stupidest jokes. I hadn't known back then just how much I would miss all that noise.
I pulled the drabbest hoodie from the closet and put it on. The moment I opened the front door, the morning air sank deep into my lungs, colder than the season had any right to be. I felt like the only colorless thing in a vividly hued world.
People steeped in fatigue trudged toward their workplaces. Exhaustion was etched into every face, but at least it proved their time was still moving forward. Everyone except me, the one who had stopped.
On the giant conveyor belt called the world, I alone felt like a defective product that had ground to a halt.
I knew today would simply trace the same orbit as yesterday. So why did I keep foolishly hoping for the tiniest variable?
“Hey, Seung-ho. You're early again.”
The boss poked his head out from behind the roasting machine. A hiss of steam rose alongside the rich aroma of coffee beans that brushed against my nose. That scent felt like the switch that forcibly restarted my stalled world.
“Yes, Boss. I'll get changed and come right out.”
“Good. But why's your face so ragged? Pulled another all-nighter, didn't you?”
“No. Just had some trouble sleeping.”
“Youth really is something. You can stay up all night and still drag yourself in looking half-decent the next day.”
Youth. The boss tossed the word out so easily. In the staff room I tied the black apron around my waist. The mirror showed nothing but a tired man staring back. I mechanically lifted the corners of my mouth, crafting the perfect customer-service smile. Today, I would simply hide beneath this mask again.
“Enjoy your drink!”
“Thank you… whoa!”
The customer accepting her drink at the counter stumbled. My hand shot out on reflex and caught the coffee cup just before it spilled.
“Whew… Are you okay? You didn't get burned, did you?”
“I'm fine, I'm fine! I'm so sorry…”
The girl's face—clearly a college student—had turned bright red. Probably from the embarrassment of nearly dropping the tray.
“It's no trouble. I'll prepare a fresh one for you.”
The boss, who had been watching, quickly made a new drink and handed it to her. I saw the relief in her eyes and, without realizing it, a genuine smile slipped into the one I wore as a mask. That brief, sincere eye contact and the soft “Thank you” pierced my heart with an awkward warmth. It reminded me of a feeling I'd almost forgotten.
“Thank you! Really, thank you so much!”
The girl bowed deeply after receiving the new drink and returned to her seat. From a distance, I heard her friend’s voice.
“Dude, what are you doing? And why is your face so red?”
“...”
“That barista is totally your type, huh? Heh…”
“…Shut up.”
“Wow, that was fast! Nice work. You're always the most reliable one here,” the boss said, thumping me on the back.
That warmth didn't penetrate past my skin. It lingered for a moment, lukewarm, then vanished. Reliable. The boss thought well of me, but it wasn't really like that. I only kept going because I couldn't say no, because I was afraid of hearing criticism. If he knew the real me, he'd be disappointed… I tried to deny it, but I didn't want to lose even that fleeting warmth, so I fought to keep my shoulders from slumping.
As the afternoon deepened, the scent of coffee grew richer and the sky outside gradually turned the color of ash. It was the signal that I would soon return to darkness.
“You're the fastest at bolting out of here the second your shift ends, you know that?” the boss grumbled with a smile as I came out after changing. He held out a dessert box. “You worked hard today. Sales were good thanks to you. Take this home and eat it.”
“…Thank you.”
“If you're grateful, try not to walk around with such a tired face. Get home safe!”
I stepped back onto the street carrying the box that held the boss’s gruff kindness. The world was full of the noise of people leaving work. Lovers laughing, friends trading silly jokes. All of it felt like scenery beyond a thick glass wall—shattering before it could reach me.
I plugged in my earphones but played no music. I didn't want any melody to break the silence I carried. This wasn't an escape from noise; it was a defense to protect my own small world. Of course, that was just another pathetic excuse.
I got off the bus and turned into the familiar alley. Cold moisture rose from the old pavement and wrapped around my ankles. In the darkness, a cat was rummaging through a food-waste bag. At the sound of my footsteps it flinched and turned, its yellow eyes filled with deep wariness.
“…Hungry?”
I checked my pockets, but all I had was the dessert. I couldn't give that to a cat.
“Sorry. I don't have anything else.”
The cat slipped back into the shadows without a sound. The sight left a bitter sense of kinship in my throat. You and me both—we've got nowhere to lean on in this city's night.
Suddenly I found myself imagining what it would be like to have a lover or a pet. At least then, when I returned to an empty house, something would be there to greet me…
Yeah, right. I could barely afford rent. What was I thinking, dreaming about romance or a pet?
A self-mocking laugh escaped me.
The moment I closed the front door, the outside world was completely erased. Even with the lights on, the room refused to regain any warmth. I poured water into a cup of ramen, then pressed the power button on my laptop. The fan's whirring was the only proof that anything alive remained in the room—the mechanical breathing of a machine.
Time to submit it.
I opened the assignment file on my desktop and gave it one last careful check. The message appeared on screen.
A small sense of relief that my frozen time had moved forward even a little. At the same time, the helplessness of having simply completed another lap on an endless track washed over me.
Right after submitting, I opened the coding test problem site. The sound of my keyboard was the only thing tearing through the silence. There had been a time when writing code all night filled me with ecstasy. Now it was nothing but numb labor. Every error message on the screen felt like it was pointing at my future. The cursor floating aimlessly in empty space looked exactly like me—lost, with nowhere to go.
After finishing my battle with the bugs, I absentmindedly clicked on the self-introduction file tucked in the corner of my desktop.
From a young age, I have demonstrated exceptional responsibility and diligence…
Looking at those embalmed lies made me laugh bitterly. The process of desperately scraping together traits I didn't possess just to explain who I was had become exhausting. It felt like forcing myself into a predetermined box. I had to shave off any protruding edges and fill the empty spaces with plausible lies. Just who was this completed version of “me” supposed to be?
Countless options flickered before my eyes like if-statements, yet none of the conditions seemed to fit. In the end I closed the window without typing a single character. Tonight I would simply place a semicolon at the end of a sentence that would never execute.
When the laptop fan slowly died, the room was once again left with only me. Through the window of the officetel across the street, I could faintly see the silhouette of an owner playing with a small dog. That tiny warmth, that lively noise—I envied it so much it hurt.
Maybe someday… I could have that too?
No. I shook my head. Tomorrow would probably be no different from today. Even as I told myself that, a corner of my heart screamed on its own.
Please. Just let tomorrow be even the slightest bit different. Even the tiniest bit.