As long as the sky is blue

Prologue

My fingers quivered! I had a lot to write; so many words in my head to pour but strangely, I couldn't. I stared at the paper endlessly; thinking, pondering on how and where to start. A river of sweat trickled down my face to the paper, soiling a quarter of it. I couldn't write on this.

No!

So I tore the particular page, squeezed it like it was the enemy behind my writer's block, okay yeah, I crushed the life of the paper and tossed it into the nearest trash can underneath my desk. I noticed the other crumpled pages that had been unfortunate to land in the bin like the latter.

I heaved a sigh. This was more difficult than I thought.

I had been trying to write this for the past two hours, yet I couldn't write more than a word, always having an excuse to toss the paper in the trash can.

Suddenly, the door opened and light but hurried footsteps found expression on the cold tiled flow, walking towards me until I felt a subtle yank on my T-shirt.

"Appa!" It was my little boy, calling me. At first, I didn't hear him, my thoughts far away in another realm of misery. Until his voice and the yanking became incessant.

"Appa! Appa! APPA!" The last call was like a screech that jolted me back to reality as I acknowledged my little boy, clutching his tummy and feeling faint.

"What is wrong, Minho?" I inquired, inspecting his entire body in search of anything that could be hazardous to his health. There was none. So I asked again.

"Appa baegopa!" He whined about being hungry. Being accustomed to his native South Korean language from birth through his five years of age, his English was nothing to write home about even after spending close to six months in an English speaking country. I guessed time was all he needed in order to attain fluency. Now, all I did was respond in English and tried to make him reply the same way. Sometimes, his English cracked me up whenever he spoke.

"Alright, how about some Japchae for dinner, yeah?" I asked of which he shook his head, no.

"No? What about Bibimbap?" I inquired, hoping he'd say yes since it was his favorite Korean food. I was surprised when he still said no.

I huffed

"Okay! What would you like to eat?" I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes when he seemed thrilled that I asked that.

"My friends... School. Jollof rice... I want." His English was quite distorted but I understood nevertheless.

"You wanna eat Jollof rice?" Just for clarification, I still asked. He nodded vigorously, I feared his head would snap out of his neck. I stood, grabbed his chubby little hands and walked out of my office, into the living room of our duplex, to the door leading outside which I locked as we went for the car at the garage. Placing and fastening Minho securely on the children's car seat at the back, I got into my 2018 Kia Sedona model SUV, driving to the nearest Chicken Republic restaurant. It was Friday and I knew most restaurants will have twice their usual costumers because of the weekend.

As I drove, I noticed how bright and blue the sky appeared to be. I could vividly remember the last time I studied the sky, the thought brought a remembrance of the ache I felt inside. I brushed that aside and kept my eyes on the road.

Two hours later, we got ready to leave after Minho commented Jollof rice had become his newest favorite food. Grabbing my wallet, I snapped my head to my son's direction as he called for my attention, pointing out of the wall-sized glass window.

"Appa... Look... Sky... Blue." His enthusiasm encouraged me to take a look at the sky myself. For the second time this week, I was entranced by the sun. It was about to set and knowing the usual colour the sun made the sky appear orange during sunset, I was astonished to see that the sky was still the brightest shade of blue ever.

Like it was passing a message across. Suddenly, I knew what that message was.

Therefore, I hurried home with an urgency I couldn't decipher. I tucked Minho in, kissed him goodnight and ran into my office, nearly tripping on the way.

Wasting no time, I began writing. What had earlier seemed cumbersome, became easy. The words poured and flowed like an ocean without end.

When I was done, I reread each line, studied each stroke and memorized the words I had written. The last part beckoned me and I read it over and over.

“... as long the sky is blue, I'll always love you.

Forever,
Jin.”

Dropping my pen, I cried myself to sleep.