BTS SMERALDO THE NOTES 1 (Edited & Translated)

Taehyung: 11 August Year 22

The Direction Where the Sun Rises
Part 6

I left the convenience store after my shift and checked my phone. There were no missed calls or messages. There never really were. I just checked my phone out of habit. The sun was going down and the street was busy as people walked by. My clothes began to grow damp from the humidity. I scuffed my shoe on the road in frustration. When was this summer going to end?

I kept my head down and carried on walking. After a while I looked up. I was at the wall where that girl first did her graffiti. I looked around, but she was nowhere in sight. Ever since that night, when I'd stepped out of the alley and gotten arrested, I hadn't seen her.

I went back to all her spots where we'd done graffiti. Big X's were sprayed over them. All those memoires we'd shared together through our art was gone, crossed out. All those memories: me trying to lie on the railroad and bumping my head, her laugh, her helping me get up after I stumbled trying to help her get away when the cops were after us, losing her temper when I took her food without asking first, the sadness in her eyes when we passed a photo studio and she caught a glimpse of those family portraits...

When we graffitied this wall together, I told her "you don't have to carry this burden alone. Share it with others." Now all those memories were gone. And, thinking about it, this is the first time I've looked at this wall since that day.

Just before I moved on, my eye caught something below the X. It must be new. I never saw her write it there. "it's not your fault." It was definitely her.

I remember the day I went off in search of my mother. I didn't know what I was doing or why exactly I set out to find her. The only thing that spurred me on was my resentment.

While walking back home, empty-handed, I cast my eyes towards the city where my mother lived. The sun was beginning to rise in the East. I felt like crying. I was holding onto something, I'm not sure what, and in that moment it felt as if it was slipping away. I felt the weight slowly leave my shoulders as I cried. I seemed to have given up. Given up on something I shouldn't have.

"it's not your fault." Those words reminded me of that day, when I'd given up looking for my mother, approaching her.

I passed the wall and went through the narrow alleyways, up the steep slopes of my neighbourhood back to my home. I made my way up the stairs and stood by the front door for a moment. I heard the subtle clink of liquor glasses from inside accompanied by my father's heavy breathing. I turned away from the door and leaned on the banister, looking out over the city.

The sun had already set. The red tint that had topped the buildings was now replaced by darkness.

"it's not your fault," I muttered under my breath.

And so I took a deep breath and turned back to the front door. It was time to go inside.

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