It’s me, who has continued to perfectly live out the life of a lazy perfectionist, making vain the days when, facing 2022, I made new resolutions to live diligently this year and to buy a pretty diary and record every day.
With the nice excuse of occasionally taking a break while running straight ahead, I slowly walk and see the footprints that have followed me well so far.
May, among the pages of the 12 months, in that way;
It’s just the right time for me to look back.
With my poor memory, I squint and stare intently all the way in the distance.
It looks like the footprints from January are still dreaming, awash in winter hibernation.
With eyes closed, dreaming quite the happy dream in my head, I’m just kicking in place and whipping up dust.
Though I thought I was doing a beautiful dance, I must have been an absurd sight.
How about the footprints of February?
Seeing as how the continued footprints have gotten deeper at some point, I suppose I must have stood still here for a while.
I met the people I had missed, those whom I had desired to see so much. Even now as I write, my shadow may be here; but my self has dashed through this quiet room like the wind, and I am there alone, back in that place where we faced each other.
We did not speak, yet in our eyes we cried and laughed and embraced each other.
Perhaps the spring had already started then.
For I saw the verdant leaves that grew after the rain had stopped, soaked in a rain by the name of tribulation.
The footprints of March are meandering, for some reason.
Ah. I thought spring had come, but the biting winds had me swaying like so.
My precious puppy who was by my side for 13 years fell very ill.
I thought I had been hit by enough rain, but I went through a monsoon lasting days and days
And I yelled out ‘I’m sorry’ with my eyes, my eyes, flowing down.
Ever since that day, the sky [T/N: “Haneul”] that I used to love
Now leaves me with a dull ache each time I look up.
The footprints of April are close by, and so I now see them plainly.
No. But for some reason, I continue to tilt my head curiously.
I gaze again and again, fascinated by how the ugly, crooked footprints have left deep, neat marks.
I know that those footprints could not be made by me alone.
My monsoon has soaked my roots and my earth through, and the small leaves have soon grown hardier, heavier.
I lightly lift my wet feet, full of moisture, and with verve, march past under the heat of the sun.
Finally, I’ve arrived at the May of the present. In May already, I’ve made this many footprints.
I’ll stop explaining now as well.
To be frank, so what if my footsteps look like this or that?!
Yes, right. Even now, five months into 2022, it’s that the shapes of the footsteps I possess are a little funny to describe in words. I am still full of things I do not know from one to ten, how to walk, whether it’s okay to rest here, how to run in a cool-looking stance,
Though I have a lot to learn and am lazy in learning,
I still plan on moving forward.
With no know-how or skills, thanks to stumbling and falling even to this day, I've made all these laughable footprints. Because I am full of these new footprints, perhaps when I look back from the end of 12 months, they will be varied and beautiful.
No, I suppose they will be beautiful.
Covered in dust and sneezing,
I stretch, with verdant leaves drooping under heavy raindrops.
At the raindrops falling on my toes
I crack a smile.
On this May and twenty-fourth, I am
Cracking my sore neck, looking ahead again, and muttering.
Just as I have until now, is it okay if I move forward swaying and going astray to my heart's content, looking only towards Orbits? I will, of course.
Ah, today is my birthday, so I'm going to be as happy as I want. And be thankful. I am truly fortunate to have Orbit.❤️
Standing at the end of May, Sooyoungie