Byungwook Kim 201300476/My attitude toward writing/Tues 3-4

Heading to the weekly Saturday art class located on the third floor of a four-story red brick building, the idea that I have to spend two hours of mundane art lesson with by far the most beautiful teacher in my life gave me a mixed sensation of frustration and expectation. Just as I slightly open the transparent glass door, she glances up with a warm welcoming smile, her dazzling, mesmerizing hazel eyes meeting mine. Sitting on a black round chair, "You look more excited than usual" she says, and I give her a short curt reply scrupulously trying to ignore her tight worn-out cobalt blue jeans hugging her slim curves as if it's her second skin. Sometimes my eyes deviate from the canvas and appreciate the beautiful contrast her pale white flawless skin makes with her dark silky hair gently landing on her shoulders. Even though art was my least favorite for its impractical nature, she somehow magically motivated me into exploring the unknown and unfamiliar field. Had it not been for her, I would be totally blind to the subtle beauty emanating from a single piece of paper.

 

After spending weeks sitting next to her, it was hard to dismiss the subtle feelings that sort of intimacy had formed towards her. Not before long, my longing for her was soon too much to bear. With her beautiful smile floating and drifting in my head, I could hardly concentrate. Pleasant disorientation flooded my mind and I helplessly surrendering to the unknown emotion. A little bird locked inside the cage was weeping, crying for the way out. But how could I? How could I release the fragile little creature to face the obvious outcome? After few days and weeks sobbing in sorrow, the grief turned into a soothing melody.

 

 

So the bird led me to one of the nicer ways to vent my feelings. I tried out what SNS friendly teenagers these days might call an old fashioned way. As you might have guessed, yes, I started writing poems. At then, I wrote two to three poems in a single day with no sweat. It's quite surprising once you get to realize what this crazy little thing called love is capable of. Right now, that literary inspiration has faded, due to lack of practice but mostly because I haven't come across anyone who has ever been close enough to rock my world since then. As far as I know, writing is both tormenting and yet the most fascinating privilege endowed to the mankind to forever cherish the moments of happiness and sadness. And for that, I love writing.