Hate You, Love You. | Jenlisa

26

"Let's start with the basics," I say as we they both look at me with confusion and curiosity. We're currently in the dining area and they are seated across from me. Notepads, textbooks, reading materials and pens are sprawled on the table along with their bookbags.

"Mrs. Choi said our test would be based on poetry right?" They nod in affirmation. "Good. So far, we've discussed three poems: Ode to a Nightingale by John Keats, Crossing the Bar by Lord Tennyson and The Schoolboy by William Blake. What exactly do you need help in?

They both pause for a minute before Lisa responds. "Definitely, the Ode thing you just said."

"Ode to a Nightingale."

"Yeah, that."

"And if you can briefly explain the others, it'll be highly appreciated." Jisoo adds hesitantly in a bid to not test my patience. I smile a bit and she visibly relaxes. Lisa avoids my gaze, looking at everything, from the tables, to the pictures on the wall to the fruit basket.

Is there something on my face?

"First thing's first," I start. "In order to know about the poem we need to know about the poet himself. John Keats was a Romantic poet born in the 16th century and–"

"What's a Romantic poet?" Jisoo interjects. "Do they like write poems about love and stuff?"

"Not quite. Romantic poets are those who wrote during the Romantic era. I don't want to go full on nerd on you, but the Romantic era was a cultural and intellectual movement that originated in Europe towards the end of the 18th century. That era was characterized by individualism and poetry of that era started to take on a more human form, not that poetry of the 18th century wasn't like that, but with the Romantic era, it was different. Emotions such as awe, horror and admiration were highlighted. Some poets focused their writing on eulogizing nature as seen in the works or William Wordsworth and P.B Shelley while others focused on the supernatural like Edgar Allen Poe and Nathaniel Hawthorne."

They both give me blank stares like I'm speaking in a foreign language and I sigh. "And you don't know who they are." They nod wordlessly and I silently shake my head.

Mom comes around from the kitchen carrying a tray with mugs of hot chocolates. She settles it down in the middle of the table and we say a quick 'thank you' to her and continue.

"They're not important," I say calmly. "All you need to know is that they are Romantic poets and John Keats happens to be one of them." I check the time on my phone briefly. "Okay, so do you have a printed copy of the poem?"

"Yeah," Jisoo says and stretches her right hand to get a rumpled piece of paper from the side of the bag. Lisa brings out a folded paper from her manila file and settles it on the table.

"Great. FYI, I started re-reading the analysis of the poem yesterday. It's been a while so I'm a little rusty."

Lisa gives me a sideway smile, her doe eyes firmly planted on mine, I give a sideway smile of my own, my hands gripping the paper in front of me. You know, it should be a crime for someone's daughter to actually look this good. Lisa always gives off this "I just rolled out of bed but I have money' vibe which on anyone would have looked repulsive, but on her, it's making my stomach turn in a good way.

And again, that is very very bad.

Jisoo coughs loudly and we both look away. I clear my throat loudly and she grabs a fountain pen. Jisoo has a knowing look on her face and I know she had seen what had transpired between us but says nothing.

"Right," I say after a beat. "Ode to a Nightingale is a regular ode with eight stanzas and a regular rhyme scheme. Basically, the poem explains how Keats is in a state of discomfort and he envies the imagined happiness of the nightingale. Keats longs for wine to numb his senses and take him out of his misery per se. He wants to be in the world of the nightingale because in his delusion, he thinks the nightingale is without troubles and worries which, when you think about it, make sense because he says that his life is full of pain."

They nod their heads and I continue. "Add this to your fun facts about John Keats: He died of tuberculosis at the age of 25."

"That's horrible," Jisoo sympathizes, her face downcast. "He never got to experience life fully."

"Indeed. So you kinda see where he's coming from when he says he wants to be in the world of the nightingale. Thinking about it thoroughly, don't we all want to be in the world of the nightingale? I'd trade a world full of happiness and love for this dump of a world we're living in right now."

And I put that on everything.

I spend the better part of two hours explaining to Jisoo and Lisa the importance of the poem and why John Keats actually wrote the poem. We also discussed the various themes and the significance of the Nightingale in the poem.

After the 'class' they seemed satisfied enough and even took notes down which caught me by surprise. I guess being on the basketball team is a huge deal to them.

Of course it's important to them, one's the captain and the other is... well not captain but does a really good job as a small forward from what I heard.

Also, let's be real, their popularity cred would totally diminish and they'd be shamed all through school if they fail. While I do not want that to happen, it'd be funny to see the roles being reversed for once.

"You did good, sweetie," Mom says as she joins me on the dining table. Lisa and Jisoo left a while before dinner with an external amount of gratitude to my mom. I didn't think Lisa could be polite, but she was kissing my mom's ass a few hours ago. Of course, mom being who she is, invited them to come over at any time.

"I'm proud of you."

"I'm proud of me too." I did a good deed today so that should score me some extra points in heaven, right?

"You put pettiness aside and helped out your school friends," I give her a pointed look and she corrects herself. "I mean acquaintances."

Better.

"I raised you well, Jen," she says with a satisfied smile and a look as if reminiscing about the past.

She really did raise Ella and I well. I would never trade my mom for anything in the world. When my dad left and decided that being a parent is too much work, mom picked up the slack and made sure that we were taken care of and we didn't want for anything.

Even if Ella and I wanted something and she couldn't afford it at the moment, she'd make sure that she'll still get it, albeit at a later date. We may not be rich or have the luxuries of the world, but fuck those, I have my sister and my mom and that's enough for me to die a happy teenager.

I don't want to die at all, at least not now, but you get my point.

"That girl, the one with bangs?"

"Lisa?"

"Yeah, her. She looks very familiar. I can't put my finger on it but I feel like I have met her before," Mom says with a frown on her face. "Maybe I've seen her at the mall or something but I know her from somewhere."

"Maybe you remember her at the yearly parents-teachers conference?" I suggest. She shrugs. "Maybe."

"When you're done, turn of all the electrical appliances and check if the doors are locked. I don't want another burglary incident," she mentions with a chill in her voice.

Last year, our apartment was burglarized. They stole valuable family heirlooms, including all the jewelery that Grandma passed down to mom, money and a few trinkets that Grandpa gave her on her wedding day. Long story short, it was a devastating day, we filed a police report and the culprits have not been caught.

Fuck the justice system.

"Sure."

"Goodnight, Jen. Don't stay up late or you'd have brain fart."

I snort and she squeezed my shoulder. Making a left, I hear her footsteps trudging up the stairs until they were no longer audible.

A message pops up on my notifications. Unlocking my phone, I open it and see that it's from an unknown number.

Lisa: Thanks for today.

I beam a little and close the phone, taking in the day's events in one breath.

What a day!