𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚘, Hyunjin

4.

Pablo Picasso once said, 'Every Child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once he grows up.'

My thoughts swirled around this quote more often than it should've, mainly because it was true. Every child that is born into this world will always learn how to hold a crayon, a pen and a pencil. They will grip onto that pen for dear life, and ruin carpets, floors, and walls. They'll waste precious paper and even canvases.

Then if they enjoy it, they'll start colouring in patterns and pictures in those colouring books. They'll learn the names of colours and even their meanings. Children will learn about how to colour in a tiger, or a butterfly correctly. They'll start seeing the meaning behind the swirls of fantastic colours, instead of just seeing it as something fun to do.

When they turn older, those colouring books will fade away, and they will buy something that will allow their own colour to shine through. A canvas that they might put their favourite person on. A canvas where they will paint their favourite place, or their ideal fruit to eat in the morning. Anything they wish to be real will appear with new tools. A brush, all different shapes and sizes will be held with a learned soft grip in their delicate fingers.

I feel shame and sadness when I think of the children who lose their passion for art. More so for the ones who never liked colouring in as children. It's such a splendid art form. Allowing you to express whatever it is you wish on your own terms, and then framing it for others to look at. Art as a job is not as carefree, I understand, but the way people interpret your art must be nice.

I've never had the option. All the shame and blinding guilt for judging such children at their young age, judging them for having different passions was so hypocritical of me. Art had failed me too.

I was walking to work at 8 am, and I was thinking of that beautiful man. I was thinking of his life, his love for art. Yesterday, he seemed so excited to see the paintings hanging up on the walls, and I couldn't seem to figure him out. Making up people's stories made me feel secure, yet when he seemed less glam than I imagined, I was intrigued by how he lived.

He couldn't have been like me. A kid who ran around, loving art, wanting to draw everything, then eventually, being let down more than once. He must've been successful, and everything must've gone his way all the time. People like him are blessed unlike me.

That man was blessed. Just to look the way he did was something I couldn't even begin to explain. It made me wonder if he was aware he looked so good. Did he often take advantage of his good looks to move through life a lot easier? Was he married? Have a good job? Or perhaps my story was right, and was he successful in his glamour life?

The imposing and grand building in which I worked was finally in sight. I hurried my footsteps to rid of the oncoming goose bumps from the cold morning air. It was harder to wake up on these mornings. My therapist said it was called 'Seasonal Depression'.

I can't remember her exact words, but something along the lines of "Your depression might worsen at this time of year". I looked into it myself, and people with depression don't usually experience seasonal depression because we're depressed all the time, but there was something to do with the sun intake that made waking up and being productive harder and that stopped my body and brain functioning normally.

This time of year was difficult, it was like my brain was harassing itself, convincing itself not to drain too much energy otherwise I'd have a mental breakdown. I really tried to push through it every time, but sometimes I would sit out for a few minutes, listen to music to calm myself, and then re-enter society and work.

My boss was a lovely middle-aged woman. She wasn't at the gallery a lot, but she liked to pop in and out at times. She was possibly the most compassionate person I knew, and she seemed to be the only woman in the world who was trying to understand me. Other than the anxiety, and the depression, it seemed like she was trying to accommodate me in a lot of different ways. 

On my off days, as I like to call them, she is the person I ring up to let her know I won't be able to come to work. I don't like to do it, staying off work embarrasses me, and I don't appreciate the looks from my colleagues when I get to have paid days off. I know it's unfair, and so I try to come in as often as I can, but a lot of those days lead to breakdowns I can't understand.

It was nice to see her face when I stepped into the welcoming gallery. By seeing her here, it was either an important day or something big was coming into the gallery. I had hoped I wasn't too busy so I could spot that man. I had no clue what time he could appear, but I wanted to see him regardless.

"Oliver!"

My boss was small, barely to my shoulder. I wasn't particularly tall, pushing 5'9, yet she was so small and held so much power and confidence inside of her. When I first started working under her, I could barely say the right words to her, and I would stutter my way through life. Now, she was the person I was closest to in the whole of Korea. She was my boss, but also someone I was comfortable with.

"Hi, sanjangnim." I politely greeted her, I was already used to the Korean customs of greeting and the social hierarchy.

She smiled and led me to the official cupboard where the workers would place their coats, put on name badges etc. She didn't say much till I was sitting down, ready to hear what she needed to be done for today in the gallery. Usually we had tasks to complete but when she popped in, she liked to talk to everyone.

"How are you feeling today?" She asked, and I wanted to sigh.

It was one thing to understand my own feelings since it was difficult to know what I was truly feeling. One of the most difficult things to do was to determine how I was feeling, and why I was feeling that way. My therapist said it was crucial to understand myself to improve, but it was too hard. Speaking about my feelings was nearly impossible, there were no words to use to describe my feelings.

"Fine," I replied, it was always how I replied but I think she was always hoping for more.

"That's good," She looked at me for a second before continuing, "I was hoping you'd do a last-minute tour this evening..."

I shrugged and nodded, "Sure. Which route should I take?"

In the gallery, there are 3 different routes. Since it's quite an expansive gallery, it would take around 2 hours to walk through all the paintings and talk about them. It was much too difficult to remember every painting as well, so we take them in routes. For the rich folks who want a tour, we usually take them on route one.

Route one is a lot of classics and expensive paintings. There is also a sculpture towards the end that takes donations for good luck. It was a Korean tradition to believe in these types of good luck charms, but the money gets cleaned up at the end of the day and put into a donation jar for the gallery.

Route 2 and 3 were a bit longer than Route one, and they showed fewer classic paintings but more meaningful ones in my opinion. The public doesn't know about these routes, we choose which ones to take depending on the people and the time they have. My favourite was Route 3, there was one particular painting I could spend all day talking about.

"I know your favourite is Route 3." She spoke softly, a smile playing on her lips. My boss always accommodated me.

I nodded and stood up to prepare myself for showing a group of people around.

"What time do they show up?" I asked my boss as we walked out into the shop area. My co-workers took orders and prepared coffees. My least favourite part of the whole job, especially when it got busy.

"It is currently 9 am," She checked something on her phone and I waited patiently for the time she would give me, "You have till 1 pm to prepare."

"I still have ages." I muttered, "I'll...go and do a run around the gallery and clean up."

My boss nodded, and I left. My chest kind of felt tight, remembering that the man could be walking around and spying at the paintings. I wanted to run into him, and then watch him from afar, where I wouldn't be nervous to talk to him or pressured to hold a conversation. I hope he turned up soon.

xx

I have a few more chapter to write before I finish this story up! Once it's finished, you'll be getting regular chapters every evening unless I miss a night due to some event!

Thank you!