Time to Live New Things

 

The morning started like it always did with the gentle strains of solo piano from his cell phone alarm clock, waking Min-Jun from a glorious, beautiful, happy dream. Cracking open one eye, he saw that the clock read 6:01, a painful, radical shift from peace and harmony to the reality of having to rise from bed to take the train to work. He sat on the edge of his bed for a moment, relishing the joy he felt in the presence of the lovely, blond Scandinavian woman in his dream, certain that he had never actually seen her before, convinced that his mind had created a sliver of happiness to counter the general drudgery of his everyday life.

Hanging onto this bit of fabricated happiness, he ceased all motion, waiting until the images and memories had faded. His shower was tepid and short, and he could hear the coffee pot calling his name as he dried his hair and rubbed lotion into his face and neck, wondering if he should wear black or brown today. The train ride to work was typically uneventful, surrounded by strangers and avoiding eye contact until he entered the office, being forced to interact with his co-workers, with most of whom he had nothing in common.

The first four hours of work passed by quickly and he sat outside in the direct sunshine enjoying his gimbap and hot tea, watching pigeons come and go to the edge of the water fountain a short distance from his table. He returned to his stand-up desk to immerse himself, once again, into his work, trying not to be distracted by his co-worker’s chit-chit and laughter. “Happiness is an easy thing,” he thought, “as long as you set your standards incredibly low, being willing to be content with mediocrity.”

With the arrival of two o’clock, he walked to the coffee kiosk in front of the office building and ordered a white chocolate mocha, needing a small kick to refocus. Life was an unending cycle of normalcy: sleep, a train ride, work, lunch, work, a train ride home, dinner and a few hours of reading. As he thought about his daily and weekly routine on the train ride home, he wondered what life was like for all others. “Probably more of the same inanity that is on display at work.”

He sat alone at his dinner table that evening, eating his noodles and pork, finally coming to the realization that his life only consisted of him, his interests, all of which seemed like a selfish, empty, and pointless existence. With enough daylight after his evening meal, he waited a short bit and went for a walk, hoping to see something that would motivate him to make a change in his reality. He had moved no more than four blocks from his home when he saw three black SUV’s stop in front of an office building, which made him pause as he watched seven young Korean men, smartly dressed, emerge from the vehicles surrounded by bodyguards.

“Now there’s a reality most people don’t enjoy,” he thought, “while their lifestyles may be easy and comfortable, at least they’re making a great number of people happy, even if those people are teenage girls. Who do I make happy?” He lingered at the corner until the crowd dispersed and the SUV’s drove away, to then continue his walk until he watched the sun disappear behind the cityscape to his left. On his walk home, he could hear shouting from a nearby house, revealing a vulgar, dirty, foul-mouthed middle-aged man kicking a dog in the side yard.

Feeling a rage build up within him, he picked up a moderate size rock from the gutter and rifled it across the yard, making direct contact with the back of the man’s head, dropping him to his knees and then to his face. The rage then subsided to be replaced by joy at his selfless act of helping one could not help himself, which also stirred up within him an idea to take this simple act to the next level.

He returned home, pulled up his credit card account online with its spending analysis tool, which allowed him to see how he spent his money, to see his focus in life, and seeing the possibility of redirecting some of that frivolous spending into something good. After a generally routine dinner, he finished his latest novel and went to bed early, feeling rather spent after boring day and an exciting evening foray with a rock. A sudden flash woke Min-Jun from his dark and empty sleep informing him that 1:37 am had rolled upon him. The image of the angry neighbor man immediately came to mind, as well as the cowering, whimpering dog, giving him the idea to go for another walk.

Dressed in all black, he used back alleys and avoided streetlights, to return to the home of the sad dog with its angry owner. He crept over the back fence, released the dog from its oversized chain and carried it home for a much-needed bath and a good meal. “If a dog could smile, that would be it,” he thought. After the bath and the meal, he spent the next hour creating a good relationship with the sorry beast, deciding to name it “Gi”, for it bravely withstood the anger and abuse from its former owner.

Gi clearly understood what was taking place as they spent the hour together until Min-Jun turned off the lights and returned to his bedroom, to be followed by the now safe and content dog, who immediately joined him on the foot of his bed. A gentle snoring created a peaceful form of white noise as he drifted into sleep, working to devise a plan for caring for the dog while he was away each day. A bathroom run for Gi immediately after his shower, was a new addition to his typical routine. He cleared out the second bedroom, creating a safe and comfortable space for Gi, making sure he had enough food and water for the day.

Feeling happy and satisfied throughout his day, he decided to find a reputable non-profit organization that helped children who suffered from abuse, knowing that a few hundred dollars a month for donation would slightly diminish his current level of comfort and entertainment.

Three years had passed, and each month reminded him that many children across the nation were faring better, and were being taken care of, because of his realization of selfishness and a proper response to that realization. Every night when it was warm enough and light enough, he and Gi would go for a walk, deliberately avoiding Gi’s former home. The dog now emanated a happiness that gave more meaning and depth to Min-Jun’s life. While it wasn’t normal human interaction, he found that he resonated with animals in a way that he didn’t with people.

He finished his work week to receive a phone call at the end of the day from the child abuse organization, asking him to stop by the office for a brief meeting. He agreed and arrived at their office just before five p.m. to receive a box full of thank you letters, arts and crafts, and a formal letter from the president of the company. “Your generosity has changed the lives of hundreds of children, Min-Jun,” the VP told him. “We believed that you would find great joy in seeing the response from the children and from our President. We wish that there would be more people like you who truly care about others. Thank you for your support.”

Min-Jun sat on the train ride home, holding his box and looking forward to the excited response he received from Gi each evening when he returned home. He let himself in and immediately began taping the artwork to his refrigerator, feeling fulfilled and happy at the impact he now had upon so many others, rather than just himself. Feeling like splurging, he ordered take out for himself and Gi.  Three sushi rolls for himself and a sixteen-ounce steak for Gi. The two of them sat down together on the couch after their dinner arrived, to enjoy the latest episode of his favorite anime series.

“The reality of living for others now feels normal,” he thought, the idea of which pushed him to find some other way of making an impact, as his life was still reasonably comfortable, while he knew that so many others did not enjoy that luxury. “Let’s see, here,” he thought, “orphans, homeless people, the elderly, who else needs help?”