December 31, 2020
What would you do if you had the opportunity for a fresh start? A new shot at this thing called life?
Would you take it? Or are you satisfied with the way you've been living?
Most people try to "restart" their lives at the beginning of the New Year, but that's not what I mean.
I mean this:
Move to a new place. Leave behind the people you once knew. Adopt a new name. A new identity. Completely change your life.
It's December 31, a cold winter night, and I'm camping alone in an abandoned warehouse parking lot in Los Angeles, California.
Tonight is the perfect night for a fresh start.
The cold winter air bites against my skin, slipping through the gaps in my coat. The small fire in front of me provides the only warmth in this empty place. The smell of burning wood fills my lungs, mixing with the faint scent of smoke clinging to my clothes.
I'm spending New Year's Eve the way I always have—alone.
I sigh and breathe in the familiar scent of the campfire.
Everything is quiet.
The only sound is the crackling of burning wood and the occasional whistle of the wind passing through the abandoned warehouse.
I stand from my collapsible chair and walk toward a cardboard box sitting about five feet away.
This single box holds everything I've ever owned.
Clothes. Books. Pictures.
Everything that remains of my past.
I sit back down, place the box on my lap, and begin going through it.
I start with my clothes.
One by one, I toss each piece of clothing I've ever owned into the fire, watching the fabric curl and disappear beneath the flames.
Then I find an old, torn hoodie.
I freeze.
A faded gang emblem is embroidered onto the sleeve.
For a moment, I just stare at it.
A memory flashes through my mind.
Then I throw it into the fire with everything else.
What's next?
Ah... books.
I only own three books. I don't think I've ever read any of them. I'm not even sure how I got them.
I toss them into the fire.
The flames roar as sparks scatter into the night sky. I follow them with my eyes until I somehow find myself staring at the stars.
Wow.
So beautiful.
So free.
I look back at the fire as it settles down. A small smile crosses my face before I turn my attention back to the box.
Not much remains.
Then again, I never really owned much to begin with.
The last things left are music albums and pictures.
Music is probably what kept me sane all these years. But these albums are a direct connection to the past, so I can't keep them.
I remove each CD from its case and throw the cases into the fire. Then I snap each disc into pieces and toss them in as well.
Will they even melt?
Haha...
I guess we'll find out.
Finally, the last thing in the box.
A photo album.
I set the box on the ground and place the album on my lap.
Inside are pictures of people who were once my entire world but are now complete strangers.
Only ten photographs.
Not many.
But somehow, that makes them even more precious.
Wow...
Who knew it would be this hard to let go?
I remove the photographs one by one and gently place them into the fire.
This hurts more than I thought it would.
Isn't that stupid?
These people aren't even in my life anymore.
So why does my heart hurt so much?
One by one, I watch the pictures burn—my past disappearing with them—until I reach the final two.
My parents.
The first picture is of my biological parents.
I don't remember them.
I never had the chance to know them.
This photograph is the only proof they ever existed.
Or...
Half of it.
The entire right corner had been burned away, taking my mother's face with it. Only my father's face remained.
The second picture is different.
It is the picture of the people who gave me a family when I had none.
My fingers tighten around the photograph.
Some memories are harder to burn than others.
I pull both photographs out of the album and throw the album itself into the fire.
I think I'll keep these.
It's too hard to let them go.
I open my black backpack and pull out my passport.
The name and picture on the identification page look nothing like the old me.
I've come pretty far, huh?
I slide the two photographs between the pages of my passport.
Now all I have left is my money, my passport, my laptop, my phone, a pair of earbuds, and the clothes on my back.
Black pants.
A black hoodie.
A black wool trench coat.
A black baseball cap.
White platform shoes.
Kind of a shady look, but simple... and easy to wear anywhere.
I stand up and stretch.
The fire has reduced everything to ash, so I pour water over the remaining embers.
Then I sling my backpack over my shoulder and leave my campsite behind.
I'm heading to the airport.
By this time tomorrow, I'll be in a new city.
A new life.
A new identity.
The taxi drops me off at the airport.
I glance at my phone.
23:57.
Three minutes until the new year.
Through the terminal windows, I watch families and friends across Los Angeles celebrate together.
People laugh.
Children point at the fireworks outside.
Couples hold each other close.
Everyone is welcoming a new beginning.
Everyone except me.
"Five... four... three... two... one..."
"Boom."
Fireworks burst across the night sky, painting Los Angeles in flashes of color.
A promise of a new beginning.
A fresh start.
The airport intercom crackles to life.
"All passengers, please begin boarding Flight 808 to Korea."
I smile.
I walk through the jetway, find my seat, and look out the window one last time.
As the plane lifts into the night sky, I watch Los Angeles disappear beneath the clouds.
Byeol-Bi was the only thing I had left.
Everything else had turned to ash.
By sunrise, the person I used to be would no longer exist.