The universal language isn't love or music; it's loneliness.
It's strange that the diary begins with this phrase, but I feel it represents me.
Someone once said that keeping a diary keeps your demons away from those closest to you, so at the age of 28, I decided to start one.
Hello, my name is Eun-seo.
From the time I was a child, and as I began to understand people, I was always alone.
In the orphanage, everyone was divided into categories:
War orphans, accident orphans, and those orphaned from birth.
I was in the last category. I never knew my father or mother. I had no one to lean on, and I didn't think anyone ever would until I met my wonderful love. But I'll get to that point later.
They say that destinies were written long ago, before humankind was born, and that every step in this life is but a line in an ancient book written by the gods.
But whenever I look back on my life, I feel as though my book wasn't written in ink, but with something heavier… as if it were written with a long, endless shadow.
A short story of sorrow in a vast library of destinies.
From birth, the orphans were the least fortunate, as if death were their destiny. Their fate was dictated by the orphanage, forcing them to work hard to repay the enormous debt. Little did they know, it was subsidized by the government, and the money was enough for them to live like queens.
It was me and two little girls… That's how the memory begins, with three small shadows moving through the corridors of a distant time.
Now, after all this time, I can't even remember their names. Sometimes I try to summon their faces from the depths of my memory, but all that comes back are faint laughs echoing somewhere inside my head, as if they're coming from a room that's been locked for years.
We were friends… at least, that's what I think.
Little friends in a large orphanage, where the days were all the same and the faces changed, but the three of us had our own world.
That world was the church.
It was rarely opened, so it became our secret place. Its heavy wooden door, the high windows through which light filtered like golden threads, and the scent of old wood and incense that filled the air… all of it made it seem like an abandoned kingdom waiting to be discovered.
And we were its discoverers.
We would run between the long pews, our footsteps echoing in the vast silence, and then we would begin our favorite game: role-playing.
Sometimes I would be the priest, standing before the altar, raising my hands in a comically affected manner, and speaking meaningless words that I tried to make sound sacred.
And other times, one of the girls would play the role of the head of the orphanage.
She would walk between the pews with a stern face and shout our names just like a real woman, mimicking her harsh tone so perfectly that we would burst out laughing before she even finished her sentence.
"Where have you been? Why are you here? Go back immediately!"
But we didn't go back.
We hid behind pillars, stifling our laughter, imagining we had escaped the adult world into our own little world… a world without rules, clocks, or orders.
Just three children, a closed church, and boundless imagination.
We sat in long rows at old wooden tables, the dishes identical, words few.
Only the clinking of spoons against bowls and a few whispers among the children. Meals weren't so much a moment of pleasure as a brief respite before returning to what awaited us.
For the work was not insignificant.
The orphanage was large… large enough that cleaning it was an endless task. Long corridors, many rooms, staircases, high windows that collected dust quickly. We spent long hours with brooms and rags, mopping floors, making beds, and polishing windows.
And that took hours.
But the one thing that was always clear was that they wouldn't accept any excuses.
Tiredness wasn't an excuse, slowness wasn't an excuse, and even being young wasn't an excuse.
The work had to be finished… no matter how long it took.
When I turned 18, I applied to leave, but it was ignored because I had the highest grades and many advertisements were running with my name on them.
So, one day after school, I went to a good lawyer—someone I've always been grateful to—and he filed a lawsuit against the orphanage. He got me substantial compensation, scholarships, and other benefits.
I received a large sum of money, and my university scholarship was awarded after I graduated because I had become a media figure. News outlets covered my struggles in the orphanage and other nonsense.
At first, I was confused, facing that seemingly simple yet weighty question: What would I do with my life? Which path should I take?
There were many options, and even more opinions.
So I thought long and hard about what resonated most deeply with me, what I felt truly meant to do.
Ultimately, I found myself drawn to nursing. Perhaps because it's a profession based on caring for others, or perhaps because the idea of alleviating someone's pain seemed undeniably important.
And so I enrolled in nursing, not because the path was perfectly clear, but because it was the one closest to my heart.
I knew it wouldn't be easy, but at least I felt I had chosen something I could genuinely pursue.