The term Kimchi sounds somewhat playful, yet it aptly sketches the complex feelings he brings to me. He is Korean, Kimchi is his national soul, and I, as an outsider, affectionately call him that. In this affection, there is a hint of vague identification with his identity, as well as a possessive desire to claim him as my own.
He calls me "자기야," meaning "darling," a term that sounds sweet but weighs heavily on me. Every time he calls me that, I can feel his longing for this relationship. Yet I always hide behind the wall of hesitation, afraid to take that step.
Our relationship is like a plate of spicy, fragrant Kimchi, yet overly sour. I enjoy its deliciousness but fear becoming overwhelmed. What he desires is not just fleeting pleasure, but lasting companionship. Meanwhile, I only want to remain in this ambiguous relationship.
He once said he feels like a beggar, begging for my love. Those words pierced me deeply. I began to reflect: do I really love him? Or am I just enjoying the thrill of being loved?
His Love Bite, that bruise, is like a stamp that binds me to him tightly. But this stamp makes me feel suffocated. I began to doubt whether this relationship is healthy and whether it can bring lasting happiness.
When I sit alone in the cinema, watching the bizarre stories on the screen, I feel an unprecedented loneliness. I long for a sincere relationship, yet I fear getting hurt.
Kimchi wants more, but I cannot give him more. This unequal relationship fills me with deep guilt. It also reminds me of the tangled relationship I had with 10CM.
Am I a selfish person? Should I end this relationship and give us both a clean break? Or should I try to change myself and accept his love for me?
These questions linger in my mind, refusing to dissipate.