I needed to go. The city is killing me. I can not write anything for the past few weeks. Every time I tried, I ended up staring at the laptop screen endlessly. This anxiety started to control me once again. I had too many things to express, but it got stuck in my mind. I keep typing and deleting without even managed to finish one simple paragraph. I become an insomniac. Still, I failed.

I need the sea to feel normal again. Writing isn't just my financial source but also my passion. This is not my first time. Usually, I'll get back into that in no time. But not this time. So I guess a trip to the sea would help me. I will try to rest a little bit. Pull myself together so that I can be on track again. But I am not sure how long will it takes this time around. Weeks? Months? I don't really know.

The sea reminds me of my late mother. We spent so much time together visiting the beaches. She loved it so much, or should I say it's also her healer. I saw her cried and laughed soon after during each visit for multiple times. At that time, I don't understand why, but I do now. I even witnessed her drowned to death without unable to do anything and engulfed by the guilt for all my life. I remembered every bit of it, and even it tore me apart, it's also patched me up either way.

I didn't know my other family. Even my biological father, at least not until few years after my mother's death. So in between, I've been living hell. Soon after my own family came, my life perspective changes in a different direction, but still, a hell for me to lived in.

I talk less. Thus, my passion for writing is bigger than anything. I expressed my thoughts through it. Somehow, it has started to deteriorated nowadays. Honestly, I am scared. I am afraid that I might go crazy one of these days. Or simply just switch off from this chaotic world.

" Each struggle has its own hopes. It's good as long as we have hopes, you know?" I turned to the voice from behind me. I never saw the man before. I didn't say anything. But I had the feeling that he will keep talking to me.

He sat beside me. Surprisingly, he didn't utter a word. I steal a quick glance at him, his eyes were closed and he seems like enjoying the windy breezes so much. He seems serene and peaceful. Like there are no worries tied him to this world entirely.

" Who are you?" I asked out of curiosity. He turned and smiled. There is a dimple on his left cheek, which makes his smile more vibrant and reassuring to me.

" Maybe, I am your guardian," he said and shortly chuckles after that. To my surprise, I too, smile at the phrase that I assumed was a joke. Something that I rarely react with a stranger.

" Finally, I see your beautiful smile. You are Han Jin Ae, right?" I flustered and at the same time, wondering how does he know my name.

" Do I know you?" I puzzled.

" I don't think so. Just assume that I am one of your fans. Ah, just call me, Namjoon," he said. Someone might know me. That seems logical. Our conversation doesn't end there. But I made friends with him that day. And as days gone by, he listened to me more often. Slowly, I started to write again. Every time spent with him was so magical to me because he brought out the different sides of me that I never thought existed.

Namjoon is a fine man, always in deep thoughts and charming. But I don't know...