I woke up late today.

Came to school and there was a note on the door. “Sorry! Forgot the key! I will go home to get it. Be back in an hour…” The rest of the note told me to wait in the library.

So, here I am. The librarian motioned for me to sit down at this short, round table in the middle of the room. I took my seat, set my things down, and glanced around. I was surrounded by so many interesting looking books that I don’t know how to read, but there was a book that called out to me.

The spine had this aura; a sort of off-white matte feel about it. It was nestled in between two books wih black covers. I grabbed the book. An eerie drawing of a kid looked back at me from the front cover. I opened it up. The artwork was soft, gentle, and full of atmosphere; I could taste the fog. I flipped through the first few pages.

Beautiful artwork.

Beautiful layout.

I tried to read the first sentence. I was barely able to make out the first word. I held it up, facing the librarian, “Very hard for me.” She laughed and got up, disappearing somewhere into the depths of her shelves. She emerged with a children’s book.

A children’s book about the Korean alphabet for Korean children learning how to read. There I was, twenty-five years old with a college degree and I was having trouble reading a children’s book.

She was helping me pronounce some basic words when my main coteacher walked in. She had me sign some paperwork, explained the plan for today regarding going to Seoul for my immigration forms, asked about my dinner, and then bounced. Before she left, I was able to ask her a question. I handed her the original book that caught my attention, the one with the drawing of the kid.

“What’s this book about?”

She looked it over and read it out loud in Korean. Then she translated it to, “How I became invisible.” Or, something like that. “The writer is from Canada.”

She left and there I was, wishing I could read this book so bad.