ELI
The cold hit me the moment I stepped off the plane. I knew Russia would be different, but nothing could prepare me for the biting chill that gripped my skin, freezing me from the inside out. My father stood beside me, tall and stoic, pulling his coat tighter as we shuffled through the crowd, heading for the exit. The airport was far from bustling like the one in Seoul. People moved swiftly but quietly, speaking in a language I barely understood. My father's voice was muffled in my ear, talking to someone on his phone in Korean. We moved with a purpose, but it didn't feel like we were going anywhere.
When we made it outside, the cold air hit me harder. The wind cut right through my thin jacket, leaving me shivering from the inside out. I could barely feel my fingers as I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck, pulling the hood over my head in a futile attempt to stay warm. The taxis waited in a long line, their engines rumbling with life, smoke trailing from the exhaust pipes in the freezing air. We got in the first one available, and I glanced at my father as he spoke to the driver in broken Russian, my own inability to speak the language only making me feel more like a foreigner in my own body.
The drive to our new home was long. We passed rows of identical buildings, tall and gray, the windows tinted with the kind of frost that made the world look more like a painting than reality. The streets were lined with old trees, bare of leaves, their branches stretched out like skeletal hands. There were no vibrant lights, no crowds of people rushing through the streets like in Seoul. Here, everything felt muted, and I was painfully aware of how out of place I felt.
We finally arrived at the apartment. The building was tall and dark, standing like a shadow over the snow-covered street. The front door was thick and heavy, the type of door that felt like it could keep out an entire army. The elevator was small, and the interior smelled faintly of something old, dust, maybe, mixed with the sharp scent of cleaning products. As the elevator creaked its way to the tenth floor, I tried not to let my discomfort show.
When we entered the apartment, I stood in the middle of the living room, taking it all in. The space was small compared to our house back in Korea, but it was warm. The walls were a neutral gray, and the furniture, though simple, looked sturdy. There was a large window by the living room, and I immediately walked over to it. Outside, the city sprawled endlessly, the streets lined with vehicles and people, but all of it was softened by the snow that had begun to fall. The world outside was a mix of grays, whites, and silvers. I wasn't sure how I felt about it yet, but it looked like something out of a dream. Or a nightmare.
My dad encouraged me to adjust to the new life,I tried to do so throughout my first week, well…not until I started school.
The next week at school, I felt even more out of place. The school was large, with bright lights and wide hallways that echoed with the sound of footsteps. But it didn't feel welcoming. The other students were all speaking Russian, their words flowing around me like an impenetrable wall. I could barely understand them, and I hated how weak I felt because of it. My father had arranged for me to attend this school, and I didn't know why. It wasn't like I had a choice. He probably thought it would be good for me to adapt to the culture, to learn the language.
I sat in the back of the classroom, my eyes mostly on the desk in front of me, though I could feel the stares of my classmates on the back of my neck. My thick black hair felt heavy, and I tugged at the collar of my jacket nervously. I had expected to feel isolated, but it was worse than I imagined.
I'd always known I didn't look like the other boys. My features were softer, my frame thinner. It didn't help that I didn't have the sharp, angular build most guys seemed to have here. I wasn't tall like them, either. It wasn't just the language barrier, it was how people looked at me, sizing me up, like I didn't belong.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of class, I grabbed my books quickly and walked out, my head down. I didn't want to interact with anyone. The hallway was crowded, filled with voices I couldn't understand, people I didn't know. But there was one thing I was used to: the whispers.
"Look at him, he's so skinny."
"He looks like a girl, don't you think?"
"What kind of guy dresses like that?"
I kept walking, trying to ignore the sounds around me. It didn't matter. I couldn't make them stop. But it didn't stop the ache in my chest.
At lunch, I sat alone. I never ate much. At home, I could hear my father on the phone in the background, making deals, talking about his new life here in Russia. But I wasn't really listening to him. My mind was stuck on what had happened earlier. It was just the beginning, but I could already feel how I would always be the odd one out.
After school, I trudged home, my feet heavy in the thick snow, my shoulders hunched against the cold. I didn't bother looking around much. There wasn't much to see anyway just more of the same gray buildings, more people who didn't care about me. I reached the apartment, my feet dragging with exhaustion. When I walked through the door, my father wasn't there.
I collapsed on the couch, pulling the thin blanket over my legs. The apartment was too quiet, but I was too tired to care. I didn't know when I'd get used to this place, to this life. Everything here was so different.
The next few days were more of the same. At school, I kept my head down, doing my best to ignore the teasing. When I wasn't in class, I stayed in the apartment, avoiding the sounds of the world outside. My father was busy with his work, making calls, meeting people, including someone named Damir that he never cease to talk about even when we were in korea. I didn't think much of it. Damir, I thought, was just some business associate. A guy my father worked with.
It wasn't until a week later that I actually saw him. I was sitting in the living room, trying to find something to watch on the TV, when my father and a man I'd never met walked in. He was tall…taller than most men I'd seen and his suit looked expensive. It was dark, fitted perfectly to his broad shoulders. His face was sharp, defined, with dark eyes that seemed to be constantly assessing everything in the room.
The man Damir, my father's friend glanced at me for a moment, and then his gaze flickered away. I didn't think much of it. He was just another face, another adult. He shook my father's hand, and they began talking about something I didn't understand. I could see my father smiling as he spoke to him, and for some reason, it bothered me.
Maybe I was just tired of being ignored, I didn't care. He wasn't my problem.
That night, I went to bed early, my mind still swirling with thoughts of the day. The teasing at school, the way my father seemed so caught up in his work,But I wasn't ready to think about it.
For now, I just had to survive another day in this strange new world.