It was the winter before my college entrance exams, sometime in late December. A friend had asked me to help out at an event, a simple enough favor—leading a team through some games. The night before, they told me, “We’ve already paired you with someone reliable. I hear he’s good-looking too. No need to thank us tomorrow.”
I glanced at his name on the roster. It was one of those English names I’d never seen before, the kind that made you pause because you weren’t sure how to pronounce it. For a second, I wondered, What kind of person gives themselves a name like that? When we had our first phone call, the first thing I asked, without much thought, was, “Hi. How do I say your name?”
The day of the event, we met in person for the first time. And honestly, I froze for a moment—not because he was particularly striking, but because he was dressed almost exactly like me. Same black polo shirt. Same grey trousers, from the same store, no less. Even his watch was from a brand I thought no one else wore. Over the years, I’ve never met another person with that same watch.
Everyone around us laughed at the coincidence. My friend leaned over with a knowing grin and whispered, “How about that? Didn’t I pick the perfect partner for you?”
He turned out to be, well, a little odd. Quirky, maybe. He carried himself like he was trying to be cool, but his jokes were surprisingly terrible, the kind that makes you laugh despite yourself. His pockets were full of small lollipops, which he handed out generously, explaining that he kept them around because he loved them. At one point, he walked past a convenience store, went in, and came out with a newspaper, reading it as we moved from place to place. “This is my mental nourishment,” he said, without a hint of irony.
I couldn’t help wondering to myself, What kind of person is this?
As the day unfolded, a series of small coincidences emerged. At one point, while chatting with the group we were leading, he asked, “We’re probably the same age, right? Who’s older?”
I smiled and said, “I was born in January, so probably me.”
“Oh, I was born in January too,” he said.
“January 6th,” I added.
“January 5th,” he replied.
For a moment, I didn’t know what else to say.
And so, a few days before my 18th birthday, I met someone unlike anyone I’d met before. But that’s OK.
*The image is from one of my favourite movies, Park Chan-wook’s I’m a Cyborg, But That’s OK.
