Hoseok wished they were on a beach. Someplace beautiful where the ocean waves crashed upon the shoreline. He could see himself now kicking off his shoes and taking her hand before leading her into the surf. Then he’d run his fingertips through the water and flick it at her. They’d end up playing in it and probably emerge drenched, but it would be worth it. They’d have so much fun. Then they could walk along with their toes sinking into the warm sand and let the sun dry their soaked clothes. When evening came, he’d build a bonfire and they’d warm themselves by its light while they talked of their secret dreams. If only…
Hannah looked over at the young man walking beside her. She was wishing he’d take her hand. But why would he do that? They barely knew each other.
She studied his face. She could see only his profile right now. It was a beautiful sight. She might like this view of him best. Her eyes traced the outline of his fascinatingly curving nose all the way down to the smooth divot that met his upper lip. They floated over his pale red lips to the perfect round that formed his chin. His powerful jawline made her sigh. Then she glanced back up until she could see his eye, gently framed by dark lashes. Next, her eyes traveled up the slope of his noble brow, half of which was hidden by his dark bangs.
Suddenly, Hannah wanted to know him better. Deeper. She wondered what lay beneath the surface of his heart. What was hidden in the depths where no one bothered to look?
“Hobi, what’s your dream?”
He turned to face her, his lovely profile moving just beyond her reach now. “My dream?” he echoed quizzically, his dark eyes meeting hers vacantly.
“Yes. If you could go anywhere, do anything, be anybody, where would you go? What would you do? Who would you be?”
He smiled. “That’s easy. I’d be a dancer.”
She was shocked. “A dancer? You dance?”
He grinned at her, exposing all his straight, white teeth to her onlooking eyes. “Would you like to see?”
He looked around as if expecting to see someone waiting for him to dance, but they were alone. Then he moved a distance away from her and began to twist and turn and gyrate and bend. Hannah was fascinated as Hobi danced before her, pure joy flying from his eyes, and from his fingers, his arms, his legs, and his toes. He moved with such a fluid grace, an ease she knew she did not possess. He was truly beautiful, his dance a picture of unrivaled artistry.
Hannah watched in open-eyed wonder, her mouth parted in awe. Hobi was free when he danced. Something constricting fell off of him as his arms liberated themselves to dance. Something binding dissolved as his toes fled in freedom. Then he smiled, revealing that heart-shaped grin that lit up his whole face, and Hannah felt as if the sun had just risen that day. Hobi was truly happy in the release he’d found in twirling his limbs about himself. When he danced, he possessed the carefree attitude of a young child.
He came to a stop after a few minutes. Then he turned towards her, tilting his head.
“What about you, Hannah Banana, what’s your dream?”
She laughed at his instinctive use of her nickname. Usually, only those nearest and dearest to her called her that. Her best friend had been teasing her for years with those five syllables.
“I love to sing. And to sketch.”
“You are an artist?” He asked with no little curiosity. “And a songbird?”
Hannah laughed again. Hobi had a really unique and funny way of wording things.
“Yes, I suppose you could say I’m a songbird. And an artist. I LOVE to draw.”
“Wow. So are you pursuing your passion in college?”
She became thoughtful. “Yes…and no.”
Hobi frowned. “No?”
“No,” she sighed. “I’m not pursuing using my voice.”
“I bet it’s a beautiful voice,” he whispered, warming her heart.
She smiled at him as she continued, “And I’m not studying art, either.”
“What are you studying?”
“International studies.”
“But, why?”
“Well, as the oldest in my family, much is expected of me. My parents are counting on me to set a good example for my younger siblings. I’m expected to study hard, excel in my classes, and succeed academically. They want me to graduate at the top of my class. They want me to get a good paying job.”
“Do they want you to be happy?”
Her face fell a little with that question, so Hobi rushed to cover her. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything by that remark! I guess I’ve just been really blessed. My mother sacrificed her own dreams to make mine come true. She worked two jobs to pay for my dance lessons.”
“Wow! What an amazing mother! You are truly blessed!”
Hobi nodded. “Don’t I know it? One of my best friends, Yoongi, wasn’t so lucky. He had big dreams too, but they didn’t fit into the world of scholastic achievement either, so his parents refused to support his dreams. He’s written a song about the unsympathetic expectations the older generation has placed upon us. Asking us to forsake our dreams to pursue academic excellence. But for many of us, school isn’t the answer. We don’t feel called to finance or education or medicine. We want to sing, we want to dance. But they don’t understand it. They think we’re inferior, insignificant.”
“Oh, but that’s so wrong! They just don’t understand the generation we’ve been born into!”
“What do you mean?”
Why did her mind pick that moment to notice that she was an inch taller than him? How odd. She had to look just slightly down to capture his face with her gaze. This didn’t faze her.
She continued her thought pattern, “You know how our elders talk about our generation so negatively? That we’re lazy. That we lack diligence and refuse hard work. That we fight against walking in their footsteps.
“I have a theory about all that: it’s not true. They are quite simply wrong. We’re not lazy; we’re discouraged. Our generation has given up because they’ve lost all their hope. We were born for a different purpose than our parents’ generation, but our elders have denied us our rightful place. They’ve rejected our true calling. And when you’re floating around still searching for your real purpose, what is there to inspire you? It’s no wonder our generation is dying too young. They’ve given up. They’ve lost all hope.” Hannah had tears in her eyes as she spoke passionately about the dilemma her generation faced.
She went on, “This is what I see: our grandparents’ generations were warriors. They fought the world wars. Their calling was to survive and to protect the liberty of their nations. To create a legacy of life for their children and grandchildren. They stood up against tyranny to fight to make the world a safe place again. To foster a better world, a world in which war was an infrequent result of conflict.
“But then their children came along, and they had to rebuild society once the wars had been survived. So that generation was filled with engineers, scientists, innovators, teachers, doctors, and lawyers. They didn’t want just to survive; they wanted to thrive. Each fulfilling a role in a segment of society that laid a foundation for infrastructure and growth. And they accomplished their calling.
“And because they did, the foundation was now laid for beauty to come on the scene. Arts and entertainment and the vibrant colors of life were missing during the years of the world wars. Oh, they were there in little pockets, but for the most part, no one had time or money for such frivolous pursuits; they were all too busy surviving. And many were even unable to do that. They sacrificed their all for a greater good. Their focus was on building a safer world.
“Their children’s generation was too busy building a foundation to create beauty. Their focus was on the establishment of a solid piece of ground to build a city upon. And then they began to build that city, stone by stone, brick by brick, precept upon precept, scientific advancement after scientific advancement, technological innovation meeting daily needs. But beauty was pushed to the side in the race for comfort.
“And then our generation entered the picture. And what we were called to pursue was so radically different from the generations before us that we just didn’t fit any mold they’d created to press us into. We already had safety; we didn’t have to fight for it. For the most part. Until people learned to deny their dreams. Then they lost their hope, and many have chosen death for no purpose. But the solution to that kind of war is far different from the ones our grandfathers faced. The answer is to feed our generation hope and a purpose. This war won’t be won with guns or atomic bombs. It will be won with love and a passion to pursue our true calling.
“We were born into comfort, so we didn’t have to fight for it either. We were spoon-fed technology from the cradle, so instinctively understanding how to use it that many of us have taught our parents how to master it. It’s as easy as breathing for us. So now we’re looking for more.
“We are called to something deeper. It’s been misunderstood as something shallow, but it’s actually hidden beneath the surface of things, and it’s fed by passion, by love, by the security found in freedom and true comfort. We are called to see and express the beauty of life. Our destiny is to give the world a different kind of gift.
“Hobi, we’re called to be the dreamers, the singers, the dancers, the artists. We’re called to show the world how beautiful God meant for it to be. We’re called to express His colors, all seven colors of His rainbow: Red for His passion, for His undying devotion that came to save us. Orange for the fiery glow of His love that surrounds us, never leaving us alone. Yellow for the beauty of His glory: it lights up the sky in the morning and is with us all day long until the sun goes to bed at night, but even then the twinkling stars reveal it, and the other side of the world is waking up to its faithful promise. Green for the new life that He wants to continually provide us with. Blue for the grace that pursues us every single day of our lives. We can’t outrun it. It’s like the wide, open sky,” she looked up and waved her hand at the cloudless dome above their heads. “It’s always here around us, just a breath away, waiting for an invitation to invade our hearts. Indigo for the protective compassion that wraps around our hearts and never lets us go. Always seeking an entry point, waiting patiently for our summons before fully embracing us. Purple because we’re called to a loyal love and a royal position as sons and daughters of the King of Love.
“We’re called to sing His melodies over each other and all creation. Our purpose is to dance with joy because we recognize He loves us. Our destiny is to sketch visions of heaven on earth, so that we can learn to walk in it. We’re called to release the beauty of the Creator that we see hidden in every sunrise and revealed in each sunset. It’s there in the curve of an eagle’s wing, in the outline of a puffy, white cloud, in the gentle melody of a bubbling brook, in the tinkling strains of a child’s sweet laughter, in the eyes of another person made in God’s own beautiful image.
“We were each lovingly designed to be unique. No two people the same. So, of course, our callings are each unique too. It’s why our generation has kicked against the pricks, not wanting to be crammed into the same mold as everybody else. We were each created to be special.”
She turned to gaze into his chocolate brown orbs.
“Hannah,” Hobi breathed, “I think you’re a poet.”
She smiled, her heart somersaulting in her chest at the look in his intense, dark eyes.