Winter Battle

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The T6 spinal cord injury, impacting my body's temperature regulation, has transformed every season into a trial. Summer, with its manageable moments at home, is a breeze compared to winter. Winter is a relentless adversary. The cold permeates my bones, confining me to bed for endless hours, buried under layers of blankets just to maintain a semblance of warmth.

Sometimes, amidst the winter's stillness, waves of fear and crushing depression wash over me. I lost my body below the chest, the business I poured my heart into crumbled, my family, my aging parents… the thought drives me to the edge. It's more than anger or sadness; it's a panic that constricts my chest, a nameless terror.

Then, I close my eyes, turn onto my side, and retreat into the past, to my first love. I met her after failing my university entrance exams, while visiting a friend at his university. I’d lied about attending a cram school, instead spending my days at his university cafeteria and library, hoping for a glimpse of her. Finally, I had a chance to go to a nightclub. There, she moved with such captivating grace, especially when the band played those precious blues songs. In the soft glow, holding her close, I could feel her heart beating against mine. The gentle curves of her body pressed against my chest, her warmth seeping through our clothes. The memory of her perfume, the way she fit perfectly in my arms—though we never kissed then, my mind now paints those moments in richer hues, adding layers of intimacy that feel so real in these late hours.

Beyond those cherished memories, I have another refuge. With my still-able fingers, I engage with the world through KakaoTalk, joining the constant hum of conversation in Amazon seller groups. Someone needs help with shipping rates. Another is confused about customs forms. A new seller asks about product listings. The questions pour in, and so do my replies. I may not have all the answers, but simply participating in these exchanges, connecting with someone—anyone—through text, is enough. Each typed message, each response received, pulls me further from the shadows of my thoughts.

Between the warmth of fading memories and the quiet tapping of messages, sleep sometimes finds me again. In these moments, sleep is a precious gift, a gentle escape from the ghosts of what was and the harsh reality of what is.

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