ocean's gleam.

re-imagining aisling's life as a doctor —

dr. aisling lee, from the 2023 graduating class of royal college of surgeons in ireland (rcsi), emerged as a standout student in her cohort, earning both the mclean award in surgery and the sir william wheeler memorial award for surgery upon graduation, both prestigious academic honours given to the top-performing student in the written and final surgery exam.

sooj (@SUGARONTHERlM)

— Jackie and Wilson, Hozier — Fluorescent Adolescent, Arctic Monkeys — Temper Temper, Lime Cordiale — A Lingering Love, Fruit Bats — Chinatown, Bleachers

junie ( @jjangulvr )

— Modern Girl, Bleachers — Real Love Baby, Father John Misty — Reason To Stay, Olivia Dean — How It's Gotta Be, Nectar Woode — I'm in Love, Jelani Aryeh

may (bIoodholy)

— Minerva, Akira Kosemura — Gershy's Kiss, Michael Cera — Reconcile, Jon Brion — Mercy Mercy Me, Masego — Eres Tú, Carla Morrison

minjae (suturedhands)

— Amsterdam, Peter Bjorn and John — Damselfly, Loyle Carner — Take Your Mask Off, Tyler, The Creator — Rein Me In, Sam Fender — Sofa King, Royal Otis

jeia (jeiassante)

— All over me, HAIM — ICU, Phoebe Bridgers — Sweet, Cigarettes After Sex — Prescription, Remi Wolf — Don't Forget Me, Maggie Rogers

miho (_lavendermn)

— Good Luck, Dijon — Say You Love Me, Fleetwood Mac — Better Than, Lake Street Dive — End of The Earth, Lord Huron — No One's Ever Kissed You, Winnetka Bowling League

jinah (softbloomed)

— I Can Only Whisper, Charlotte Day Wilson — Temptation, Raveena — The Field, Blood Orange — California, Joni Mitchell — Feel Like I Do, Disclosure

noah (antiromancs)

what did the end look like?

for the internally torn protagonist of this story, it looked like unbrushed hair, worn-down trackies, and tanned skin beneath a metaphorical armour, patchworked from the strengths she had soldered while living abroad. the long-haul flight from seoul to dublin gave aisling time to mull over her next steps, and mull through them she did. deep ruminations on her relationships occupied her thoughts, broken only—most humorously—by the sound of the service trolley trudging down the aisle. regardless, the endeavour of combing through options was futile, as it all led to one conclusion.

so, when she finally set foot in the country she so proudly called her own, her body contorted and weary from the hours of sitting still, all she could do was glance up, defeated, from her well-loved sneakers to the face of her lover. sean, head well above everyone, waited for aisling at the arrivals hall, a bouquet of wildflowers in his left hand, the other stretched out to embrace his girlfriend of six years. for a moment, aisling was convinced that this was her final homecoming—that she could stay, that she and sean could make amends for one another. at last enveloped in his presence after a long, trying year, aisling peered at the man through her eyelashes, her vision blurred by impending tears. in that fragile instant, she hoped he could provide her clarity, a glimmer of light; but instead, the precariousness etched across her boyfriend’s face heralded the end of their time together.

perhaps, on her journey back, the untamed protagonist was not the only one reflecting on their next steps. “let’s get you home, so.” he murmured, the lilt in his voice—once her lullaby—now stirring only guilt within aisling, reopening a bruise already black and blue.

"will you wait for me outside our house? i won't be staying there tonight..." aisling pleads in a whisper, and sean held her gaze, a look of quiet discernment passing between them.. he nods, planting a kiss on her forehead.

so he carried her baggage one last time, she climbed into his car, and he drove... transporting her from one heartbreak to the next.

how did you face it?

the evening prior to her departure, aisling had sought solace in her friends—primarily jeia.

gaze fixed on the high ceiling of her friend’s apartment as she lay on the floor, aisling had hoped her own heart would have settled by then. “my heart is so easily roused with anticipation,” aisling confessed, her breath falling back on her—she had had too many glasses of wine at that point. “jeia, i’m not sure how i’ll face my mam and return like everything will be okay.”

“aisie, whether it’ll be fine or not fine… still let me know. change is scary, i speak from experience—” the younger reached out to give aisling’s hand a pat and an assuring squeeze. “but if you come home in tears, in laughter, or in pain, always know that i’ll hold you through it. chin up,” jeia tilted her head with a smile, “before you know it, things will go your way. i promise you.”

aisling’s whole body expelled a sigh, along with all the worries that had been precipitating in her chest. “i hope so, jeigoo. i hope so.” with those wishes uttered, aisling was transported back to the present: in her family’s house, welcomed less warmly than a returning traveller would hope.

"the prodigal daughter returns!" her mam spat harshly. “i just don’t understand why you worked so hard, only to decide against being a doctor! what are you going to do moving forward?” the timbre of her mother’s voice pierced aisling’s ears, sharp enough to conjure tinnitus. she kept her head bowed, fists clenched tightly in her lap. her mother was often wrong about her, but this time the words held a bitter truth: aisling had toiled for h1s in the leaving cert, pushed herself past burnout in medical school, and forced herself through internship—deluding herself all the while—only to arrive here, in the very situation she had fought so hard to escape.

“lee yunseul! do you hear me? we didn’t give up everything we had for you to do this to us,” the angered woman added, this time in korean, the language weaponised convey more anger... it is no wonder yunseul grew up averse to learning it. nothing in this scene had ever been different, however: yunseul, always the girl; jihyun, always the mother; and the endless chorus of rebuke for every misstep and imperfection. the lass, inhibitions perhaps weathered down by travel, stood up—an action even her stoic of a father, steadfast and silent in the corner, flinched at.

“oh what do you think you’re doing?” her mam challenged. “because you’re so grown now you think you can disrespect me, can ya?” the tirade continued. “you’re so disrespectful! you imperfect, ungrateful child!”

raising her head, heavy with despair, yunseul—lips jutted out, face scrunched “now that you’ve said it yourself, that i’m not perfect... you can let me go, umma.” the daughter croaked, her native language rolling more fluently off her tongue than it had in years. “we’ll spare each other any harmful words. we can stop, i've given you what you wanted for twenty-two long years, it's my turn to do what i want now." the daughter, finally acquiesced in the fight and countered all blows with vulnerability. whatever stone was cast at yunseul after that mattered less than the freedom awaiting her at the threshold of her new life.

if one were to peruse the messages on aisling’s phone afterwards, her sister áine—often impartial to family matters—had sent her a message that read something like: “damn that was punk rock. congratulations on finally growing a spine.”

in the end, did you want to be free?

aisling stayed at an old classmate’s that evening, a good friend from university who now worked as a surgical registrar — a role aisling herself might have held, if she’d stayed on a year ago. “you look like shite,” claire remarked, leaning against the kitchen counter.

aisling scoffed. “so do you. i mean, look at ya — still in your scrubs, pale as ever.” that drew a chuckle out of the both of them. the irony lingered: the two girls looked frayed along their respective edges, worn down by different forces of their own choosing. claire, by the long, relentless hours of stitching people back together; aisling, by her own battles in foreign places, trials that had left their own marks.

their laughter faded, the air settling into something quieter. “never thought i’d see you again,” claire said.

“like half the ones who left ireland, you mean?”

“no, ya dope! at least the ones who left are still doctors, wherever they are. you… you look like you’ve been off living some other mad life altogether.”

aisling felt the heat bloom under her cheeks. “what are you accusing me of?” — for once, between the two friends, the latter deemed more combative than the wiser and composed claire, aisling was the one on the back foot.

claire shrugged. “i dunno, i just thought when—” she stopped midtrack, corrected, “no, if you came back, it’d be ’cause someone finally knocked a bit of sense into ya. made ya normal, rational… like the rest of us... but that’s not why you’re back, is it?”

normal... what does normal mean anyway? aisling drew her knees in, folding herself smaller and smaller, as if to retreat from the conversation. anyone she kept close seemed blessed with discernment, and claire wielded hers too well.

“i’ve half a mind to ask if you and sean are alright…” claire stretched, though her tone hinting she already knew the answer. aisling only shook her head. once, she might have brushed it off, said something rose-tinted about her relationship — the little scraps of good to defend the whole, but now the girl's silence said more than words.

“hm,” claire muttered, unsurprised. “never liked the man anyway.”

silence stretched between them, weighted with exhaustion until it seeped into their muscles and sank into their bones.

“you'll be alright to sleep here?” claire asked at last, nodding toward the couch, just long enough to fit aisling’s frame.

“yeah, i’ll make do,” aisling replied.

“grand.” claire waved her hand, a soft look slipping into her eyes. “i’m off to bed. some of us have lives to save.” she smirked, sly and tired. aisling shot her a middle finger, which earned a quiet laugh as claire disappeared down the hall.

in the quiet of the night, aisling, left to her own devices, stared out the window at a city cloaked in darkness. her eyes, erythematous and swollen from today's tears, fixed on one point as it fell in and out of focus. her mind drifted the same way, ricocheting from one thought to the next... sure of its resolve one moment, then suddenly deliberating the weight of it all. she knew the wound in her heart had sent adrenaline surging through her, yet she yielded at last to the dulling of her senses — surrendering to sleep, choosing not to ruminate further... these worries belonged to tomorrow, and to all the days that would follow.

yes, yes, yes,

i've long dreamt of being free.

aisling speaks and sean listens.

“should we bear children, would you like to know what i’ll teach them first?” uttered the girl softly, as if to keep a secret that not a soul must hear, she allows it to drift away as white noise—gone and never to be found again.

“i would teach them not of love, but of cartography.”

this poignant memory belongs to aisling's life, dated, what now feels like, lightyears ago, just prior to realising a life in the eastern hemisphere of the world. if she were asked to retrieve this exact moment, it is the first memory palpable in the slept-in and worn down crevices of her mind.

“why is that?” her lover, sean, equally as soft-voiced, replies. in between the sheets they share lies the vast lands of flesh holding onto each other, no curve left untouched, their valleys and plateaus all converging into no man's land. just hours ago, before this blissful moment, they swore to brave it all together: to run through clearings hand in hand, to summit tall peaks shoulder to shoulder, and not scorn the weight of one another, labeling its redundacy, when their love has provided respite in periods of uncertainty.

aisling reached out for her lover’s face, mapping out all the details she has agonized about for so long, her fingertips dipping and rising with every meander it touches, and his silver necklace a river she traces back to his lips. she parts hers to respond,