I'm here.

"I'm here, in the forest. Look at me," the fireflies seem to twinkle at me. I turn my head towards the dark forest, which looks like Christmas tree lights blinking repeatedly, and follow the lights. The fireflies even land on my black clothes, lighting them up. I look closely. Their heads are pink and their wings are black. It's a stylish combination.

This summer, the heat started early. The heatwave continues. I've changed my daily schedule. I take a walk in the park at dawn, and when I return home, I draw the curtains on all the windows. I turn on the ceiling fan and sit still to work. In the evening, I turn on the air conditioner and go to the park. I sit on a bench and watch the fireflies, returning home when darkness seeps into the ground. There are more fireflies this year than any other year.

I'm always alone. My husband leaves for his studio at 7 a.m. and returns at 7 p.m. He is so absorbed in his work that he even goes on Sundays. I actually prefer it when he goes out. The one thing we both agree on is that neither of us feels lonely being alone. If I say I'm lonely, it will be hard for him, and if he's lonely, it will be hard for me. We don't have much in common, but we both prefer being alone.

Sometimes I think of a story about a woman, an example of self-actualization from Maslow's hierarchy of needs (physiological needs, safety needs, love and belonging needs, esteem needs, self-actualization needs). This woman retired at 50, gave half of her retirement money to her not-so-bad husband as part of the divorce settlement, and left Korea with a small backpack. She roams around Southeast Asia, working part-time jobs when she gets hungry, living as a free spirit on her own. She even has an Indian lover, another free spirit. They occasionally meet by chance, spend a night together, and then part ways, continuing their wandering lives.

I travel with my husband. But I never suggest we do anything else together. Do I have the courage to live like this woman wandering around Southeast Asia?

"Look at me. I'm here." An airplane caught in the sunset seems to gesture with a lonely motion. It seems to be saying, "I'm lonely too, just like you." When I look around, everyone seems lonely. It's the same even if you have a partner. My husband and I are like that airplane, each of us enjoying our own complete solitude without interfering with each other. We enjoy our freedom separately, in a state of calm.