The queen at the window

In an ancient Korean dynasty, I was a woman, part of a royal family, and I was elected by nobles to become the Queen. When I was told, I was fairly pleased. But the reality of being a Queen soon set in. I realized quickly that I could not rule with freedom. Instead, this was a life of constant eyes, of showing face, of upholding etiquette in every moment, and following what politicians had to say. It tired and bored me quickly. I remember looking outside my window at the crowds waiting for me and feeling empty inside.

I had a newborn, and a numbness had settled over me. I would have trouble waking up to look after the baby in the middle of the night and the royal attendants would rush to help the baby instead. At times when I was meant to make a public appearance, I would sleep in late instead and miss it, with no desire to face anyone except a few close relatives.

I soon started escaping into fantasies, planning how I might leave royal life behind and set out into the world in search of adventure. An old friend came to visit — someone who had known me before I became a royal. That visit became a core memory in that life, because it made me long for an ordinary life even more intensely.

This is a newly discovered past life, and as is often the case, the impressions of the heaviest pains came to memory first. Yet I could also sense the happiness and hope behind that life and the general purpose of living through that existence.