Serendipity: finding something good without looking for it

Kim Ji-yeon's Point of View

I sit out by the Han River out in Jungnangcheon. I lie down against the grass, closing my eyes, as I enjoy the light breeze that brushes against my skin. I zone out from the world for a moment. I just want a moment to myself where I don't exist, where there aren't any worries . . . where there are no burdens.

Beside me lies a small black case that engulfs a pear-shaped object-- a violin.

My eyes flutter open and stare out into the dusk. I slowly sit up and the case, taking out the instrument.

On the other side of the river, you can see cars zipping by, people biking their way home, and children out playing tag or hide-and-seek. Everyone on the other side acts like they have a purpose-- like they live for something . . . or someone.

The moment I rest the violin against my chin, a thousand memories crash against me, and I can't help but let a tear slip past my eyelids . . . and fall into the river.

. . . And, somehow, I can't help but wonder how he's doing now . . .

~*~*~*~

Zhang Yixing's Point of View

Plonk.

I crash into bed--exhausted. I rub my eyes before crashing my hands down wide across the bed. My arms and legs feel sore as ever, and the fact that I've only been getting five hours of sleep in the past three days isn't helping either.

But I can't tell anyone that. I'll be letting down the fans, the people who encourage me to keep doing my dream. I'll be letting down my group, who I've been training so hard with the past few years. I'll be letting down S.M.'s public visual of China, which has been damaged due to the departure of Kris, Luhan, and Tao. And most importantly, I'd be letting down myself and my family. I couldn't do that. Not now. Not ever.

I take out my phone and open my photos sector. I scroll through my "favorites" album and smile at pictures of my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I miss them dearly, but as much as I miss them, I can't show it. That would be a weakness-- a distraction to my work. As I scroll through the photos, I come across a particular photo from back in high school. My fingers can't find themselves to scroll past it. I stare at the picture.

I'm with her. We're holding hands. We're smiling. We're young. We're happy.

But it's not like that anymore. I haven't talked to her for almost ten years-- since I was seventeen. The last time we met, things didn't go well. I cried. She cried, and that was saying a lot since we were always smiling. I never saw her cry until that day, and it hurt me the most.

I wonder if she's still studying abroad in China, or if she's back in Korea. I don't know, though I wish I did. I wonder if she still remembers me like I do of her.

Of all the sacrifices I've made to become a member of EXO, I regret leaving her the most, but there's no going back now.

~*~*~*~

Kim Ji-yeon's Point of View

I tune my violin before starting to play "Melodie" from Orpheus and Erudice. I close my eyes and enjoy the sentimental, moving harmony. However, like all good things, it comes to an abrupt end as my phone starts to ring boisterously.

"Ji-yeon!" I hear my mother shout into the phone. "Where are you? You told me you'd get the groceries as quickly as possible!"

Rubbing my forehead as her shouts cause my head to ache, I immediately lie, "I'm on my way home."

Truth be told, I haven't even done the groceries yet.

"Hurry up!" she sighed exasperatedly. "You and I are going to starve!"

Holding the phone with one hand, I use the other to pack away my violin.

I hear her sigh again, "What am I going to do with you, Ji-yeon . . . Bye, and hurry home. It's getting late."

"I'm sorry," I reply. "And yes, I'm hurrying."

I hang up immediately thereafter, stuff my phone in my pocket, grab my backpack, and run to the nearest supermarket.

Entering past the sliding doors and grabbing a cart, I pass by the various aisles and gather the ingredients needed for tonight's, and this week's, food supply. I buying three bundles of lettuce, a bag of apples, a bag full of habaneros, five pounds of rice, and a package of canned tuna.

After paying for the groceries, I quickly rush out of the mart and rush home.

"Mother," I call out once I arrive through the front door of our apartment. "I'm back. Sorry I took so long."

"Bring the groceries to the kitchen," my mother replies, sounding weary and tired. "I already boiled the water to cook the rice."

I swiftly take off my shoes and speed-walk to the kitchen. I take out the ingredients and set them on the countertop before dropping off my violin in my room. By the time I return to the kitchen, my mother has already washed the vegetables and prepares to start cooking the rice.

I bit my the inner of my lip as I begin to fret. My mom looks too tired. I notice her stumble through the kitchen attempting small, simple tasks such as cutting the peppers but to do so quaveringly. The wrinkles under her eyes make her look far older than she actually is.

"Mother," I sigh as I walk up to her, stopping her from cooking dinner. "Let me do all the cooking tonight. You look too tired. Go rest. I'll wake you when dinner is ready."

My mom stops in her tracks. There is a brief pause before she hesitantly puts down the peppers she's about to prepare and heads to her room to rest.

"Just for today, Jiyeon," she simply says before exiting the kitchen.

On the hallway wall to her bedroom hangs the sole picture in the entire apartment. It's a photograph of our family-- ten years ago. My dad stands tall and proud in a suit and tie as my mother dresses elegantly in a simple dark brown dress. They're smiling at each other as the six-year-old me clings awkwardly at my father's leg.

As I chop the peppers, I smile at the memory. We were at a wedding that day. My mother's cousin's wedding, to be exact. It was bright and sunny. Wedding bells were ringing. Birds were chirping. Our family was so close and tightly-knit.

But not anymore. Because twenty years later, Father passed away from a heart attack. We didn't see it coming because he hid it so well. Whenever I think back, I wonder why he didn't tell us. Though Mother never told me, I knew why. Father co-signed a lease for his friend once back when I was in junior high. His friend had a low credit score, so my father, being the kind man he always was, agreed to increase his credit score to get a loan from the bank. But when you co-sign a bank contract and the person you co-sign for dies and still has a debt, you have to pay for it. Needless to say, his friend died of a car accident eight months later, and the debt was overwhelming. 358,888,500 won (roughly 300,000 USD). Father was a biology high school teacher at Hong Kong International School, and teachers in China didn't make much in general, so, even though Father paid (barely) the monthly bills for the debt and our fees. The stress of grading papers from ingenious students, the struggle to pay off the debt, and the taking care of our family's finances eventually got the best of him.

People say that when a loved one dies, it's easier for those left behind to go with them than to keep on living with the dead one still alive in their memories. You could say that my mother is like that. She works as a cashier at a local pharmacy and struggles to pay off dad's friend's debt, our finances, and my college tuitions that have accumulated over the past few years.

I try to help out with the debt and finances, but, even as a resident at Korea University Hospital, the hospital doesn't pay the residents and interns much. Just barely 8,500 won (approx. 7.10 USD) an hour.

By the time I'm done reminiscing, I have already finished cooking dinner. I take out a bowl and place some rice in it, adding a scoopful of broth, throwing in the cooked lettuce, and seasoning it with the peppers I bought just now.