February 18th, 2014

"But daaaaad," the girl whined, her lips puckered forward in a pout. "do I really have to move? My English is terrible, too!"

Her father replied with a sigh, though an amused face later took place. "Yes. And it's good your English is terrible." he said. "You can practice your English there."

"Daaaaaaad, pleeaaasseee~" the girl continued with her whining. 

"No, honey you ha-"

"But-"

"No buts! You must go, and that's final!" her father finished his sentence with a childish hmph at the end, shoving his daughter out of his office before slamming the door in her face.

"Aish..." she ruffled her hair, having a tantrum as she walked to the kitchen, where her mother was.

"Mooooom," a pout formed on her lips again. "do I have to go to the St-"

"Yes." her mother answered curtly, not sparing her daughter a glance as she bent down to set the wet plate in the dishwasher.

"But why? Oppa doesn't have to go! Why should I have to?"

"Because."

"Because?"

"Because he's needed here."

"Yeah, because I'm needed here, unlike you." her brother snickered, butting into the conversation.

"...oppa?"

"What do you want, you brat?" his eyes narrowed at her, earning a sigh from their worn-out mother.

"Was I speaking to you?"

"Do I need your permission to speak in this house?"

The girl chased her brother who was arrogantly leaning on the doorframe in a frenzy, throwing as many non-breakable things as she could in his way.

"You're lucky your legs are longer than mine, you bastard!"

"Watch your language!" their father's voice boomed from inside the office, causing her to jump. She grit her teeth and clenched her fist as she heard her brother's cackling from a few feet away.

"Yeah, watch your language, brat~" he teased.

"Dad! Aren't you going to say anything? He keeps calling me a brat!" the girl, clearly irritated, yelled at the closed office doors.

"Not after what happened awhile ago." 

Her brother chortled at their father's response, earning another pillow being thrown at his face, which only made him laugh even harder.

"Why so salty, dongsaeng~?" calming down from his laughing, a smug smirk spread onto his face, satisfied with his win. Hands locked together behind his head, he pat her cheek mockingly, and headed back up to his room.

"You're lucky I don't want to be charged with first-degree murder." she muttered, grumbling as she went to pick up everything she threw.

"You're cleaning everything up!" her mother called from the kitchen.

"Yeah, yeah! I am!"

~

Finished cleaning, which took forever, the girl finally sat down in the kitchen, watching her mother finish cleaning the dishes. She stayed silent; the only sound in the room was the running of water and the scrubbing of sponge against glass. Her eyes wandered to her mother's rolled up sleeves, revealing a large, of who-knows-what. A demon? A snake? A dragon? "It's like a mix of the three." the girl thought, gazing at the ink masterpiece that had the honour of being drawn upon her mother's arm. Since the sleeve was only rolled up to the elbow, only a portion was revealed.

"Mom?"

"What now? Your father and I already said that you're going to the U.S., so don't start on that." 

The girl's face contorted with distaste. "Don't remind me. Anyways," she shook her head quickly, as if the thought of moving out of Korea would automatically be removed. "why the tattoo?"

Unsurprised by the question, her mother kept scrubbing. "How many times are you going to ask that? I already told you; it's because of the gang." it wasn't obvious to the girl, but her mom was gazing out of the kitchen window thoughtfully, which overlooked a portion of their neighbourhood.

"But you never told me why you had to. Like, yeah, I know it's because you're in a gang... but is that it? Is there anything behind the tattoo? Was it like some sort of initiation?" the girl bombed her mother with questions.

A small smile appeared on her mother's face.

"Well, yes and no, I think. The tattoo is to symbolize that we belong to this gang. The meaning, though..." she trailed off. Curious, her daughter leaned forward in her seat, trying to catch the faintest sound that left her mother's mouth.

"Ask your father about it."

"What?! Why?! Why can't you just tell me?"

"Because," her mother finally let out a small laugh. "I think he can explain it better than I can. If there are any questions about the gang, ask your father. Don't bother me." she returned to her emotionless mood; if that made any sense.

"Ah... So cold-hearted..." her daughter made a face in disappointment before exiting the kitchen, puffing her cheeks out.

~

July 4th, 2014

She was lucky; she was lucky to manage to land a spot in a good university in the States. So, here she was, standing at the entrance to the busy airport, bidding goodbyes and farewells to her family.

"Be a good girl, alright? No drugs, no clubbing, no partyi-"

"Yeah,