chapter twelve

of FLYING AS A WOUNDED BUTTERFLY &  A BLUE HUED WORLD
November 15TH, 2016

The wind dictating the way her hair flew to, the orange hued street lights illuminating her porcelain-like skin, the rain hitting the top of her umbrella, the tips of her fingers as red as her lips, the grey sky combining with her mood, the wet pavement capturing her entire being, the immense crowd moving around the ecstatic streets of Busan, the smaller girl that tightly held onto her arm, not wanting to get wet as the rain progressively got stronger, the various scents getting mixed with the strong smell of the perfume of the elegant woman in front of them.  

The scenery that engulfed her and the girl next to her was the simplistic form of perfection. 

The oldest definition of "perfection", fairly precise and distinguishing the shades of the concept, goes back to Aristotle. In Book Delta of the Metaphysics, he distinguishes three meanings of the term, or rather three shades of one meaning, but in any case, three different concepts. That is perfect which is so complete, it contains all the components it requires. That is perfect which is so good that nothing of the kind could be better. That is perfect which has attained its purpose marvelously. 

The first of these concepts is fairly well subsumed within the second. Between those two and the third, however, there arises a duality in concept. This duality was expressed by Thomas Aquinas, in the Summa Theologica, when he distinguished a twofold perfection: when a thing is perfect in itself — as he put it, in its substance; and when it perfectly serves its purpose. 

The variants on the concept of perfection would have been quite of a piece for two thousand years, had they not been confused with other, kindred concepts. 

The purest reflection of perfection was captured as she narrowed her eyes. 

Unconditionally enveloped in excellency was the existence that stood mere millimeters from her. Materializing the abstract concept that was perfection, was none other than Zhao Meilin, the person she couldn’t help look up to yet loathe at the same time. 

As quickly as the sun was replaced by the moon, Meilin became one of the most esteemed and prestigious public figures of 2016, and with that came uncertainty whether happiness or disdain should be felt at the immense success of her fellow bandmate. 

Simplistically explaining Dajung’s feelings, they were bittersweet. 

Nothing more she desired than the success of the people she had started seeing as her family, however, her heart didn’t allow her to fully embrace contentment, instead, it brought greediness with it, for she strongly believed she would be, no matter how hard she tried, a shadow in comparison to her fellow members. 

Activities were scarce, and when they existed, they focused primarily on her voice, something that had been praised multiple times, even prior to her debut. As the time passed, however, such praises became underwhelming, sometimes infuriating her, for it seemed like her voice was the only aspect worth of praise. Incessantly, she had worked to improve every aspect of her, yet all her efforts fell shortsighted as not even a small “congratulations on improving” she received, it being from the public, or the staff she worked every day with. 

Nothing but sadness and disappointment her heart felt. 

"Is there something you would like to pronounce yourself on?” Saeron questioned, her thumb caressing the back of Dajung’s freezing hand, “You seem to not be yourself as of lately, is anything, perhaps, bothering you?” 

Shrugging her shoulders, Dajung looked ahead of her, “It’s nothing much, unnie”, forcing a smile, she proceeded to chuckle, “It’s just that at the beginning of the day I said to myself ‘oh it’s not as cold as I expected it to be’, but turns out I was wrong, it is rather chilly.” 

Sensing the lack of truthfulness, Saeron raised an eyebrow, suspicion dawning her face “I comprehend your lack of desire of sharing certain feelings with me, I’m not the warmest or the most caring of people, but if you ever need anything, I’m here.” 

“Thank you,” Dajung softly shifted, a small smile consuming her serene features, “It means a lot to me, Saeron-si.” 

Fixing her glasses, Saeron tilted her head, “You’re more than welcome,” Dajung chuckled, “A more than an intelligent and beautiful lady like yourself, is definitely more than welcome, especially when I’m fond of her, for she has become somewhat of a precious existence.”  

Her cheeks turning a light shade of pink, Dajung hit Saeron's arm, clearly flustered from the compliment she had just received, “Saeron-si, you can’t just compliment someone so dauntlessly, especially when you are looking at them like that, you’ll make them timid.” 

"Then if we are to stand in common ground, Dajung,” Saeron initiated, her hands on her hips, “You’ll have to drop the formality when you’re with me, I have a strong hatred towards it, despite it making you peculiar. You're older than me, a year older than me in fact, it’s odd, the use of it.” 

Letting out a long breath, Dajung scratched the back of her neck, “Well, I’ll try to minimize the use of it, if it bothers you, unnie,” squinting her eyes, Dajung  her lips, “It’s unusual, I’m not used to it, my apologies.” 

“It’s comprehensible, Dajung,” linking their arms, the girls began walking, “As time passes, you’ll become a professional.” 

Looking at the grey clouds that adorned the once vibrant blue sky, Dajung nervously chuckled, “I hope so, maknae.” 

of a FOLDED PAPER MOON & A MIRAGE WITH WINGS
november 21st, 2016

The rain had consumed the entirety of the day, raining nonstop for hours on end. 

The antique clock that adorned the beige wall of her room stood still, its batteries had died two days ago, yet Jangmi hadn’t bothered switching them. Night had dawned, she knew, for the moon reflected on the cold cup of tea that was on her bedside table. 

A tremendous thunder resonated in her ears, its light visible in her mirror, sending shivers down her spine as she fidgeted inside her bed, pulling the blankets closer to her, trying to warm her cold body. Falling asleep had become nearly impossible, as the thoughts she had tried to bury deep in her subconscious kept floating, consistently making her brain run at speeds her body could not keep up with. 

Uncertainly and hesitantly, she pushed the blankets away from her, slowly getting up from her bed. Looking down at her bare feet, as she walked towards the kitchen, she couldn’t help but sigh, they had become bony, covered in bruises, they had become ugly. And so, had her body, losing an absurd amount of weight ever since her break up with Taeyong. 

Two days had passed since Jangmi’s family had come to an agreement of moving houses, therefore, boxes containing the personal belongings, including Jangmi’s, were scattered all over the living room, taking up more space than Jangmi had possibly imagined. 

Leaning against the doorframe, she admired the house that was void of sound, turning on the lights she approached the boxes in which the word ‘fragile’ was written on. Slowly, she took out a cup, and a kettle that rested at the side of the box, next to several unopened packets of tea the only source of light illuminating her brittle figure being the light from the lights that adorned the streets. 

Before she could, however, boil the water, her doorbell rang, a sound she had decided to describe as torturous as she, weakly approached the front door.  

“My extraordinary intuitive senses are telling me you have run into an exponent romantic issue, yet have opted to maintain it hidden, therefore, not confining in me. I’m disappointed, Jang, I thought I would be the first to know had ever anything happen to you and Taeyong,” was the way, her best friend – Jung Jaehyun – decided to greet her as she proped himself on the door frame, waiting for her invitation. Sighing, she stood aside, allowing him to enter, immediately, he