A pregnant lady. An old man. A girl who you estimates to be nine years old. And you. The four of you sat patiently in the bench outside the doctor’s clinic. They have someone to accompany them, was the first thing that came unto your mind the moment you took your seat right next to the woman and the nine-year old child. Someone’s with them while you’re all alone. You could have agreed to Seolmi’s proposal to go with you earlier, but you’re still as prideful as ever.

Pride. What a big word. You let it roll around your tongue. Pride’s a simple word, not extravagant unlike mousse or function or serendipity. It doesn’t have that uniqueness in it that makes it sweet in your tongue, yet why have you allowed such word to cause havoc in your life?

Pride was the main component why you didn’t kill yourself back then.

Pride was the reason why you allowed him to leave.

And now pride was the reason why you held on to the rope so tight no matter how worthless it seemed. You can’t go down like this, not when you still had to meet him.

Min Yoongi- where could he be right now? What’s he doing? Is he happy?

A fair-skinned woman rushes out of the room. You watched her skirt graciously flow in the wind as she runs and disappears at the end of the corridor. Several seconds later, a man around her age- late twenties, you guessed again- followed her. In the short moment you saw him, you noticed he had bloodshot eyes and his hair was disheveled. The woman who sat beside you told you that she knew them. Cradling her sleeping daughter, she told you their story as if it was folklore.

Apparently, the two were fiancés and are expected to marry this December. All was well, until fate decided he was bored and needed some entertainment. The man was diagnosed with pneumonia. It wasn’t cancer in contrast to what they thought his disease was. Unfortunately, he has gotten so bad t the point of being incurable. They went around the hospitals of South Korea but the results remained consistent. He has reached the point of no return.

“It’s a pity that man won’t live long enough to witness the birth of his first born.”

Your heart went out for the suffering young man but not to what she said. People who are sick and in pain- people like you- doesn’t need anyone else’s pity. Empathy would be bearable but never pity. It’s like crying over spilt milk. It’s annoying watching certain people change their gazes into soft ones once they found out about your burden; and cut to the next second where they’d continue living their lives.

You never asked for any disease to populate your veins so people should realize that their fake concerns are not welcome. They say they’d have you in their prayers when you know for sure that at night they’d pray for whoever god they believe in to keep them away from any disease similar to yours.

The world is unfair. You realized this long ago but the idealogy strikes hotter now. The resident nurse called out your name and you stood up abruptly to get yourself acknowledged. Without much ado, she led you through the white narrow walls. She stopped walking as soon as she reached the door bearing the nameplate of Dr. Park Byunghoon, Professor of Internal Medicine. You gave her a polite smile as a sign of gratitude.

“Nice hair,” the familiar face of Dr. Park complimented you the moment you stepped into his office. “Long time no see. Have a seat, please.”

Following his order, you sat on one of the