In a small apartment, in a small city, in the small province of Bucheon, a little girl, not more than 5, sat down to dinner with her family. It was always like this—her father, having rushed back from work, was still panting and in his work attire; her mother, a housewife, carrying plates of food from the kitchen; her grandmother, still steady, assuming her place at the head of the table; and her, of course—clambering down from the staircase and into the dining area, often with a crayon stain somewhere on her overalls.

The little girl—Kim Seol Hyun was her name—was mighty proud of what she had drawn that day, and made sure that everyone in her family knew about it. It was an (amateurish) drawing of the prince and princess she had seen in a popular kid’s cartoon which her kindergarten teacher had showed her that day, she bragged—though not a lot of artistic talent could have been inferred from colouring into pre-demarcated figures. And the skin tone of the prince looked a tad too pale too.

Nonetheless, the father, tired from work, still had a broad grin plastered to his face, amused by how self-satisfied his child looked. “The seat next to you on this dining table is empty,” her father teased, “so make sure you bring home a boy as handsome as the prince you drew, okay?”

Her grandmother, ever the realist, remarked that being an artist probably won’t bring home a boy as handsome as the one she drew.

“Okay!” she exclaimed, grinning. She had her mind made up on which boys she could possibly bring back from her kindergarten class, but had an inkling feeling that her father meant for her to do so in the future. Unconsciously, she picked up her spoon, and was ready to dump some soup into her rice. Her father’s stern hand arrested hers and Seol Hyun remembered, too late, what she had forgotten to do.

“Remember to say our thanks first, Seol dear,” her mother cooed. “We always have to do it, every meal, forever, don’t you remember?”

Seol Hyun nodded, remorse washing over her. She usually never failed to abide by the call of tradition. That, above all, would be disaster.

Tradition, of course, dictated that she and her family sat down in the living room after dinner to watch TV. Specifically, whatever melodrama KBS decides to run at the 8-9 time slot every night. She wasn’t a particular fan of that drama (Orange Marmalade, or whatever it was called)—truth to tell, she didn’t really enjoy any of those dramas. But it was a family tradition after all, she reasoned. Not like taking an hour out of her night made that much of a difference anyway.

Of course, part of her yearns nightly that for some reason she would get turned into bed sooner.

Salvation came that day, not because of the drama itself, but the advertisements that divided it. It was a commercial, innocent enough, advertising a boy group concert coming up soon. But the moment came when two members started sliding their hands over each other’s bodies in a slightly homo way, and that was enough for her father’s hands to shoot over her eyes, covering her line of sight completely.

“It’s just fanservice,” Seol Hyun heard her mom mutter from behind her.

“It doesn’t matter,” she heard her dad whisper back. “Dear,” Seol Hyun’s father refocused his attention on her, “what you saw just now was totally wrong.”

“What was it?” she asked dumbly, not really getting the whole commotion. If it was like the previous times however (when her father said it was nothing and sent her off to bed), she was in for some profit tonight.

“Its…nothing,” her father mumbled. She could almost hear the next line roll off his lips when her grandmother cut in from across the room.

“It’s about time she knows about this anyway, Minhyuk,” the grandmother said, using her son’s given name. “Boys-boys. Girls-girls. That’s wrong. It’s only right for a boy to touch a girl, and vice versa.”

Seol Hyun took a moment to process that information. Gee, they were worried about that? She had grown up amongst a field of boy-girl relationships that she can’t recall any moment where she saw anything other than that. Just for curiosity though, she asked the question. “Why?”

“Because that’s just how it is. Because that’s how tradition works,” her father replied sternly. “Now get off the sofa and go off to bed.”

Well, at least Seol Hyun still got her early-bed-access part of the deal.

Because that’s how tradition works.

Those five words swirled in Seol Hyun’s mind, preventing her from giving in to lethargy. What did it mean? Or, more pertinently, why does it mean? She was never one to question those relationships, or what she had done, or what she had believed. Or how she had believed. But those five words, to her, seemed insufficient. Insufficient to justify what had meant nothing to her anyways.

Seol Hyun wasn’t a lot of things, but if there was a trait that she definitely possessed, it was curiosity. Curiosity in abundance. So that led her to race back home from kindergarten, hop onto her laptop, and check for that TV she saw a snippet of last night. Her father’s hands did not cover much, and she managed to observe that the group the ad was advertising was WINNER. Weird name, but she wasn’t one to judge. One thing led to another, however, and she soon found herself browsing forums about homouality in pop music.

And the general conclusion that it wasn’t all that bad.

Why then, had her well-meaning, kindly father reacted so fiercely to that ad? Surely it couldn’t be because of the 0.01% of evil people on the forums, right? But what was tradition anyhow? And what place did it hold?

Seol Hyun found herself questioning the foundations of what she believed in a lot more after that day.

“Dad?” Seol Hyun piped up at dinner that night, after having taken the whole meal to muster up the courage to go against her dad.

“Yes, dear?” her dad replied, back to his usual, kindly demeanor.

“Why...why are non boy-girl relationships bad, Daddy?” she asked, choking her words out in fear of what her father’s response would be.

Dad responded with a tirade (which explained nothing, basically), her mother gave her a reassuring squeeze, and her grandmother gave her a look which screamed “you idiot”.

After which she was sent off to bed immediately and put under curfew for the next two weekends.

Although she didn’t want a curfew (she had a life), Seol Hyun complied, like she always had.

Although her curiosity grew by her father’s non answers, she kept shut, just as she always had.

Not like she was expecting anything else. Tradition never differed.

But Seol Hyun decided for herself that night that perhaps, perhaps she could go against tradition, just for once.

Maybe she could date a girl herself when she grew older.

In the meantime, Seol Hyun served her curfew, and went on being the perfect daughter.

Just as tradition had always dictated.

Seol Hyun never thought of herself as stealthy. Stealthy, not as in ninja-like reflexes and hiding abiliti