When there is art, beauty exists. Life is a mere composition of events with colours to give them sounds and beauty.

 "When there is art, there is hope." This is her first ever memory when she was a child. Her mother with her lovely brown curls falling down to the side of her face as it was clipped into a bun, carried her with her right arm, her left hand holding a paint brush. "Whenever you feel sad, just paint. Painting can make you happy."

"Are you sad, mom?"

She shakes her head and rubs her nose to Sooyoung's, making her giggle. Even at that time, Sooyoung could feel the hidden crack in her mother's radian light. "No! This is my job and this is what I love." Her voice shook a little. Sooyoung laid her head to her mother's chest, a sinking feeling appearing after she had caught a whiff of her father's distaste tone before he left for work.

"I want to become a painter when I grew up! Just like you, Mom." Her eyes glimmered inside her closed lids. Sooyoung remembers looking at her mother like she was the center of the universe, that she was everything she aspired to be.

"Yes, darling. If that's what you want."

Sooyoung's first memory is her discovery of what her passion is. Her first memory isn't about how she has started her first when she was 1 year old on one of her mother's works, in which her mother turned it into one of her masterpieces. 

Sooyoung is a born virtuoso, something she thinks her mother prays to God every night, until it comes true. 

It becomes a reality on the day she is faced in front of the blind eye of the storm. Ten wasn't taken from her, her brushes and paint and favourite artbooks were not taken, her favourite doll wasn't taken.

Only her mother who was at the right place but the wrong time, was wrenched away from her grasp. She was everything for her, her whole universe ripped apart from her sky and Sooyoung remembers her father apologizing and apologizing to their wedding picture hanging by the wall and Sooyoung didn't even