"Hey mom, Yumi. Miss you guys and don't worry, I'll be visiting you guys soon, so don't miss me, 'kay?"my brother said as I sit across the television set and hear the recorded interview my mother registered when I asked her to.

The edges of my lips oblique as I fumble with the remote to raise the volume. However, they begin to speak in Korean and I lose the enthusiasm because I can't understand what they're talking about. In addition, it's hard to catch my brother's voice among the other voices of the men, in Korean, they sound all the same.

I sigh wistfully, skiing my index finger through the spaces between the buttons on the telecontrol. My mind drove away from the sound issuing from the television and parked where another memory of my brother and I sloped on a rope to dry out. Howsoever, I tow my memories away and allow the sound to fill my ears and tickle my benighted eyes.

"Oh, it's the cherubic boy again," mother hollers suddenly and I almost jump, placing my hand over my heart.

I heave a sigh that indicates my irritated state but mother nevertheless pays no attention to my remark and begins with the showers of praise over the boys in brother's band.

I throw my arms on the sides of my legs on the couch and complain, "Why didn't I take lessons in Korean language momma? Nobody talks Japanese here,"

I somehow feel her gazing at me, that sense where you sweat after telling a lie or doing something bad and your mother has this suspicious look in her eyes, "Because you need to know more about your culture and customs and learning the language is part of that," her tone is stern and somewhat dry.

I pout  and grab onto my complaints by saying, "But I'm your daughter, right? A Korean mother has to teach her children about Korean culture not Japanese,"

There's no answer and I have no idea what to imagine. Is she nodding? Grimacing? Is her face reddening from me retorting her? I feel my palms sweaty and my body's temperature rising; I bite my lip and wait for her to answer.

A few seconds pass and then she sighs, "It's not necessary for you to know Korean culture as it is fundamental to learn about the Japanese one. That is what my culture teaches me: to respect other cultures and since Japanese is yours, you must nurture it as I nurture Korean,"

My eyebrows knit, then they escalate to my forehead and I slowly reply, "That doesn't make any sense," almost brawling.

She huffs at the air and there's a slight movement that I unearth, my lips move unwillingly in the form of a circle as I focus on hearing better but suddenly, mother's warm hand is my cheek, "You'll learn it when you need it," she kisses me and ruffles my hair.

I smile briskly and she tugs my arm under hers and starts translating the interview and when brother talks, she indicates that to me and literally translates each syllable and consonant. I chuckle as she does that and she in return to my faint mocking claps my back.

The interview ended after half an hour and mother urged me as it ended to open my books and start studying, according to her, I have a geometry exam on Tuesday. I sigh in resignation and walk over to my desk and open up my notebooks.

…

"Look at it, Yumi," Meredith Carcax, my mother's alleged best friend squeals, forgetting that I can'tsee.

"Mrs. Carcax, for the millionth time, I cannot see," I repeat defiantly.

Meredith Carcax is a women of sixty five years old, she's a mother, a grandmother and a daughter to her family members and she has five children all whom are now fully grown and leading their own lives. Mrs. Carcax is also our neighbor, so she comes by more often than she's wanted.

She waves with her hand dismissively, I guess because of the sudden breeze of air that slashes through my face, "Oh, sorry child, but it is a lovely necklace. Here, feel it,"

I cringe and I can feel the tips of my fingers crawling to the shelter of my palm where my nails begin to dig. I start to draw away –without a direction- I move away from Mrs. Carcax knowing the my face is showing resentment and detest.

"Mrs. Carcax," my mother calls, saving me from a lecture that Mrs. Carcax may start. "That's indeed a pretty necklace,"

"Oh isn't it? By the way, how is that son of yours?" she asks mom, her hand fumbling with something making a relatively clamorous sound, "Ah, Tyke,"

"It's Taec," I suddenly whine defensively.

Even though I'm blinded by incessant blackness, I feel a severe silence dominates the atmosphere, my hand flies to cover my mouth and I know that I have a look of disbelief plastered on my face.

I start to mutter my apologies, sentences of no coherent order prate out of my mouth. My cheeks heat up from the gushing blood and my ears feel like they're on fire. Instinctively, I seize my earlobe, playing with the three earrings protruding from each piercing. I bite my lips and nudge in my place. I know that if I had my sight, I would look in her eyes and give her a sincere apology that would radiate from my eyes but if is only wishful and I keep fidgeting in my seat.

Although I sit like a robot murmuring in a low voice words with no meanings, the woman whom presumably I have wronged starts laughing. She is laughing so hard I find it hard not to laugh with her. Still, I cover my mouth again with the attempt of not giving in to the temptation but I hear my mother's voice giggle softly in the background.

Mrs. Carcax says, "My fault, dear. Taec. Don't worry about it, when it comes to the one you love, heck, you can be a Nazi,"

I nod and begin to giggle myself, feeling tears raining on my skin that wrinkled at the edges of my eyes due to laughing and I wipe them away quickly.

My mother pats my head and begins to chat with Mrs. Carcax about Taecyeon and how he's doing great and how he's improving in his major.

"I remember that little rascal," Meredith Carcax says in a tone purring nostalgia. "He used to throw dirt on my lawn, going around with Lily's little boy, what was his name again?"

"Mathew?" Mother confirms.

"Yes, yes, Mathew. He was the master mind, I knew Taecyeon was a good boy, he took good care of his sister," She tapped her cane slightly against the ground. "Life used to be quieter around here even with those two Tasmanian devils. Now it's all busy; the world now is but a metropolis city,"

"People change, Mrs. Carcax and nothing stays the same," mother agrees. "You can't expect them to still be the kids you knew in your days," a low chuckle escapes her.

The phone rings and for a while, we don't talk and just listen to the ringing echo through the house. Mother catches herself and slaps her hands over her thighs and sighs almost dramatically, "Better get that,"

She walks over to the phone where it is placed on the wall opposite the fridge in the kitchen, as I remember.

Mrs. Carcax is quiet and so am I, my mother's placid voice weaves a tune in the air.

"What?!" we both hear mother whoop. "Arranging? No, no, you don't have to arrange anything. You just come home safe,"

My heart starts to race as my mother's last sentence become heavier on my hearing and the reverberation of it swims in the black tides that my eyes can see, a smile unconsciously draws itself on my lips and I sprint to my mother, careful not to hit anything in the way. I count the steps hurriedly from the second post near the sofa to the first and then six feet to the telephone, doing that, I stand in front of my mother, holding my hand out for her to give me the receiver.

"Wait," she hisses in my direction. "Oh, everything's fine, how are you, sweetheart?" she waits as he talks and I can hear him. I can hark my brother, his voice tiny and robotic as it dispatches from the receiver to the  recipient's companions."Yumi?" mother wonders.

My heart is bumping inside, going everywhere in a frenzy of delight and glee, I stand on my toes from the excitement, my body swinging back and forth as I hungrily wait for the telephone to be passed over to me.

Cold plastic soothes the earlier heat in my ear and he says, "Yumi? Yumi, are you there?"

Tears well up in my eyes, springing endlessly over my cheeks, I dodder as I feel my heart sinks, "Yeah, brother, I'm here,"