Tao

I’ve always been the underestimated one. Parents, teachers, peers, the like, always thought it was just easiest to overlook me. Sure, I had my niche: hipster, art-freak, diva, I’d heard it all, but I always knew there was something more to me than what a first impression could give.

            See, it’s easy to observe people by being quiet, but it’s even easier when they don’t expect it from you.  Walk into a room and see two people, one sitting quietly alone by himself and another talking loudly to his friends, wearing flashy clothes and a playful grin.  You would think the quiet one sees more, right? Wrong. It’s the latter. The one who can mask his observations by being the one other people want to observe.  That’s the one who sees the most.

            I’ve been observing people all my life. My parents taught me how to see the world with an open mind.  They themselves were as free of free spirits could be, and they passed their relaxed attitude onto me. As a result, I took very few things seriously even if I noticed how serious they really were.

            My relationship with her reflected my entire outlook on life. It was loose, relaxed, and comfortable. I guess you could say we were never really serious about each other, we were just always there. I liked almost every part about her except for one, glaring detail: she underestimated me just as much as everyone else in my life did too.

            When she told me she was expecting, she was calm, almost uncaring about the entire situation. She just brought it up one day while we were eating lunch as casually as she would’ve spoken to me about the weather.  She ended it, not even saying, but implying, that she was going to get rid of it.  She had said she didn’t want to burden me with the responsibility and that she didn’t expect me to want it either.

            Boy, was she wrong. I had known she had thought little of my desire for commitment, but that much? To think that I didn’t want anything to do with my own child? I cut her off immediately, telling her that of course I wanted it, how could I not?  And she looked at me with sympathetic eyes, like she thought I was lying not just to her, but to myself. As she tried to convince me otherwise, I didn’t hear any of it. All I knew was that for once, I was going to prove them wrong. Maybe I was young, maybe part of her was right, but I knew that didn’t matter. I was going to prove to people I could care about something as much as anyone else.  Their opinions of me, what they thought I was capable of, were all going to change. 

Jongin

Do you ever feel guilty for wanting something you shouldn’t? When someone tells you bad news, and you are supposed to feel sad and broken inside, but you don’t. Instead, a tiny part of you lights up. Part of you is happy, although you could never admit it.

            That’s what happened to me.

            She broke the news with tears streaming down her face. In her eyes, her life was over. She was so scared, but I didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t because I was in shock or was just as terrified as she, it was because deep down, I was happy. But I knew what I really felt in my heart, she didn’t want to hear.

            I guess you could say I grew up knowing what loneliness was like.  It didn’t really feel it, I was just used to it.  Growing up in a big house filled with expensive furniture and attentive staff is great, but only when you have people to share it with.  And I never did.

            Meeting her filled a hole in my life. For once, I didn’t feel so alone. She had spent her childhood similar to me.  Not an only child with inattentive parents, but a middle child in a big family, the one that always got overlooked.  We grew close because of our mutual familiarity with loneliness, and it was nice to finally be able to share that with someone.

            We got so swept up in each other, we moved too fast. We were so young and thought we were invincible, that we didn’t think anything bad could ever happen to us.  When she told me she was expecting, we were close to the end of our last year in high school. She had been accepted into a top university and she thought a child would destroy any chances she had of having a successful future. She hated it because she was scared, and she started to hate me because I wasn’t.  She told me after that she had already told her parents and they convinced her already to put it up for adoption.  I hadn’t even been asked.

            As she started telling me how I had a responsibility to take care of her until it was born, I cut her off.  What did she mean, “until it is born”? What made her so sure I didn’t want to be its responsibility after?  When I told her this, she thought I was nuts. When I didn’t start laughing, she realized I was serious.

            “Wait, do you mean it?” She had said.

            “Of course. How could I joke about something like that?”

            “Jongin, I don’t think you understand how big of a commitment that means. What about your future?”

            “What I thought my future was doesn’t matter anymore. Now, the only thing that matters is my child.”

            “You’re insane.”

            “And you unbelievable. I can’t believe you could give it up so easily.”

            “You think this is easy for me? I’m not doing what I want, I’m being practical. If you want to throw your life away raising this child, go right ahead, but don’t expect me to throw away my future, too.”

            “I won’t. Do what you want, but I’d rather have my family than my future.”

            And I had meant those last words down to the bone.  My entire life, there had been an emptiness in my heart reserved for the love I should’ve shared with my family. Every spelling bee, dance recital, and graduation my parents had missed, etched a crevice so deep in my heart I had been convinced it could never be filled again. But here was my chance.  Here was the opportunity for that hole in my life to be filled with the duty of having someone to take care of and love with all my strength. I wasn’t going to lose that chance again. I would give my child the love and family I had only ever dreamed of having for myself.

Sehun

Growing up .  Maturity had never been my forte, but I had at least thought I would have some time before I really needed to become an adult.  Having to grow up is a pain in the in itself, but having to do it quickly is definitely a hundred times worse.

When I look at my daughter, I feel so sorry for her.  Sorry that she has to have me. 

Sorry that I don’t know what I’m really doing, sorry that I’m always making mistakes, sorry that I can’t spend more time with her or teach her how to do things.  And I’m mostly sorry that I couldn’t give her a mother.

            It wasn’t always supposed to end up this way. We had made plans. We were going to stay together for her sake, so that she could have some resemblance of a normal family - minus the fact that most normal families don’t start in the middle of the parent’s last year of high school. And the fact that neither parent had any idea what they were doing, or had made any significant long term plans, or even knew how to assemble a damn crib.

            We were completely clueless from the start.  We tried to cover up all of our confusion and worry with the fact that we loved each other.  And I did really love her.  I didn’t want people to think I was only staying with her because of the child.  At my young and naïve age, I saw her as someone I wanted to be with for the rest of my life.  The two of us had even talked about having kids at one point, but it was silly, fantasy talk.  We didn’t think it would actually come true, or come true so soon.

            I tend to wonder what would’ve happened if she had stayed, but I will never know for sure.  Her parents had seemed complacent with it all in the beginning, but as things went on they changed their minds.  And neither one of us had any control in stopping them from shipping her off abroad for university right after our baby girl was born.

I remember her telling me she was leaving.  Apparently, she had known for about a month that this was her fate, but she didn’t want to tell me.  She was scared of what I would do, what we would have to do, and she never realized that keeping it from me would only make it worse.  I was so angry with her, and I won’t lie, part of me still is.  But I know that if she ever returns, I would take her back in a heartbeat.  Because in the end, I am still just as clueless as I was when in the beginning.  I still wish I had someone to learn with, to fail with, but to cherish the victories with too.  Growing up is hard, but I think having someone to do it with would make it a whole lot easier.

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Ta-dah! The backstories are done! I really liked writing these but now we can get on to the fun part - the story!  Thank you everyone for subscribing :D Please comment I love to hear from you!!

Anyways, I hope you liked them all, and I hope to update with the first real chapter sometime this weekend :)