[A/N: I started a fashion/beauty blog of sorts; I would appreciate it very much if you guys checked it out. Thanks a lot! And now I present you the next chapter of mnemonic!)

Even five days later I can't even keep my eyes open, so much is sleep threatening to take over. That night I couldn't sleep until the sun was about to rise, trying to process my mother's pregnancy and what it meant for our future. Another child. My family definitely cannot afford another child, not at my parents' age. Mom would have to stop working and she wouldn't be able to get back into her job. Dad is less than ten years from retirement, and that child would only be nine by then, far too young to do anything.

It is an impossible situation, no matter how you turn it. And it may be cruel of me to think of only the financial problems instead of the wonder that is a child, but it will be a problem, no matter how much our family would love that child. I don't like being so cruel. I hate having to think rationally like this. Hate how I immediately think about money, but I know Jungkook won't. He won't ever do that, he won't learn to live economically because our family's finances aren't good. He's just like that: an optimist and a dreamer. And irresponsible as heck. So I have to be the responsible one, I've always been. I have to consider our family, think of the greater good for us all.

My mother is … very emotional, but also a dreamer in her heart. Also unrealistic. My father is a pessimist, but at least he tries to be realistic. Both are sometimes too caught up in their extremes ways of thinking, which leaves me to be the balanced one. I always try to find solutions for them, for our family.

So I tried. Mom had left us in shock and silence before I blurted – cruelly, I admit, “You know we can't afford another child.” She looked like she wanted to both cry and slap me for that, but she remained silent in that way of hers, with which she often tries to make me feel guilty. She succeeded. Jungkook helped her: “How can you say that! It's about a child, it's about life and not an object!”

“Do you have any idea how expensive raising a child is? You wouldn't be able to attend your school and I won't be able to go to college, if we get another sibling. Now tell me again, it is about life” The words I'd uttered that night still ring in my ears. All cruelly calculative. Part of me hates me for it. But part of me also knows that dreamers like my mother and my brother need to hear harsh words to be able to face reality.

Father then told us all with a grim expression to shut up and go to bed. After that I'd heard my parents fight behind closed doors. My brother looked like my words didn't reach him at all. He shook his head at my cruel words. I would've almost leashed out at him in my agitation and shock at the situation, partly out of envy for his naive mentality, but mostly because I didn't feel at all ready for all the problems, for all the worries, and for the heavy burden of responsibility.

After school ends I find myself meandering instead of heading home quickly. At the thought of home a nauseating feeling overcomes me, just like the past few days. I decide to stop at the playground near our house.

I find it empty, which is only to be expected at this hour. And this empty -- though a normal playground -- in the dark evening it doesn’t emit a cheerful aura but more of a somber aura. No one is there, and one would think something was missing. It's perfect for me and my weird state of mind.

I sit down on the swing, moving ever so slightly. I feel tired. My mind is tired. Even my eyes are, and I avert my gaze from the playground, staring at my feet.

In my free time I can't even turn to fiction for escapism because whenever I try to dive into a book, my thoughts swirl back to the problem and all the consequences for the future and I have to put away the