When I was six, my foster parents found me sitting on the doorstep of their house.

When I was nine, I was diagnosed with myopia by the optician with the mole on his left hand.

When I was twelve, I realized that it wasn’t myopia I had, but something else entirely.

When I was fifteen, I revived Pingu, my puppy, after it was run over by a Mercedes.

And when I turned eighteen, I knew that I was different. Very much different.

The blurred, coloured spots I had started to see when I was nine weren’t because of my eyesight. Pingu being run over by a car wasn’t my hallucination.

I reached out to tug at one of the many coloured strands that floated everywhere, in the room, out of the house and even around the world. The blurred spots had turned out to be colourful, thin strands, and I watched as the space around the coloured strand I had touched vibrate gently.

I’m Song Mi Cha, at least, I think that’s who I am.