My parents gave me the name Joohyun but people called me Irene. And the first 16 years of my life was plain ordinary.  

 

 

I didn’t know it was a blessing back then. To be born with a perfectly normal body and mind. I just knew I wasn’t the smartest student in my class, or the most lovable child in the neighborhood. Neither I was the naughtiest nor the dumbest. 

 

 

A routined, scarily predictable life Bae Joohyun lived. 

 

 

There were eyes on me just because of my appearance, how I looked. Thanks to my parents. Yet, it was never because of who I really was or what I had achieved.

 

 

I was a homebody who would not be sociable if not necessary. I enjoyed solitude, I enjoyed tranquility, I enjoyed stillness. I liked the smell of fabric softener, I liked doing the laundry, I liked keeping diaries. 

 

 

 

It was true that everyone would become a little rebellious during puberty. Including me. Like, particularly rebellious. Perhaps because I was sick of being the typical, quiet girl. 

 

 

I wanted to be remembered, I wanted to be something else. I thought it was the real me and I was finding my true self.

 

 

My middle school suspended me and my dad was fired when I turned 17 so my family moved to another town. So as to, “start it all over”. It was when I felt true fear for the first time. I was afraid that I could not fit into a whole new place, afraid that I could never find out who I really was.

 

 

And there was a girl who lived just across our new house. Everyone there had heard about her. But then she looked ridiculously normal, just like me. 

 

 

 

It was not because she had committed any serious crimes, not because she had murdered her parents, not becasue she got pregnant before she turned legal, not because she used to pick fights with those delinquents on the streets.

 

 

I saw else but fear in her big brown eyes. They told a story that I could not read.

 

 

She always avoided having any contact with anyone except her own family. Maybe that was why her skin was so fair, just as white as my favorite white button-on shirt.

 

 

Her name was Wendy. I would never forget that. I learnt that as we went to the same high school. I wrote it like thousands of hundreds of times in my diary since I first saw her.

 

 

Later, I found out she had no reason to fear at all. And it was when I really wanted to learn about her everything.

 

 

 

I knew, for her, I needed to be brave and strong so that she could fear no more.

 

 

But I did not know she would change me.

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

I am Wendy. The first 20 years of my life was all about a sickness I had. It was terrible even when I had my family’s love and support. It was something far beyond your greatest imagination, worse than your worst nightmare. I had to live with it.

 

 

No one had ever understood how I really felt, not even my family. I was someone who could not even control herself. 

 

 

People only cared to make fun of me, to gossip about my condition. Cold shoulders and cold gazes, were all I ever had outside of my safe haven called home.

 

 

But, I never asked for sympathy. I was only asking for understanding. It’s okay if you didn’t accept who I was. Just, please, don’t judge me for a disease I didn’t intend to have. 

 

 

 

It was a few months after my sixth birthday when the doctors had diagnosed me with Tourette’s syndrome.

 

 

My parents were not especially surprised because it was an inherited neuropsychiatric disorder, and my grandfather was the first officially confirmed  patient. God must favor my father more because his syndrome had not broken out once. Even my elder sister was fine. It was only me. My grandfather had long passed away before I was born.

 

 

I had no one to turn to. No one was there to hold my hands to tell me they understand, or help me to live through another day. My parents did their best but it was still not enough. They loved me. But there were still times they could not understand.

 

 

I was by myself fighting that disease that took away my body from my mind. I had lived, had survived years in this fight between my body and my brain. I did not think I woud make it to that far. Although the doctors had said this syndrome would not affect my intelligence or life expectancy.

 

 

There were times where I felt like I was not supposed to be born, for I saw no way for me to fit in, to live with the others.

 

 

 

“When I looked back I had come farther than I thought,

I was all alone, and all of a sudden I feared.

When I looked at myself, I didn’t know that I was exhausted,

I was all alone, and all of a sudden I feared.”

 

 

 

It was all bright and peaceful before I turned 6. But after that, I always had uncontrollable tics, both physically and verbally. I blinked my eyes rapidly, I tilted my head repeatedly, I sniffed my nose for no reason.

 

 

There was just no way for me to attend a lesson or eat a meal without doing these weird things and startling people.

 

 

“Look at Seungwan!” One started it off.

 

 

“Awww, she looks funny.”And another echoed.

 

 

“What’s she even doing?” Someone doubted.

 

 

“Stop that! It’s not that funny anymore!” Some other scolded.

 

 

“Son Wendy, enough!” Then it came the teacher, lashing at my “misbehaviors”. In their eyes, I was not paying attention, I was fooling around, I was disrupting the class order.

 

 

They usually thought I was just another attention-seeker or trouble-maker. They still despised my presence in their class even when my parents had explained to the school. My presence only meant more work, extra pressure, and bad news.

 

 

 

But I was just sick. 

 

 

Just because I screamed, I coughed, I groaned incoherent words, I banged the table unconsciously.  

 

 

I didn’t mean to do those things. I didn’t mean any harm.

 

 

 

I was doomed to be a distraction for other students in class so I was always punished. I could count with one hand my peaceful days in school.

 

 

“Son Wendy, go to that corner and stand until you are done reflecting what you have done wrong.”

 

 

“Son Seungwan, it’s my last warning! Stop making those weird noises. Or else I will make you bite this pencil for the rest of the lesson. I mean it. No more warning next time.”

 

 

 

And so, I had no friends. I couldn’t make any even if I wanted to. They were all scared of me, they all looked at me as if I wasn’t human like them. They had never treated me as one. I was abnormal.

 

 

People always stared at me whenever I went out with my family for a short trip or for meal. 

 

 

Some said I was crazy. Some said I needed an exorcist. 

 

 

 

“That girl from the Son’s. I bet she must have some sort of mental illness and her parents are just making excuses.” I walked home myself and there was always soft whispering. Those nosy neighbors who had been keeping an eye on us since day one.

 

 

“I’d never let my children go near her. What if she loses control and hurts them?” It could be a woman cleaning her foreyard who I had greeted her “good morning” everyday. 

 

 

“She’s dangerous, they should lock her up in a hospital or something.” It could also be a patriotic old man who liked to talk about wines and woodcrafts with my father. 

 

 

They might or might not think I would hear them. But I did anyway. I heard everything. Same old harsh words every single day, in my face and behind my back.

 

 

 

Still, I tried my best to stay sane. I knew what was wrong. And it was them. 

 

 

And I didn’t need God’s mercy, I didn’t need to beg for his forgiveness. I was born in this way. So maybe it’s his wrongdoing. 

 

 

Only if simply being sick was a sin.

 

 

 

There was a time it almost pushed me to my limits, down to a cliff. 

 

 

I overheard the conversation between the old wicked principal of my middle school and my precious parents, on that damn PT meeting. It was my final year there. 

 

 

“Mr and Mrs Son, I’m sorry but I’m afraid it’s just an excuse. We all know Wendy’s smart. She usually does well in her take-home assignments. But not so in class.  And I think there’re some problems with her participation in school… I strongly advise you to consult a psychologist and arrange home-schooling for Wendy in the meantime.”

 

 

And my parents didn’t cry. They weren’t angry either. I guess they were tired too. Tired from explaining, again and again. People just listened to what they wanted to hear.

 

 

They just took my hand and showed me a warm smile when they came out of his office.  

 

 

 

It was when I started to feel sorry. I started to apologize first before I did any wrong again. I started to hate and fear myself.

 

 

 

“I must’ve lost my mind because of the continuous fight,

I even killed myself.”

 

 

 

From then on, it only went worse. Some co-occurring conditions began to occur—OCD, obsessive compulsive disorder. 

 

 

I switched on and off the lights at least three times whenever I went in and out of a room; I double-checked all the stoves and windows and power supplies at least four times before I left the house; I could not look into the mirror without wiping it completely clean, free from stains;  I could not spell a word out without writing it down ten times beforehand……  

 

 

My life was finally, totally ruined. And doctors were just liars.

 

 

“It would become moderate during puberty.” Lies. 

 

 

Medication was no use. 

 

 

They were supposed to heal me, not making me more useless than I already was. It was always the worst for me. I thought if there was really God, he must hate me.

 

 

Depression was the name of the side-effect those pills did to my brain although they did heal my verbal tics. I was heavily depressed when I became an adolescent. Not to mention they weakened my athletic ability, making me paler and paler day by day.

 

 

So even my parents started lying. 

 

 

“You are stressing yourself too much, dear. Try to ease up and take up some hobby, it’d help you, distract you from it. It won’t break out that easily then.”

 

 

It only ended with hundreds of broken strings and four wrecked guitars. We also lost 2 pianos and 5 sets of speakers. Countless of torn music sheets. I kind of felt bad for the trees. I thought music was my outlet. I thought it was my cure. 

 

 

Every time I tried to achieve something, my freaking tics failed me miserably. I had been failing subjects and skipping school due to my worsening conditions. 

 

 

There was nothing I could do. There was nothing when I looked at my own refection. I was the epitome of uselessness.

 

 

 

It had crashed me to my bones so I once tried to kill myself. I was numb enough to everything around me so I was brave enough to cut my own wrist.

 

 

Of course, I didn’t die. That was not the end of my story. It’s just I could not do much with my right hand since then. It was deep enough. I had to learn how to write all over again with my left hand. I managed to do that solely because my parents successfully convinced me to continue my study despite all the unfair treatment we faced together. 

 

 

I didn’t want to let them down anymore so I turned into a leftie when I was 14. 

 

 

Nevertheless, I didn’t know why I was still breathing, why I had to live like this while all the others were mocking me with their happy faces and fruitful lives.

 

 

I yearned for an answer, as if there was any. 

 

 

Every sunrise marked another rough test to me. Let alone a change of environment. It did not excite me at all as I got in high school.

 

 

Nothing mattered to me, except for my lovely parents and my sister. Nothing else was important to me.

 

 

As if I was long dead inside.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

Every kid in the school was all talking about Wendy. 

 

 

The seniors welcomed her with a bucket of cold water as soon as she stepped into the school gate, while the juniors sneered and scorned as she passed through the corridors, to her classroom.

 

 

Our school granted us a lot of freedom so we could basically dress the way we wanted, as long as we wore the uniform. It was a school specialized in lobbying students with good academic results yet slightly problematic after all. 

 

 

 

Wendy always wore a huge hooded jacket when it was fall or winter, or just let her messy hair flow past her shoulders when it was spring or summer. 

 

 

I knew exactly why—she just wanted to hide. Her face, with delicate features and fair skin, had caused her troubles.

 

 

She never interacted with other students. The teachers did not throw her questions either. I would have thought she was mute if I did not happen to walk into the fight that day. We were in different classes after all.

 

 

It was our second year there, when Wendy had decided she had enough of the fuss targeted on her. Some gang of real troublemakers wanted to “teach her a lesson”. A boy made his attempt to grip her from behind and a girl slapped her in the face. I coincidentally passed by, wanting to hand in a late assignment to my class teacher’s office.

 

 

“No one’ll pity you here with that stupid illness.” Followed by a loud slap on her cheek. Blood tainted the corner of her lips.

 

 

“Now say something, won’t you? You don’t know how to speak properly too?” The arrogant girl leaned closer and stared into Wendy’s calm eyes.

 

 

“You got nothing from your wealthy parents.” The tall boy laughed since Wendy had no effort to struggle at all. She just hanged her head low. Some other students gathered around since it was lunch break.

 

 

“Well, her sister is hot and capable. She's a pre-med, isn't she. And you are just a burden. Oh wait, so you’re waiting for your sister to find a cure for you, no?” He gave her head a push and made her stumble a bit. Some from the crowd giggled. How ruthless people could be.

 

 

I clutched onto the file at my chest and watched, hesitating whether it was a wise decision if I stepped in and intervened.

 

 

Wendy was still planted there like a tree, in the middle of four notorious students from the same class as her.

 

 

 

Another girl folded her arms and scanned her from head to toe, “You scared now? Wanna go find your parents and hide behind them-” She got cut off as Wendy launched a solid punch on her face out of nowhere, knocked her down with a flawless TKO. I almost applauded. 

 

 

The girl who had slapped her closed in again after her friend got taken down, “You dare to fight back? You know how to-”

 

 

“I know how to speak and I need no pity, .” In the speed of lightning, Wendy stretched her arm and flung it towards the girl’s mouth. She slapped her back, much harder than her previous punch.

 

 

“You’re quite a fighter, aren’t you?” The boy cracked his knuckles and gestured Wendy to attack him. “You got nothing on me-”

 

 

Wendy’s face twitched a little but she managed to grab a hold of a wooden chair, and brought it to his leg with full force. “Big talker, huh?”

 

 

He cried in pain but she hit his hip with the chair again, and it cracked into two. “Ah—”

 

 

“Call me whatever you want but I can still take your whiny  down.” She picked up a wooden plate from the chair’s carcass and poked the remaining boy with it, “Now hide behind your parents’ backs, you brats.”

 

 

Covering his blooding forehead with his hand, the boy with an injured pride ran away ditching his friends laying on the floor who were still grumbling painfully.

 

 

She had her back facing us at that time but I saw her body jerking again. It was not normal panting. She stomped away as she had her hand gripped onto another. Everyone was either shocked or amused by the situation. No one was messing with Wendy since then.

 

 

But at that moment, I jut knew she was having a tic. Thinking maybe her health was at risk, I hurried towards the direction she fled.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

I didn’t know why but I made them bleed, I harmed hem. I let my anger take over me, instead of my sickness. Should I be ashamed of myself for doing that, or proud? 

 

 

I stood up and fought, not for myself, but my family who loved me from the bottom of their hearts.

 

 

Didn’t I finally do something? But why did I feel sorry for myself? Perhaps deep down I knew it didn’t really solve anything. They would fear me yet they would still despise me as a patient. They still understood nothing.

 

 

I could’t change anything. Nothing. Everything would remain how they were. I was still sick. People still misunderstood. My family still had to look after me as if I had never grown up.

 

 

I ran until my lungs screamed for air. At one second, I thought I could run away from all the things that had torn me between my body and my brain. How naive. I collapsed under a tree at the school’s garden. The most deserted place there was. The glass, the trees, the flowers were not anything near pretty. They were ordinary. They were still better than me, I thought and I chuckled.

 

 

I hugged my knees, tightly, trying to crease the tic. I knew I must look pathetic. 

 

 

I saw the bruises and wounds all over my knuckles and hands but I could not do anything because of the twitching I was having.

 

 

 

“Hey you retard, don’t be so obvious,

Stand strong, I know, even if you’re lonely,

You need to endure this.”

 

 

 

I was helpless as I had always been. Born as a loser, ain’t I? I watched myself bleed and quiver.

 

 

They were right about me. I could not even take care of myself, just like a newborn. Why my family still loved me that much? Was it merely because I was part of them?  Had they secretly wished I wasn’t sick? My sister, she was everything I wasn’t. 

 

 

Did they love me as who I was? Wasn't I just a disappointment?

 

 

I closed my eyes as I spotted that ugly scar on my right wrist, which reminded that I was only a coward.

 

 

 

Life was like a never-ending battle for me. And what was I fighting for? Wasn’t I doomed to lose?

 

 

What kind of person I was really? What was I apart from being someone who was ill? 

 

 

But no, they could not see this side of me. Not my parents, my sister. They shall not worry about me anymore.

 

 

Not my merciless schoolmates, those heartless bastards. They shall not see me cry. 

 

 

 

“Are your tears falling, you bastard?

Stop crying and rise again, bear your responsibility.”

 

 

 

That was the only thing I could do, I had to do. For my family, and my little dignity.

 

 

It felt like a decade for the tic to fade. My tear were still streaming down from my cheeks to my wounded hands however. Then I began to sense the pain from the injuries, dreadfully.

 

 

I almost forgot I had feelings too. I lifted a bitter smile knowing that. A tear escaped into my lips so a gust of saltiness spread across my tongue.

 

 

I was a just girl. 

 

 

 

“Wendy?” I bolted up instinctively, hearing someone else’s presence. “Are you okay?”

 

 

Surprisingly, it was Irene. I knew her name because all boys were drooling over her yet scared to approach her, all girls were envying her yet only dared to talk behind her back. They all heard of her “history”.

 

 

I patted the dust off my skirt and glared at her worried face, “Yeah?”

 

 

She frowned in return, “You sure?”

 

 

I fidgeted a bit under her questioning, intense gaze, “You care?”

 

 

“Your hands.” She muttered. 

 

 

“I asked why do you care?” I asked again in a more stern voice, trying to shut her out. I did not need her sympathy. 

 

 

 

Irene seemed stunned for a second yet she quickly recovered and darted her eyes around, “And you cried.”

 

 

Feeling embarrassed,  I marched away again, “I’m leaving.”

 

 

“Wait,” She held my arm and her hold was so strong, “I ain’t done with you yet.”

 

 

“What was it?”

 

 

“What you did back there is impressive.”

 

 

“Excuse me?”

 

 

“I just wanna say you did the right thing.”

 

 

 

I couldn’t read rene’s deep eyes. She was known as the dangerous type of girl here. Deadly gorgeous. 

 

 

She had ambushed a classmates of hers in middle school on his way home and sent him straight to the hospital. He had tried to molest her the day before.

 

 

I took time to study her face before replying, “As if I had really done anything.” 

 

 

“No, Wendy.” She smiled and rubbed her palms together, “You did something. And you did very well.”

 

 

“Did it change anything?”

 

 

“It’s not the others we ought to change, Wendy.” 

 

 

Her smile memorized me a little, so I turned my head away a little. “Hm…… You came all the way just to tell me this? I’m quite sure the class bell has rung 15 minutes ago.”

 

 

“Who cares about maths?” She childishly rolled her eyes but soon got nervous all over again, “You know, I saw you…… Tic. So, I-”

 

 

“Tics won’t kill me though.” I shrugged it off cooly, even though I was surprised by the fact tha she actually knew what it was. “They just turn me into a joke.”

 

 

“You’re not a joke.” She shook her head and fixed her loose school ti,  “You can prove them wrong, can’t you? Or else, you won’t be here.”

 

 

“Thank you for treating me as a normal person then, Irene.” I returned the smile and was ready to leave again.

 

 

“Hey,” She spoke sp softly but I could still hear her loud and clear. “Go to the infirmary.”

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

Wendy told me I was her first real friend, who had never laughed at her tics. And I should feel honored, right?

 

 

Anyway, we started hanging out ever since that day. We seldom brought up our past but I guess we both knew what had happened.

 

 

There were times her tics broke out while we were casually chatting. There were also times that she managed to cease the tics by herself or being distracted by talking to me.

 

 

And I told her every time, “You’re getting better.” She never replied. Just sometimes with a chuckle.

 

 

 

It was a calm sea for us in school. Teachers were more understanding towards Wendy’s condition and her tics were less frequent, less vigorous too.

 

 

The principal was a kind man and he assigned each student to take up a hobby as extra-curricular activity, so we could burn our energy and be productive in some sort.  It was dancing for me and music for her.

 

 

Wendy had a flair, I knew it. She had learned to focus and her skills were getting better everyday.

 

 

 

I heard from her parents that she had OCD when I was invited to a sleepover. I witnessed it with my own eyes. She was ashamed. 

 

 

“But you don’t want to do it, right ? It’s not your call, right?” I joined her on the edge of the huge bed. It was not that serious, I assumed.

 

 

She was nipping her nails before giving me a timid nod. We exchanged a smile before I switched off the lights.

 

 

 

I was there when she turned 18. She was finally an adult and we were soon graduating. 

 

 

Her symptoms were mild but they were still there, affecting her daily life more or less. I googled and found out that Tourette's disorder would be gradually eased as the patient approached adulthood. 

 

 

It might explain why her eyes were sad when she blew her birthday candles. But she had made a huge improvement already. 

 

 

She deserved to be happy. Just like everyone else.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

“What’re you thinking?” Irene joined me at the balcony, after a brief birthday party with my family.

 

 

“I’m an adult now.” I mumbled and listened to the chiming wind. “What if I could never be normal?”

 

 

“Watch your tongue.” She shushed me with a finger on my lips. “Today is your birthday. Smile, would you?”

 

 

“Irene,” I called silently with my croaked voice. “I’m still scared.”

 

 

“Why?” 

 

 

“Would I ever be able to find a job with such condition? How will I ever earn a footing in the society like this?” 

 

 

She stared intensely as I blabbered on. Without another word, her arms enclosed me into an tight embrace, wither her small hands on my thin back.

 

 

 

“I’m much too young and fragile to be an adult,

I still don’t know the way.

I know until now that it hurts too much from bumping and crashing on the road.”

 

 

 

“It’ll go away.” She whispered like she’s making a wish. “If you believe so.”

 

 

I didn’t know what exactly to say so I put my arms around her waist, as my way to thank her.

 

 

I thought she too knew her hug could be my cure. To my sickness, to my fear.

 

 

She always happened to witness my darkest sides, whenever I messed up, whenever I had tics, whenever I cried my heart out.

 

 

She was there when I missed two notes playing the piano for the choir. My fingers jerked. Damn tics. I blamed myself for a whole week for ruining a performance, for being careless, for being useless, for being sick yet ambitious.

 

 

I later locked myself in my room, mindlessly playing that song over and over again. Although there was already no use playing it that perfectly then. I thought I could win this battle. I thought there was hope. I practiced and practiced. Piano, guitar, flute, drums.

 

 

Blood came through the calluses on my fingers, and my arm muscles were too tired to twitch. 

 

 

 

“Maybe it’s too late now,

Just keep whipping myself blindly,

And there are too many wounds that just won’t close up.”

 

 

 

I was punishing myself. I failed myself. I let my sickness and my fear taken control of me.

 

 

“No one would save you if you don’t save yourself first.” My sister came in to my room that night and joined me on the cold floor. 

 

 

I looked up with teary eyes, “How can I save myself from all of these?”

 

 

“You aren’t doing this alone,” She flashed me a warm smile and patted my shoulder. “Irene just called. She said Seulgi, Joy, Yeri, and herself would be waiting at the old place.”

 

 

Recalling their bright faces, I dried my tears. “so that they can save me?”

 

 

“Just get changed and go. I’ll tell mom and dad about it.” 

 

 

“Love ya.” I stood up and hugged her before I rushed out. 

 

 

 

They were all there, standing under that tree. 

 

 

I no longer felt the fear festering in my heart when they held my hands and looked into my eyes. Not even a single stream of guilt, tiredness, or melancholy.

 

 

I loved how Seulgi circled her long arms around my neck, how Joy ruffled my hair, how Yeri clung onto my arm, how Irene pulled me close and gently bumped her head with mine. We ended up talking all night long back at my house. They made me forgot that I was sick that night. My tics didn’t break out. I was a normal girl that night.

 

 

 

A week later, I remember it was a Saturday when Irene showed up at the door with a pile of books in her arms, and a sly grin on her face.

 

 

I quickly let her in and she excitedly threw the books on my desk.

 

 

“I finished them.” She grinned, reporting to me like a child to a teacher.

 

 

“And?” I took a glance at the cover of the book on top. It said “Gilles de la Tourette syndrome: the complexities of phenotype and treatment”. It was freaking thick and it was in English.

 

 

“I want to know more about it.”

 

 

“So do you know more about it now?”

 

 

Irene giggled and poked my thigh playfully, “Well now, I know more about you.”

 

 

I somehow magically managed to control my face muscles for once, “What about me?”

 

 

“I’m not saying you are that sickness. You are you.” She switched back to her serious face as she leaned closer, stopped when our faces were just a few centimeters apart, “I know about your fear.” 

 

 

 

I didn’t say anything. She always managed to make my tongue tied. She was absolutely right. She knew me too well, she read me like an open book.

 

 

Her hands found their way to my cheeks, “Your fear will ruin you, just because it turns yourself into your biggest enemy, Seungwan.”

 

 

Yes. When you started to fear everything in your life, it was actually yourself that you feared. You ended up digging your own grave. I was on the blink of destroying myself. But then a hand grabbed onto mine and dragged me out.

 

 

I let Irene in, and Irene, Bae Joohyun, brought me light.

 

 

She was no ordinary girl to me.

 

 

I guessed I owed her much that I could not repay her in any sort so I began to sob. She wiped my tears away with her thumbs and showed me her perfect set of teeth. I didn’t know if she knew that her smile could heal. 

 

 

“And you’re not alone anymore. You don’t have to fear anymore.” She reached out for my trembling hand and interlaced our fingers, providing me all the warmth and strength I’d ever needed while her other was still glued to the side of my chin.

 

 

I knew then—to me, she was the Sun.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

Wendy made me realize that I was the lucky one. Not only because I was born with a healthy body. 

 

 

Son Seungwan was such a precious human being but had been mistreated solely because of her illness. She was sweet, she was clever, she was responsible, she was brave. She was beautiful in every way, she was human. Yes, she was brave. I could not imagine living her life.

 

 

I wanted to stay by her side. I was meant to meet her. I wanted to be her strength, just like she was mine. I wanted to be a part of her life.

 

 

So I ran to the library and borrowed all the books there were about that syndrome. I read them day and night, not caring that I was losing sleep and I got to check the dictionary nearly every sentence. I had to understand her world.

 

 

Joy said it wad obvious that I saw Wendy as more than a friend, and she was right.  I was always greedy in my life. But it was different after I met Wendy. I wanted to be her first and her last, I wanted to see myself instead of fear in Wendy’s ravishing eyes.

 

 

It was no longer just about me and myself. I learnt to care, I learnt to love.

 

 

I loved her, I loved her everything, even her sickness. I didn’t care if she would feel the same. She needed to know about that—there was a certain someone who accepted and adored her whole being, as who she was.

 

 

It wasn’t out of sympathy. I wanted to help her, but it was okay if she would never recover. 

 

 

Seulgi said I should confess but I got scared. Perhaps Wendy was not interested in romance, or worse, me. She seemed too occupied by everything in her life already.

 

 

I knew I loved her when we would be soon parting our ways after our high school graduation.  I could not bear to leave her. It terrified me just with the thought. Oh, she saved me with her grace too.

 

 

I ended up stumbling to her house once I was done with all the reading. I wanted to be a better person for her.

 

 

She looked gorgeous even without makeup when she opened the door. I told her how I had read all those books and she was scarily calm. Maybe she was exhausted from revising for the final exams and practicing for the upcoming performances.

 

 

I held her close and I stared into her tender eyes.

 

 

And I kissed her. 

 

 

Her pleasant scent lingered when I pulled away for air.

 

 

“Because I love you.” I muttered on her lips. 

 

 

She stayed silent for seconds and I panicked. 

 

 

But soon, she closed her eyes agin and kissed me back.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

There were times when I got into stupid fights with Irene after we got together. You know, the closer two people got, the more they argued.

 

 

I still couldn’t change how I felt ashamed by my condition, how I might not be a good match for her. I felt like I had been chaining her by my side with it. She deserved someone better.

 

 

I was turning 20 and my tics would still happen occasionally, not severe but just enough to cause embarrassment and inconvenience in my social life. Not that Irene minded though.

 

 

I did fine in study, and I even got awards for that. I once dreamt to sing but it was just a dream. It could never happen because of my stupid tics.

 

 

 

Irene was there to encourage me every time. I got annoyed and frustrated sometimes and it was when we fought.

 

 

We did not see each other often since we were in different departments of the same school.

 

 

And my new fear was that I would lose her some day.

 

 

There were still many things for her to see, still a big world for her to explore.  I believed I was just a small phrase in her life.

 

 

 

Despite Seulgi and Joy’s disapproval, I told Irene that we needed a break after a huge fight. It was a pretty pointless fight when I think about it now.

 

 

My doctor offered me a chance to receive a new treatment so that this old "friend" of mine could finally be gone before I reached 21. But the price was I had to take more meds that might damage my voice and my eye-hand coordination. It might be temporary, or it might not be.

 

 

I wanted to give it a try but Irene insisted I should not. She said I was fine in this way but I had nothing to lose. Well, except her and only her.

 

 

It was the first time I had ever seen her cry.

 

 

But, who was I to claim a girl like her mine? There was nothing I could do for her, nothing I could give.

 

 

I watched her tears hit the ground and I watched her disappear at the corner of the street.

 

 

 

 

 

“When I didn’t want to see anything,

I forced my eyes open, 

Because I just feared,

It was because I suddenly became afraid.”

 

 

 

I had lost so many things to my illness already. And I had to kick it out from my life once and for all.

 

 

I had enough. I just hoped she would understand.

 

 

After applying for a medical leave at school, I moved into the hospital. White room, white bed, white curtains, white everything.

 

 

I checked my phone the first night I was there and there was no missed calls or unread messages. I tried to recall the last thing I said…… shouted to Irene.

 

 

“Just go and live your life! Stop caring so much about me please!” 

 

 

There had been decent pursuers for her but she rejected them politely one by one. I wondered what she had seen in me, what made me worth her love.

 

 

I guessed I had finally lost her. And this was what I deserved. 

 

 

 

“When I didn’t want to speak at all,

I intentionally raised my voice, because,

There is no other reason,

I fear, I fear,

I keep getting afraid.”

 

 

 

There were days I could not speak, and some other days I got problems brushing my teeth or taking a shower properly due to the new treatment.

 

 

But there were no more tics for me. Though, ironically, I became more useless.

 

 

I laid on the bed all day and all night, reconsidering every decision I made in my life so far. Like, I did regret cutting my wrist but I didn’t regret telling Irene to go.

 

 

She could not just live her life for me. But it hurt so much.

 

 

 

I asked my parents to shut Seulgi, Joy and Yeri away from me because I didn’t want to hear anything about Irene. I would rather imagine in my own head that she was then living happily without me as her burden, she had found someone better, she was living her own life.

 

 

And I tried to live my life, to find myself, to be independent too.

 

 

Even though, every night, Irene was the last thing that came to my mind. Not my music, not my illness, not the meds, not my parents, not the books I had to read for my thesis.

 

 

Perhaps she was what I really wanted. She was my finest cure and my worst fear.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

Life was not easier after I left Wendy, or, she left me.

 

 

I did need to worry about her sometimes but she was never a drag for me. I didn’t know why faith made her choose between the cure of a sickness that had haunted her for 15 years and me, her girlfriend, for 2 years.

 

 

There was no way to reach her since that painful day. I knew she did it for my own good. But I just turned back into the introvert I was years ago since there was no one I bothered to care anymore. All I heard from her was that she was staying in the hospital. 

 

 

I still didn’t understand, why it had to be so unfair, both to me and to her. 

 

 

Her singing was a divine gift and her studies were superb. It would not only be a loss for her, but also for many if she ever had to trade it for a full convalescence. 

 

 

I had waited for days then months and finally found her parents with Yeri’s help.

 

 

They said she was gone. Not “dead” kind of gone, but “left” kind of gone. They refused to spill any more details according to Wendy's wish but I was fine already being told that she was holding up well.

 

 

I missed her. I missed her everything, even her tics. It was like she had never left, she was always there. There wasn't a single minute that her smiles, her tears, her kisses, her hugs didn't come to me. When she rolled up her sleeves preparing to cook for me, when she ran her delicate fingers through her locks trying to make sense of her readings, when she bit the tip of her pen contemplating how she should hit a certain note.

 

 

Would this Wendy ever come back to me? I could love no one other than this Son Seungwan who would chuckle cutely at the smallest thing, spend all night baking a perfect birthday cake for me, groove along the music as if no one’s there, tilt her head when confused.

 

 

She meant so much to me that I didn’t realize she would leave such a huge space in my life when she was gone.

 

 

 

It was a rainy morning when someone softly placed their knuckles on my dorm room door, playing a melody that was awfully familar.

 

 

Dragging my sore body and rubbing my red eyes, I went to greet the guest. I had an essay due yesterday and I basically had turned into a walking dead.

 

 

Wendy stiffly adjusted the navy blue beanie on her head as she lifted a charming smile, “H-hi.”

 

 

“You……. are back.” I was too stunned to see her again. She was there, in front of me. And she hadn’t been so hale and hearty before. Her eyes were glinting brightly and her hair was a few shades lighter.

 

 

“I got everything back.” She turned to fix the sleeves of her red-checkered flannel shirt before bringing her palms on her jean-clad thighs, “I mean, not everything but-”

 

 

I daren't to look straight at her, as if she was burning bright. “It’s gone?” 

 

 

“Yeah.” She chirped rather cheerfully. Oh, I missed her voice.

 

 

“Ah….…. Then it’s great.” I figured I must look like a complete mess with that set of purple pajamas and fluffy bunny slippers.

 

 

She mumbled while pressing one hand on the door frame, “There's this one thing left.” 

 

 

“Huh?” I eyed her up a bit, she seemed fine. Her smoldering eyes and sweet voice were there, even her movements were natural.

 

 

Wendy then bored her eyes on her neatly-tied Converse, “Hm, I got everything back….…. Everything but you. I-I want you back, my life back. I am now a better person and I wonder if we have a fresh start?”

 

 

She took a deep breath as her little speech ended.

 

 

We stared at each other for a while before she surprised me by capturing my lips, as if she was tyring to merge herself into me.

 

 

“So did you go through for me?” I asked when she rested her head at the crook of my neck, engulfing me into the embrace that I had longed for.

 

 

“Of course,” She let out a shy chuckle and snuggled even closer. "Because I love you."

 

 

 

“Don’t tell me to leave again.”Finally I broke a smile in months, as her forehead pressed onto mine.

 

 

“I won’t let you leave ever again, Joohyun. There is nothing that I fear now, when you’re with me.”She pecked me on the lips as a seal of her promise.

 

 

I gladly took her hand and guided her into my room.

 

 

Wendy was smiling right back at me and it’s all that I’d asked for. It didn't matter if that illness was still with her or not, if her voice was lost or not, if she could no longer take care of herself or not.

 

 

Her name was not only written on my diaries, but also carved on my veins. And I knew it was the same for her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

---

[Song: Fear by Mino (ft. Taeyang)]

 

Hey I updated!

But I don't know when my next update would be at since I'm in hiatus right now.

Still, studying in Seoul is fun and challenging at the same time :P

 

Thank you for waiting patiently and I love you all <3

Hope you enjoy this second one-shot of mine :D

(ps. you can also find me on Twitter @AD_saudades)

xo