Times change, and we change with them
 

As a child, his parents were his everything. It was his mother who would spend the days teaching him what she could whilst his father was in town working tirelessly. She would fill his mornings and afternoons nothing short of phantasmal wonder and unrivalled learning. In the times between lessons or even after they had been completed, she would spin the most illustrious tales while performing marvelous tricks. Thinking back on it, he was absolutely smitten by the adventure that the days with his parents held.

When his father finished work, he’d always come home with a smile on his face and a spring in his step. While he changed from his stiff suit to comfortable dungarees, Junhong would seat himself on the edge of his parent’s bed and tell him all that had transpired that day. He’d swing his feet off of the edge and just babble on about everything that his mother taught him. His father would then lift him off of the bed after he’d changed and head downstairs.

Dinner was always a celebration in itself. Junhong watched as his father and mother danced around the kitchen with quiet laughter whilst they prepared that night’s meal. Sometimes the radio would be tuned to his favourite station and he would join them, dancing as gracefully as he could manage. When they all took their seats at the small wooden table, there would be tired smiles smiles all around. They’d dig into whatever delightful meal that his mother cooked and just bask in the warmth of their own company. It was almost a shame that there was no one else to share the meal with, but he didn’t mind. As long as he had his parents, he was happy.

Seclusion was the key to the happiness of his youth. They lived in a two story house that was settled in the middle of a large, vast meadow. Trees surrounded the house as if they were a tall fence, turning away outsiders. One car was parked in their dirt driveway during the nights and on weekends, but left early in the mornings on weekdays. There was no one around for miles, and though it was a bit startling, sometimes, to have the mailman come up to the door, Junhong wouldn’t have it any other way.

But it couldn’t last forever, and he learned that soon enough.

He turned ten on October fifteenth. It was different from all of his other birthdays, and that’s what made it the most memorable one. Instead of waking up to the smell of breakfast at noon, his parents shook him awake at six in the morning. The sun had yet to fully rise, but there they stood before him, looking ready to leave for the day. He’d asked where they were off to, and if he should get dressed to go, too, but his mother just looked at him with regret painfully etched onto her features. In what felt like the blink of an eye, he was watching the one car they owned drive down that long strip of dirt before disappearing behind the trees. It was a full week until he saw them again.

There was no magic after that. Once he watched his mother and father disappear in plush wooden boxes beneath the earth, it felt as if all of the delight of his life had been buried with them. The man who had read aloud his parent’s after-death wishes didn’t seem too saddened by their departure, despite bearing the title of his father’s best friend. It was as if he was detached from reality, and was floating around in his own strange plane of existence. The thin wire-rimmed glasses he wore made his eyes look smaller, more critical, and his voice was riddled with a faint accent and a prominent drawl. When he said the names of Junhong’s parents, it all seemed wrong, as if he wasn’t meant to say those names to begin with. However, when he revealed what would be done with Junhong, things just seemed to get worse.

He was sent away to a renowned Catholic school with a name he couldn’t pronounce clear on the other side of the country. There was quite a bit of wealth left to him, but he wouldn’t be able to get his hands on it until he turned eighteen, the age of adulthood. Everything that he had ever known was left behind. His home, his bed, his parents. It was all sacrificed in favour of the cold dorms and unfriendly students at that school.

Junhong had never been to an actual school before, so his first day attending classes was an overwhelming blur. He remembered going to sleep that first night, curled up under thin sheets on a board-like mattress, and hoping that he would wake up in his own bed come morning. But he didn’t, and instead of walking downstairs in his pajamas he left his dorm room in a stiff uniform that had been provided to him. It was difficult, but eventually he adjusted to all of the foreign, organised learning that went on within those cold stone walls.

Most days, he got through lectures by daydreaming. He’d close his eyes and there his mother would be, teaching him about World War II and the tragedy that it brought. Her fingers would produce little illusions, and from her closed palms would spring all sorts of wonders. The smile that graced her lips was warm, genuine, and he found himself unconsciously donning that same expression. However, that habit eventually got him in trouble with his teachers. That didn’t deter him, though. In the darkest parts of the night, he would imagine that he was with his father who, albeit begrudgingly, wove tricks of his own. Junhong missed the excitement of living with his parents, and the innocence of those times. His books at school were unforgiving, lifeless, and purely analytical. The children there were even more so.

In order to pass what little free time that he had, Junhong would attempt to replicate the magic that his parents had filled him with. He’d sit in the corner of the common room holding his hands together, just as his mother had, and concentrated as hard as he could, yet nothing would come of it. No little glowing sphere, no flurry of tiny butterflies, no light of hope. Despite his failures, though, he still tried. This endless motivation to teach himself something so seemingly unreal unfortunately drove any potential friends away. The other students at the academy didn’t like him as much as he would have preferred. One student, known widely for his academic prowess and religious devotion, claimed that he had been practicing sacrilegious rituals. After that accusation was onto his shoulders, Junhong didn’t think he could hate those nuns more than he already had.

They were far too strict for his liking. Where he had come from had provided him with freedom to do as he liked, but here he felt strangled by those nagging women in habits. All of the students had to be in bed at a specific time and be awake at another. Uniforms had to be worn correctly, and even having one lapel out of place would call for unreasonable consequences. The nuns erased his originality and went out of their way to cut out any and all unorthodox habits. With his parents, Junhong’s creativity would blossom and his imagination had the opportunity to roam to the most distant planets. However, at this prison -- cleverly disguised as a school -- Junhong could only bring himself to comply with the harsh regulations that had been imposed upon him.

Though when a sleek black car rolled up on campus on the cold autumn morning of Junhong’s eighteenth birthday, there was change in the air. He had been -- quite unceremoniously -- called out of his uninsulated wooden classroom and asked to report to the main office on the first floor. As he traversed the halls, he found his mind wandering to any of the potential things that he could have done to get in trouble, yet he couldn’t think of a single thing. He was behaving, wasn’t he? As he edged closer to the Headmaster’s office on the first floor at the front of the building, though, less negative things seemed to rise to his mind.

As the tall ceilings of the halls echoed with the sounds of his light footsteps, he found himself being put more at ease. Now that he was alone, unsuffocated, and unbothered he could think of other, more reasonable things that he could’ve been called down for. Many times he’d been startled into pondering which punishment would be in store for him once he reached that office, but he was always surprised with a pat on the back for being first in his class once again. Though honestly, it didn’t really seem like anything to write home about, and not because he didn’t have a home to write to. It was just a simple announcement, a reluctant congratulations, and a push back to class. Perhaps if he had someone to celebrate with, it would be different.

He attempted to put his worries to rest as the office’s door came into view, but the nuns were unpredictable. They wielded long wooden yardsticks that bloodied his knuckles and made it difficult for him to write. It seemed like a counterproductive punishment, honestly.

When he finally came into a stop in front of the door to the main office, he looked down at his squeaky polished dress shoes. His throat constricted as the hushed voices within came to a halt, and a silhouette appeared behind the opaque glass window set into the top of half of the door.

It swung open, the hinges on it well oiled and practically silent, and one of the nuns looked down on him before she ushered him in. Her eyes had been weighed down by heavy bags that creased when she scowled at him, and the cold of her hands could be felt through his layered uniform as she pushed him into a dark stained chair that stood before the Headmaster’s large oaken desk. When she finally dismissed herself left with a slam of the door, Junhong was a bit more at ease. With her gone, he was positive that this wasn’t a punishment, and that in itself was enough to make the confidence that’d left him in the face of possible trouble come back.

“Junhong, it’s been so long.”

His gaze moved from the closed door that the nun, Sister Margaret, had left from and to the desk, behind which sat the Headmaster. His fingers were laced together in a way that looked as if he was plotting something, but the scowl that was set firmly into his lips told him that there was no devious plan that had been set in motion, but rather, something that he didn’t like had occurred. Despite that, though, it wasn’t him who had spoke. His upper lip wasn’t quivering and his crooked, protruding yellowed teeth weren’t being exposed as the words spilled messily from his mouth. No, it couldn’t have been him. However, the man that stood beside him, tall and lean, was the only other person who could have said something.

The man’s smile was genuine, so wonderfully genuine, and his eyes were bright with the kind of magic that Junhong’s parents had. His face was eerily familiar, yet no matter how much memory scouring he did, Junhong couldn’t put his finger on where he’d seen him before.

When the man spoke once again, Junhong found himself focusing more on the sound of his voice rather than the words he was saying. The way that he articulated was much kinder than he was used to, much gentler. His tone was soothing with a rich baritone to it. It reminded him of his father, and in that moment it was his father. That man had those same dark eyes that welcomed him. He felt comfortable. While he was completely lost in the man’s voice, a memory flashed before his eyes. Seated in his father’s lap instead of that hard wood chair, Junhong listened, but this time more to the words than the sound.

“... Here to see if you are eligible to receive the money.” The man finished up his mantra, and there was this wide, hopeful smile that graced his lips. Junhong really wished he had been listening. However, he continued without missing a beat.

“Your grades check out quite well. First in your class, more often than not. You seem like you’re quite brilliant. I’ve had the pleasure to read a few of your thesis papers. Your parents would be so proud of you.” It seemed like he was proud, too, in his own way. It showed in the way he stood taller and with his back straightened. His smile seemed to widen, too, if that was possible.

“Say that he is eligible,” the Headmaster began, the sagging wrinkles on his face shaking with the power of his deep voice. “What is to happen to his education here?” His eyes bore into Junhong, burning holes where their gazes met. He was almost smug, as if the sheer knowledge that he was going to subject Junhong to at least another half-year of an overblown education his ego.

“Well,” the man took a stack of papers that had been placed on the edge of the desk and flipped through them. He dropped a few, offering an embarrassed smile and an apology as he picked them up and scanned paragraphs that had been printed neatly on the sheets. “After reading through your policies, though his discipline record isn’t outstanding, it is up to your graduation standards. In addition to that, his grades are exemplary, and he’s gotten more than enough of the credits that are required. Now that he’s an adult, and has no legal guardians, logically speaking, he is able to leave as well as receive the money left to him by his parents. All that you have to do is approve his early graduation, present him with his diploma, and he may take whatever personal belongings he has and leave.”

It was Junhong’s turn to be smug. He watched as the Headmaster’s conceited grin deflated. This obscure Catholic school, settled in the middle of nowhere, would lose their star student. Whatever state-funded rewards that it earned would be revoked, and they would dangle just out of reach. The only student that could equal his intelligence was just about to graduate himself. What would happen to this little school? Hopefully, something terrible.

“I’d like to graduate early,” Junhong watched as the Headmaster pulled at his shirt collar. “There’s no way that you can deny me, either. Like he said, I’m either at or above every single one of your qualifications. You can’t keep me here. Not legally.”

------

He had been liberated from that forsaken Catholic academy for over six and a half months, yet his temperament seemed to be ultimately the same. Though he tossed that tight, restricting uniform in favour of a whole new wardrobe he’d bought, courtesy of the riches left by his parents, it still felt like something was tying him down. He’d settled on buying an apartment after deciding that moving from hotel to hotel wasn’t the best option. It wasn’t anything too extravagant, as he’d been taught extensively about the importance of saving and not taking more than what was needed. Though, he’d admit, he did go a bit overboard with the furnishings and electronics that he used to make the little place a bit more livable.

The first night he walked into his ground-floor apartment after a day of job hunting, an unexpected feeling washed over him. It wasn’t that feeling of Ah, I’m home, that he was hoping for. Instead it was just an indescribable loneliness. It was strange not to eat his dinner with over two hundred other boys, as was the silence that couldn’t even be quelled by his television at an obnoxiously high volume. He found himself unable to sleep, too, even though he’d completely exhausted himself by walking around all day. After going from living with countless other people for the past eight years, this newfound solitude was almost unwelcome. Despite hoping for freedom from that strict, overbearing way of life, Junhong found himself yearning for that horrible feeling of captivity as he rolled around in bed until the meek hours of the morning.

Eventually he landed a job at the local supermarket. It wasn't anything too special, but it guaranteed him something simple and in the community. There he met people, though none of them seemed to take much of an interest in him. In a small community where everyone knew everyone else, it was easy for people to figure out he hadn’t always been there. The supermarket saw a lot of different shoppers each day, and most were residents of the little town who’d lived there since they were young, or whose family had taken root generations ago and no one had managed to get out yet. Every day for almost a month, Junhong got the chance to become acquainted with all of the people who would come and go for their weekly or bi-weekly grocery trips.

However, despite his initial friendliness and familiarity with all of the different people he met during work, none of them really stuck. Of course, there were the gaggles of teenage girls who came in once every few days and used whatever flirtatious strategies that they had to try and court him into submission, but he never took them up on their offers of lunch or their phone numbers. That wasn’t what he was looking for, though honestly, he wasn’t actually too sure what he was seeking in the first place. But he knew it wasn’t whatever those girls were trying to solicit.

Every night that he came home from work, he’d check the phone that he splurged on during his first week of freedom. It was supposed to be the best one out there, but the only reason he’d gotten it was due to the alluring appeal that the salesman had made. He wasn’t too sure how to use it, but just by listening in on the customer’s conversations during work hours, he figured out what was popular and what was not. When he checked the social media that he’d been convinced into getting -- though it wasn’t really a convincing, more of an influencing -- nothing really showed up. At first, he wasn’t sure what to post, but the blurry selfie or vague update every once and awhile seemed to do it. He had gained a dedicated following of just a handful of people who only on occasion liked what he was sharing. That didn’t stop his heart from leaping into his throat whenever someone liked what he posted or chose to follow him. It felt as if he was making his own group of friends, though he’d hadn’t talked to any of them once.

Junhong didn’t realise the full power of the internet until an ungodly hour the night before he was supposed to work a fourteen hour shift. His sleeping power had reduced its irregularity, but that didn’t thwart every night that he tossed and turned. It had to have been around three fourty -- as he had checked his phone almost ten minutes prior -- when he finally gave in to what he’d been pushing off since he realised that the restrictions on his internet were finally down to nothing.

After turning the screen on and letting his eyes undergo the painful process of adjusting to the sudden bright let, he swiped the bar at the bottom and went straight to his browser. The first thing he did as his fingers hovered over the keyboard was think.

He couldn’t remember their names.

They had always been Mom and Dad to him, but he knew they had names besides that. Of course they did; no one was named Mom or Dad. Their surname was Choi, but typing in that didn’t yield anything he wanted. At a loss, the only thing he could think of to do was dig around in that box of things he’d taken from the academy for something that would help jog his memory. Though that didn’t get him anywhere either. How awful was he, forgetting the names of his parents? No matter how deep he dug in that box or how hard he tried to remember he just couldn’t find anything.

He felt like he was having a midlife crisis right where his life was beginning. How could he not remember? It was sobering, and it was more than enough to break down that barrier he’d put up around himself in order to forget the past. It didn’t want to be forgotten, but at the same time it did.