Knowledge is power.

            Yet, Wendy—no, Seungwan, now—reminds herself that with the power, comes the burden and responsibility behind it. It is something no right person would want, and something she definitely did not ask for.

            Was it perhaps her utter dislike for such matters that caused fate to land this on her?

            She sighs in resignation, at the pile of notebooks and record books she was told to sort out. Important Council work, Yongsun, an upperclassman told her once it was handed out for Seungwan to encode. (“It’s grunt work for all the new Student Council members,” Namjoon, a fellow class representative whispered to her once they were out of ear-shot. And once she feels the full weight of her burden.)

            Truth be told, Seungwan did not have a clue as to why she was chosen to be a member of the student government. A transfer student fresh from another country, whose Korean was not exactly in top form, it left her baffled when one day, she was assigned the job of being a class rep.

            “It’s your grades. Every year, they pick the student with the best grades in a class,” Soojung explains to her one lunch period, when Seungwan laments over her role.

            “What about leadership skills? Popularity? A vote?”

            Soojung just shrugs sympathetically. “That’s how things are done here, apparently.” She eyes the pile of notebooks at the side, “Why don’t you ask someone to help you?”

            “Seungyeon took half of it.” The girl refers to another one of the new members. She swivels her head around, until she finally spots the willowy girl, all poise and grace, bent over a laptop on a nearby table. “She’s a new Council member, too. Like me.”

            “Ah.”

            Soojung doesn’t offer to help, and Seungwan doesn’t blame her. She didn’t see how she could help either. The girl turns her attention back to her textbook, muttering words under her breath, and Seungwan rubs her neck, stretches her fingers, then continues to type on the school-issued laptop.

--

A purple notebook drops out and lands with a soft thud on her bedroom floor.

            Seungwan squints at it first, before bending down to pick it up. She looks in the direction it had fallen from and she realizes that it must have come from the papers and books she had decided to bring home. With its dusty texture and odd smell, Seungwan suspects it must have come from the Council room. Where a variety of items are left to rot and mold.

            She studies its cover and flips through a few of its pages. And it leaves her puzzled.

            It is thin. Unlike the other record books, it doesn’t look as used as the others with its smooth cover, and bland label-less appearance. If anything, it looks personal. Like someone owns it.

            Or owned it, judging from the dates of a few of the items it came with.

            She sets it beside the edge of her computer.

            A fuzzy memory of a sunbaenim, Joohyun, the pretty one who likes to keep to herself rises from the back of her mind. Seungwan recalls her saying something in that soft voice of hers when she came to her with a cardboard box in between her arms.

            A few of these have been gathering dust in my home. We honestly have too much stuff here, so it would be great if you could sort these out for me.

            She then went on to apologize, saying that she would help if she could, albeit her helplessness when it comes to technology would bog them down. (Somehow, Seungwan knows she is telling the truth, so she accepts it with a ready smile on her lips.)

            Seungwan stares at the blank lavender cover.

            She wonders if it is Joohyun’s.

            With hesitation, she reaches out to grab it. Fingers caress the paper, before flipping it open.

            Knowledge is knowledge.

--

Knowledge is power.

            Such is the case, that it gives Seungwan a sense of vertigo. A new perspective. With the cost of the burden that comes with a secret lying heavy within.

            It feels like having the carpet ripped out from under you, and finding that underneath is another dimension. An endless fall to know more, and more, and more from the vast expanse.

            It feels like looking at the inside of a kaleidoscope. Seeing things from another angle, a whole other point of view.

            Yet, moreover.

            It feels like having her eyes opened and cleared.

            Rose-tinted lenses.

            Seungwan’s stomach sinks. Yet her heart beats in anticipation. Her mind races.

            She fears that she may well know firsthand, the true meaning of having those glasses removed.   

To see things in a positive light. To have a rosy perspective. That is what it means to have rose-tinted lenses.

Seungwan fears that it may have shattered when her eyes flit over the neat handwriting, telling secrets and whispering its owner’s innermost desires.

--

I hope you never see this. I hope you never know. Because I want you to keep calling me cabbage, even if I hate it.

            To know would break everything that we already are.

            This is ridiculous.

            I’ll probably get over this phase. Probably.