When I arrived at my house with the help of Shinee's manager, I almost forgot to shut the door behind me because I was in a rush to flop on the couch. The armrest propped my feet up and I just stared at the ceiling. I laid there for about a minute like an idiot until I started to call out for my mom. Every syllable I shouted helped make my migraine, which only got worse at the Shinee's house. I figured she wasn’t home after the eleventh time I called for her. I got my lazy up to look at the black circular wall clock with two simple sticks to represent the minute and hour hands - 7:41 pm. It struck me that it was still the same day, it seemed like this day had been spread over a week. How can so much be packed into a single day? I figured my mother’s day was still going on as well. Around this time she would usually be boasting herself and her success to her colleagues and the people who admire her at one of her little dinner parties.

         My mother is a famous professor who teaches business and international studies at University of Seoul and has majored in three different subjects and wrote three published thesis about her career and interest and she has three thriving businesses. Don’t even ask me why everything is three...it just is. She has been looked up to by many college students who are way out of her league but she still throws gatherings at a hall she rents out just to boast how large she’s living. She is a very mature, independent and elegant woman. She knows what she wants and how to get it. She doesn’t take crap from anybody no matter what - not even me. Trust me, I tried. She’s one of those strong women who have raised a child all by themselves and is still paying her bills with no worries. In fact, she throws luncheons, dinner parties, and gatherings every other day like money grows on trees. Sometimes they are for important occasions such as when she’s published a book, she’s won an honorary award, or one of her students has “made it big”. They will be filled with her colleagues, subordinate college students, wine, and champagne. And also usually drunk colleagues and subordinate college students.

         Most of the students who worship her presence are males. They look at my mother with inquisitorial and lascivious eyes. This was because my mother is a rather beautiful woman who looks like she still living in her young years. Not a wrinkle dare touches her small v-line face. She usually wears her brown hair straight down which reaches halfway down her back; she doesn’t believe in haircuts. On occasions such as these get-togethers, she will sport a lovely up-do that fits her face well. While the men drool over her beauty and knowledge, women envy her. My mother doesn’t complain though, why would she? As soon as she walks into the room, young women eye her from head to toe and you can just see their self-confidence dropping. It’s pitiful yet somewhat fun to watc. My mother possesses many powers those women wish they had. If only they transferred well to me. Maybe my dad was also way out of my mother’s league, explaining why he flew to America.

         Yes, my dad flew to America; did I not mention my mother is a strong single mother? My parents split when I was two and my dad moved to America when I was three. My mother tells me that he was a dirty skunk bag who hated anybody else having a bigger title and being more successful than he was, that he couldn’t handle that my mom just so happened to wear the slacks in the family. Yes, slacks - not pants. He was a realtor trying to get his own agency off the ground. He would have meetings with other agencies, looking up how they run the business and hire employees and management and marketing and advertising and a whole bunch of other realtor business nonsense.

         “You know, I could always help you if you asked... not that any of us will though,” my mother would provoke him and chuckle right afterwards.

         “Your dad was a dirty bastard,” she would tell me whenever I asked about him, “One day, I just so happened to talk about the success of my latest party while your dad was in a ‘slump’ and he just struck me out of nowhere. It was awful. And you know me, I was going to press charges until he ran to America, scared out of his wits, like he had any,” she would say with a smirk as she washed the dishes. I have no idea if these are true facts are not. But, there’s no other reason as to why he would refuge in America now is there? Everything my mother says goes. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.

         I kept looking at the clock, only one minute went by. Time was going painfully slow but luckily the pain in my body slowly started to go away and was being replaced by swollen bruises. With my stupid, curious mind, I poked all of the bruises that were in sight to see just how bad each one felt. An “Ow” escaped my lips every time my fingernail even pricked the surface of the fledgling bruises. A bright purple bruise was visible on my shoulder and of course I poked it. It was the bruise that officially hurt the worst. I didn’t even dare to look underneath my shirt to see what marks covered my sides, remembering that the twin repeatedly kicked me in the side.