​ FOREWORD 

Stray locks wisped in Yongguk’s line of sight but the boy couldn’t care. Curious eyes trailed butterflies fluttering about the humble garden of his grandparent’s home on the quiet island. The lad watched carefully as two butterflies played tag, weaving through the stems of purple flowers in flight before flying towards the blinding sun. Yongguk lost track of the pair, not because of the sun, but because of the raven strands veiling his eyes.

“Why don’t you just get your hair cut?” his brothers’ voice came afar.

“It helps me connect to the world. Cut my hair, and you cut my connection.” He replied feebly.

His cultured sister’s eyes didn’t leave the device between her hands. “We’re not in the age of dial-up internet now Yongguk. Haven’t you heard of 2G?” Yongguk pouted as his brother laughed.

“The best way to connect with the world is by finding wind messages.” Yongguk’s grandmother spoke up, fingers working dexterously on the knitting needles nestled in her fingers. Little Yongguk clambered over to sit beside the woman who smelt of home, watching the yellow ball of yarn unravel and form what could be his new sweater for Christmas.

"You’ve never told us about the wind messages" the boy prompted, the yellow yarnd between his soft little fingers.

"Oh right!” Clearing the elderly woman began. “Let see. if you write a letter, and let the wind carry it, the one who replies is your true love." This little revelation seemed to catch Little Yongguk by surprise.

“True love?”

“True love.” The woman nodded, raking her fingers through the lad’s hair the boy keened into her touch. “Do you believe in true love?” he asked quietly. A subtle nod of his head made the woman smile.

Pen to paper, the lad scrawled letters of distorted shapes to his little hearts’ content. A mental picture to mind of his message before he folds the letter into a paper plane, the little boy smiles as he stands atop the balcony of the upstairs bedroom. A little fist gripped the railing, while the lad mustered his strength and threw the plane with a poorly timed push - "if you write a letter, and let the wind carry it, the one who replies is your true love" – the lad watch in awe as a plane flew away with a perfectly timed.

Two decades pass, at 28 a man stands in front of a stream, but the tranquillity of the scene does little to ease his mind of a childish thought. Yongguk was a complete hopeless romantic, and his pursuit in search of true love proved unfruitful. His last love had taken all of him, but she was missing something very important; sincerity. “It would be wise to give up my search for true love,” he breathed aloud. The glee of a gentle breeze blowing fell short as an object hit his temple. Yongguk looked around carefully, but no one was around here except for him. At his feet lay a paper plane. “To BYG…” He had finally received his reply.