I never expected to move to South Korea. Australia was my home. It was where I was born and where I grew up. But after Mom and Dad divorced, Grandpa fell ill and called for Mom. She planned to leave on her own. My sisters and I were going to live with Dad until Mom came back. But I knew I couldn't just let Mom go on her own. It wasn't right to. So, after thinking it over, Mom and I moved to South Korea to take care of Grandpa. To say I was upset would be an understatement.

As a thirteen year old, moving to another country felt like the end of the world. I didn't know the language. I didn't know the customs. I didn't know the people. I didn't know the area.

I didn't know anything.

"Felix," Mom said as we unpacked the last of our things into Grandpa's house, "thank you." She smiled softly, and in that moment I swore she aged ten years. Her eyes were worn, low and drooping as if she hadn't slept in days. The light streaming through the window revealed the fine lines that were forming on her face. I could have even sworn that she was starting to have grey hair. "Thank you so much for being strong through this all. I know it's been hard for you." She reached out and held my face in her trembling hands. She pressed her forehead against mine, and I closed my eyes, finding peace for the first time since we moved.

Grandpa called out to us from the living room. He was saying something but I only understood a couple of words. Mom responded back, and the only thing I got out of it was "kimchi". I assumed that they were discussing what to eat tonight.

"Yongbok," Grandpa said as I walked into the living room. I inwardly cringed at the name whilst Mom openly grimaced. In broken English, he told me, "Study school. Study and be good. Work and stay strong." His face contorted into a scowl. "Not like him."

And by him, I knew he meant my dad. My hands curled into tight fists and I bit down on my tongue to keep myself from defending Dad. Dad wasn't a bad person. He was never a bad father. He loved me and Rachel and Olivia. And at one point, he loved Mom too.

Mom told me once that love was like a fire. It was warm and consuming at times. It was fascinating and dangerous. That's why it required constant care. If not, it would die out.

And I saw it happen. I saw the fire die out between my parents. It would be easy to blame it on Dad, since he was the one who wanted the divorce, but I knew it was more complicated than that. In the end, it was more right to say that no one was to be blamed.

"Yongbok," Grandpa said. This time, he spoke in Korean. I didn't understand what he said, but I nodded along, knowing that arguing with him was the last thing I should do.

Mom explained to me that there was a boy my age next door that was going to the same school as me. She told me that when school began, I should ask him for help.

My cheeks reddened as I imagined myself attempting to speak to someone in Korean. I could already imagine myself failing miserably and stuttering over my words. My palms got sweaty from just thinking about it.

"Why don't you come with me to say hi to our neighbors?" Mom offered.

I shook my head. I didn't want to go. I wasn't ready to make a fool out of myself.

"It'll be okay. They're nice people. I grew up with Mrs. Kim," Mom said. "The visit will be short."

Grandpa said something, and I think it was along the lines of, "Man up and go."

I kept shaking my head. I didn't want to go. I wasn't ready. Inhaling deeply, I shoved my hands into the pocket of my jeans to keep them from shaking. Mom reached out to place her hand on my shoulder. Gently, she nudged me towards the door. I dragged my feet as I shuffled over to the door.

I turned around to give Mom a sad look, hoping she would find some sympathy for me. Instead, she grabbed my chin and turned my head to face forward.

"Come on. We'll do this together."

—

Meeting Kim Seungmin wasn't as awkward as I thought it was be. In fact, it was a hundred times worse.

I had my head down as I greeted the Kims in broken Korean. It was clear from their slightly shocked expressions that they were not expecting me to be foreign to my own native tongue.

"Hello, I'm Seungmin," a voice said.

I looked up, surprised to hear English. A boy stood in front of me with a charming smile. Baby fat clung onto his cheeks in a cute way, and his eyes were shining as they scrunched slightly from his smile. He was a few inches taller than me, and was leaner. In the corner of my eye, I noticed a baseball bat in the corner of the room with more sports equipment. He must have been an athlete.

I flushed as I was at a loss for what to say. Though, Seungmin probably took my silence as me being unable to communicate.

Mrs. Kim said something.

"Seungmin is learning English," Mom translated.

Mr. Kim spoke. Seungmin chuckled nervously with an embarrassed expression as Mom and Mrs. Kim nodded excitedly. I rubbed the back of my neck and averted my eyes to the floor.

"Mr. Kim says that you should come over often. Seungmin can help you with Korean and you can help him with English."

The adults began to talk and we found ourselves in the Kims' living room, sitting in a circle on the ground around a coffee table. Seungmin was right across from me. He tried to talk to me, but I only managed to stare at him blankly until he gave up.

I tried to listen in on the adults' conversation. I understood bits and pieces and used context clues to figure out what they were talking about. Apparently Seungmin had an older sister who was in university, and someone was talking about a restaurant.

When I reached out to pick up the glass of water Mrs. Kim had given me, my hand was shaking and slick with sweat. The glass slipped out of my grasp so suddenly, and fell onto the table with a clink. A piece of glass broke off and water spilled everywhere. There were gasps of surprise and a sharp exclamation. I fumbled to clean up the mess, muttering out apologies to the best of my ability. 

As I moved to wipe the water away with a napkin and pick up the broken piece of glass, I felt a warm hand wrap around my wrist, halting my frantic movements. I looked up at Seungmin, and saw his kind expression. He gently pushed my hand away from the mess and cleaned it up himself. When my mouth opened, an objection poised on the tip of my tongue, his eyes narrowed slightly, and I knew that he was telling me not to do anything. 

So I settled on apologizing profusely until Mrs. Kim insisted that it was okay. She told me that she was clumsy as well, and had broken enough glass cups and plates herself. Her attempt to speak English made me feel ashamed for not trying to talk in Korean more. She was so kind and she was trying so hard to make me feel welcomed. 

And so was Seungmin, I realized. 

I looked my mom, wringing my hands together and I nervously told her that if Seungmin didn't mind, I would like some help at learning Korean. She smiled widely when I told her that. And when she translated my statement back to the Kims, I looked to Seungmin to gage his reaction. 

That charming smile was still on his face as he nodded, agreeing to help. He looked at me with his doe eyes, and said in English, "Yes, of course." 

And for the first time since we moved, I gave a genuine smile.