Kim Jongin wasn’t always the weird disabled kid, in fact he was quite normal, extraordinary. When he was younger, he could hear and see like all the other neighborhood children, was in ballet, just as passionate and bubbly as anyone else. He never was picked on until he fell ill at the age of five. Fatigue soon caught up with him, along with fever, he was bedridden. Being that it was the mid nineteen-seventies, not many doctors in their small town were able to help much, all they could do is give him medicine for his fever; hoping he’d get better, not worse. He did get better, slowly, but at the same rate started experiencing troubles seeing, hearing following after. Doctors claimed him to be the second Helen Keller, deeming him legally deaf and blind when he was ten years old.

Jongin had quit ballet to spend his time learning his way through this new life, things falling apart around him, but not without him noticing. Though, he was unable to see or hear, his remaining senses heightened, especially touch. His parents divorced after he recovered, and soon the calloused hands of his father’s no longer existed in his world, only the soft and gentle ones of his mother. The same hands that taught him to use Tadoma and fingerspelling. For years up into his junior high career, Jongin was mute, never confident enough to speak aloud to anyone but his mother.

As he got into highschool, he made a friend or two via the special classes he took, but those were the only ones for all four years. He cherished them for as long as he could remember, even now that they are in college they keep in contact. His mother passed away his sophomore year, so he’s been living with one of his friends and their family, even dorming with him on campus.