When I was 21, I spent the summer in Paris, France, with my best friend, Jung Wheein. I bought a one-way ticket there, thinking that was where I wanted to exist, where I could start over, where I could make a name for myself and where I could figure out the rest of my life. But I fell in love, hard, with a man I barely knew, in a country so unfamiliar. He was my first love, I'd say. My life shattered when my parents divorced, forcing me to go home and leave him behind. Neither Wheein nor I blamed myself, for Paris was supposed to be the city of love and romance yet my hometown was where my heart belonged and where I needed to be at the time.

Ten years later, I return to Paris for a second chance, this time by myself. I wanted to love the city and find the reason I'd stay there for the rest of my life but instead, I was greeted by a text of unfortunate news from an old friend about my first love. My life, again, fell apart. So for the second time in Paris, I packed up all the things I cared about in a suitcase that could barely fit all the broken pieces of my heart, and flew to Jeju Island to see him.