I loved Ilsan. 

I embraced everything about the city I was born and bred in for the first five years of my life. It was the city of attraction and shopping. Ilsan was vibrant and nothing short of the capital Seoul that I often saw on TV; Ilsan Lake Park was always the first place that showed signs of changing seasons; we had a mega mall that rivaled shopping streets elsewhere and most important of all; we had a huge TV station that was MBC!

So as a short and stout five-year-old kid who was curious about why the MBC building was blue like the sky, or that the shrubs around Ilsan Lake all seemed to grow in a perfect shape, you could imagine I was looking up a lot at things way beyond my height. Despite my rotund body, I was hardly breathless when I ran around exploring things in my hometown. Everything was gorgeous and exciting in the eyes of a child, especially a particularly cheeky one. I would pester old ladies at the bakery for what would make their bread rise, to which they would gift me free donuts occasionally. I would incessantly ask my mum why our neighbour had curls while she kept her hair straight, to which she would teach me the art of *beauty and make up*. 

Ilsan was everything I treasured, every fibre of soul in me was Ilsan. I spoke Ilsan, I walked Ilsan. Heck, if a guy was called Ilsan, I would date Ilsan. And that was a lot to five-year-old me, because we all know five-year-olds are dead serious about love and marriage. 

Ilsan was also where my grandparents lived. To put it in the least dramatic manner possible, they were the best grandparents in the world, and possibly the galaxy, wherever that extended to. The criteria were simple: they bought me a bike because they did not assume a fat kid like me wouldn't be able to ride one, and they allowed me to eat chocolates *and* fried food even on weekdays. Why my parents would ever set that rule was beyond me, but I was always grateful my grandparents were there to break this stupid rule with me. 

So imagine the joy when my parents announced the weekend before my sixth birthday, that I was going to stay with my grandparents for a *week*. Not that I didn't love my parents, but imagine the number of hours I could spend on my pretty bright yellow Spongebob Squarepants bike instead of homework! And all the donuts I could eat that week! That was probably the best decision my parents could have made. 

Although on hindsight I should have seen all the red flags and warning signs. 

Part of the reason why I was so overjoyed by the decision, was because I had a pretty rough week for a five-year-old for my birthday. 

For one, my best friend Namjoon started speaking in a foreign language to me all the time. He sounded really good at it, but then again Namjoon was always good at everything that had to do with studies. He could do the multiplication table up to 6x10 and that's insane! Some of us were still struggling with 4x9 and that boy was just there sipping on his banana milk while reading foreign language picture books. He had such a classy aura even then, it's unbelievable. He told me afterwards that he was actually speaking in English, and that it was important we learnt English because when we move out of Ilsan and travelled the world, we would need English. That was what his mother said. 
 

I told him that was silly because why would we ever move out of Ilsan, and I shouldn't learn English just yet because I hadn't even learnt how much 4×8 was. He looked disappointed by my reaction, so I told him I would at least learn how to say "hello" and "goodbye". He happily obliged.

The seco