Wheein was 12 when her family moved back to their hometown at the North Jeolla Province—Jeonju, sitting at the heart of the Hanok village. Modernity and tradition mixed in one. Just like her. Her family initially moved out of Korea and resided in the States for a while, at New York City, nonetheless. The air never felt like home there. She had distinct Asian features and distinction didn’t sit well with the population she was surrounded with. Although she was able to join the choir there in grade school, despite the talents her mother reassured her that she had, she always felt like she was not enough. 

And then they moved back to South Korea. The air felt like home. She adored the scenery. Birds never chirped soundly in New York. It didn’t smell of gasoline and the rotting smell of garbage in an alleyway passing by. The grasses were real ones too, not synthetic. It all felt right to her heart. Until she’d open her ears at the school. She transferred halfway into middle school, that meant new environment—new people to deal with. Overestimating people’s kindness, she wore her smile and tried to interact with the rest of her peers. They never met her halfway.  

There it was. The cruel association with being distinct—exotic at most—at an environment she should be comfortable in and not singled out. She was born in this country, spoke just as the same, and moreover looked just the same. The place might change but the people never does. It’s a thought she constantly finds herself thinking, whenever she participated in class, whenever she walked around. Whenever she existed in this plane of existence. 

It became easier, for the lack of a better word. Honestly to her, it seemed like as life progresses, people care less about who you are in the academic field. Then there will be a restart when it all ends and everyone else imposes their own reality on you once again. She was a senior now, in high school, about to embark on her journey to college exams and eventually college. It never sat right with her how she’d also became a pioneer in the university’s high school choir, but if distinctions had to be positive, it was that she had an angelic and honey-like voice.  

It was one of the things she’d prided herself in. Choir was also where she first felt she belonged for once. They didn’t scrutinize her background and ‘foreign’ history. They listened to her voice and welcomed her with open arms. Although, there were always snickering and laughter in the background whenever the musical sheets were handed out by the pianist and she sometimes could not help but think if it was about her.  

Their adviser lets them take a moment after harmonizing on one chord for the last half hour. Wheein rearranged her bearings, relaxing her posture and finding herself spending the moment with attention awfully drawn to the sole pianist their club had for years. If she had to list one thing that was consistent throughout her life here was that it had always been the same pianist that’s been sitting two rows ahead of her.  

Ahn Hyejin. Wheein had fairly good memory. And she was certain there was a period when the pianist kept her hair in a really short cut—a tomboyish look that she sported a few years ago (she’d always liked girls with short hair)—Wheein wondered why she had decided to grow her hair longer. Not that she looked any different. She still had her charms.  

Charms? Since when was that word part of her vocabulary? 

The bell suddenly rings and that was the signal that practice was over and any leftover thoughts about charms and Ahn Hyejin settled at the back of Wheein’s mind.  

“Hey, Jung Wheein.” Moonbyul. The main alto of the choir called out to her. They’ve been hanging out for a while—well, Wheein lets Moonbyul take her where she wanted to and Wheein tries to enjoy the scene as much as possible. Moonbyul is one of the few friends, or only friend Wheein had genuinely stumbled upon to in this town. She didn’t take it for granted, in fact, she treasured their friendship, if she could call it that, very much. So, she looks up from where she’s sat, meeting Moonbyul in the eyes and not speaking any word except for a head tilt. 

“You look like a Jindo dog. Wanna hang out at the HT later? Usual time.” HT was code for Haven Town, a local diner that served all kinds of food. It had a modern ambience to it, the walls decorated with leaves and minimalist paintings. Sticky notes and polaroid photos crowded the bulletin board; it was the first thing a customer would see when they enter the diner. Students and workers in the area frequented the place. It was the ideal place to hang out. Wheein finished gathering belongings together and nodded at Moonbyul. 

“Sure.” she said, watching Moonbyul wave her goodbye whilst her attention still lingered on the pianist who was also making her leave. Only she might have been staring too hard because Ahn Hyejin looked at her direction. In that split second, million thoughts rushed into her head but the important ones were should she smile? or that Hyejin had an intimidating gaze, and should I breathe, I can’t, she’s looking at my direction? Hyejin stared at her for a couple of seconds, and in those couple seconds, Wheein ended up half-assing a smile and then Hyejin looked away. Feeling shameful at the pianist’s retreating back, Wheein’s shoulder shrugged. The ground better swallow her whole right now. 

— 

Friends was once an odd concept to her. She had her paintings and music. They gave her salvation while friends only imposed their idea of you and coerce you into acting like it. Uniformity. Wheein disliked that notion. She never felt privy to confining herself in spaces