PART I: "Love is simply the name for the desire and pursuit of the whole" Plato, the symposium.

The chorus ended sooner than Moonbyul had expected and, before she knew, she found herself in front of the tabloid out of the class. She sighed, seeing the names of her classmates already written. Of course Eric and his friends would sing a typical rock song, and problably everyone was going to clap for them.

Reluctantly, she grabbed the pen with more force than necessary as she wrote her name on the list. She didn't doubt abour what she was going to play; a easy piece of piano who would let her spend the less time possible up in that awful stage.

Actually, that was a lie. She kind of loved the stage. She wasn't really confident in her singing but she considered herself a pretty good dancer. If she wasn't so shy, in another world, maybe she could see herself becoming a performer. What she love the most, however, was writing songs with her guitar at her room, alone, far away from everyone.  If she could leave the boring Squahamish, where she was confined to, she would pursue a career as a songwriter for sure.

But she would never leave her dad. Never, ever.

Now that she had already written her name or the list, she could try to forget the recital was even going to happen and keep going with her life.

Some people would hate living in the anonymity but she didn't mind it one bit. She had always had good grades, and a lot of time to spend alone or with her father. Sometimes it was hard to remember when it wasn't just her father and her, when her mother was still alive and she didn't know what the word 'cancer' meant. But she kept a picture of her inside her guitar case, trying to remember her as much as possible.

Well, truthfully there was another person with whom she talked; no other than her teacher Mrs. G. It was lame to count one of your teachers as a friend, but as Moonbyul sat at class listening how she explained Sartre's theory of existentialism, she found it true. 'Hell is other people' her teacher wrote at the blakboard. 'Yes, indeed', she thought as she took note of what she was saying.

She kind of enjoyed her classes (or at least, she didn't want to sleep in them like at the others). But, eventually, the alarm rang, signalling the end of the class and, thank god, the end of the school day.

“5000 wor