you don't know how it started, your hobby of playing guitar and doing sketches of random people, buildings and sceneries that you would always have the chance of seeing every time you would choose to stay over at your Grandma's place and climb on her roof, spend the night there- stargazing and making wishes as you counted stars.

maybe it started when you noticed how you would easily forget things, people, and moments. moments you would swear to always remember but after a day, it's gone.

you thought it was wrong, it felt so wrong and you were guilty.

you don't know how it started, or when.

when did you start seeing people differently, when did you start judging them from their words and movements. you just did once, blurting out a blunt word that led to a schoolmate clutching on the hem of your homeroom teacher's uniform, crying because of what you said about him being selfish and a brat back in your elementary days.

you got reprimanded a lot, have been told a lot to just keep it to yourself if it won't do anything good to others, you were confused- you were told that you should talk when you want to, because talking starts everything- it connects you to others.

but you just agreed, keeping your thoughts to yourself as you didn't want to cause someone's crying again.

"minjeong."

"hm?" you hummed.

"what's your biggest dream?" your friend asked. you were at your school's garden, spending your lunch time in bliss as you had just managed to avoid getting a punishment from your English teacher.

dream, what's your dream.

you've always been ask of that by your parents and Grandma, your parents betting on you being an architect while your Grandma on you being a musician. while you- nothing, you had never thought of one.

you don't have a dream, you don't have anything in your mind.

you just breathe and live, like what you were taught of.

"nothing." the 14 years old you uttered.

"that's impossible!"

"It is." you cocked a brow up, eyeing her. "I just said it."

"you don't plan on being an architect or anything? I want to be a doctor! you know, you'd do a good architect, you're good at drawing!"

"why do you want to be a doctor?" you asked, avoiding the architect part as you don't see yourself being one- you don't dream of being one.

"to treat my Mom of course." your friend grinned, and you thought she was stupid for that. you were still so far, so far from being free from school.

how old would her Mom be by then? would she even still be alive by then?

you wanted to tell her that her Mom was dying (you know, you've seen her Mom at the hospital.) but you ke