Year 1995

Jinki-hyung! Come here! Hyung! Look at that cloud over there! Doesn’t it look like a dragon breathing fire? It looks angry, am I right? I’m right, right?”

“You’re right! He looks really, really mad!” Then the younger boy paused shortly while searched the sky for another peculiar-shaped cloud. “Hey! Look at that one! That one looks like my mom! When she yells at me to do my homework, that’s what her face looks like!” The two first graders immediately burst into laughter. Holding their stomachs tightly, they couldn’t stop the snorts and giggles projecting from their throats. Comparing a cloud with a real person seemed to be extremely amusing.

I carefully walked down the school stairway, holding firmly onto the hand railing. Gripping my backpack and walking stick securely, I attempted to walk pass my chuckling classmates.Don’t talk to me. Don’t call my name, please. Please don’t talk to me.  I was in no mood to speak with either of them. To my utter disappointment, the older boy named Jinki boldly shouted for me to join them. “Hey, new student! Want to watch the clouds with us? It’s really very fun! So far, we’ve already found a fire-breathing dragon, two stocky parrots, Taemin’s mother, and a dancing pig! Come on! What are you waiting for?”

I continued walking, pretending not to hear. Before being able to take another five steps,I heard their loud footsteps behind me. A hand tapped my shoulder fervently and a voice furiously barked, “Are you deaf, or what? Didn’t you hear me talking to you?”

“I’m not deaf. I heard you.”

“Why didn’t you answer me then? Whatever, I’ll ask again. What do you think of the clouds? Look at that one! What animal do you think that is?”

“I don’t know.”

Not a second more, I bolted down the street, leaving them both speechless and dumbfounded. A car beeped and I stopped abruptly. A familiar voice called out to me, “Minho-ah! Mom’s here to pick you up. Where are you running to?”

I heard her slam the car door shut and approach me with her quick, sharp footsteps. my hair gently, she guided me to the car, urging me to get in. Driving slowly, my mother asked me once more, “Minho-ah, why were you running? You know you have to-”

“It was nothing. I’m ok. I’m not hurt or anything,” I interrupted.

“Okay then. How was your first day of second grade? Was everyone nice to you?” She questioned me cautiously.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you like your teacher? Your classroom?”

“I don’t really know.”

Then came the complete silence. For the rest of the ride, she didn’t endeavor to start up another conversation. All that was left to hear was the soft running of the engine and the faint music sounding from the radio. I preferred it that way.

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Year 1999 

“Ahhh! Watch out!” My little sister cried out without warning.

Too late. Her bicycle rode across my left foot, sending sharp pains throughout my entire leg. I fell grasping my toes, hoping to stop the sting. Only six years old and casting away the training wheels, she stubbornly wished to learn how to ride a bike “like a big kid”. She had hurt my father just the other day; I should have seen it coming. My parents had not finished their workday, so I was put in charge of watching her until supper. Who knew a little helpful babysitting would be this agonizing?

“Oppa, I’m sorry! Are you okay? Is it bleeding? Are you bruised? Does it hurt?” She ranted frantically, almost on the verge of tears.”

“I don’t know,” I replied ignorantly.

“Should I call Mommy? Let me see it! I’ll get some ice. You need ice. Yeah, yeah, wait. I will be right back!” She continued rambling, running like an Olympic medallist back inside the house.

I sighed helplessly. These things happened frequently and there wasn’t much I could do to prevent it. I knock over objects daily, block others people’s way even more often, and end up in accidents like it’s my job. Life was a drag. I attended school, completed my homework, and helped out at home. Every day remained like a routine, boring as heck. I wasn’t excited by much, hardly entertained by anything, and simply waited for the days to go by. Breaking through my thoughts as usual, my sister swung our front door wide open, producing a loud clash that clearly announced she had successfully found ice. Without further hesitation, she placed the bag on my injured foot, causing me to cringe slightly.

She suddenly asked me a question. “Oppa, what do you think I look like?”

I automatically replied, “I don’t know.”

“Pretty? Ugly? Just normal?”

Same answer. “I don’t know.”

“Can you respond with anything else besides ‘I don’t know.’”

I didn’t answer. Obviously not the reaction she desired, she kicked me in the shin and stomped away without another sound.

“But I really don’t know,” I whispered to the empty air surrounding me.

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Year 2011 

“Sir. Sir, excuse me. Which brand do you think cleaned the stain better? Brand A or Brand B? We really would like your opinion on this please.” The young woman persistently followed me, tugging slightly at the corner of my shirt. With her determination, I knew she wouldn’t leave without an answer. But I also knew she wouldn’t like what she was about to hear.

“I don’t know.”

There was a slight break until she started up once more. “Please sir, this will only take a minute. Take a glance at our display poster here and kindly tell us your thoughts about it. Which white is whiter? A or B?”

I could hear the cameras rolling and her speaking loudly beside my ear. What is this? An infomercial? Taking off my sunglasses, I enunciated each word clearly, “I. Don’t. Know.”

She gasped—the expected reaction. “I-I’m so s-sorry, sir. I had no clue that you-”

“It’s fine. Can you please let me through?” I interjected quickly, wishing more than anything to simply avoid the forming crowd’s presence. Appearing on television was the last thing I wanted to do.

I was visiting Incheon, hoping to spend some quality time with my sick grandmother. I left early in the morning, skipping breakfast even though I hardly ate that meal any other day of the year. Hearing my stomach grumble, I knew missing lunch would be a terrible choice. The last visit was with my family when I was a little over ten years ago, so the town had become a bit unfamiliar. However, I would always remember the popular restaurant directly across the street from my grandparents’ cottage. It wasn’t too busy on Sunday afternoons, so I decided to order my meal there. Walking inside, the smell of grilled food and chatting of the workers felt exactly the same. Nothing had changed, thankfully.

A lady led me to a designated table and asked for my drink order. “Water will do.” I replied politely. She left me alone to ponder what I wanted to order. There was no need to look at the menu—I knew it inside out and backwards. There was many times my mother read it aloud to me, repeating the choices over and over again. Settling on the tteokbokki and kimchi soup, I ordered my dishes as the waitress returned with my glass of water.

“Minho? Choi Minho? Is that you?” A familiar voice questioned with excitement.

“Hyung? Changmin-hyung?” Why did I ask; I knew for sure it was he.