It’s quite surprising that though my sleep is short, my dream feels awfully long. In my dream it’s my birthday, and I’m throwing a party. In my dream I’m turning six years old, and my parents—my parents, they’re there, alive, smiling happily like the proud parents they are, as they watch me playing with the other kids. My birthday’s celebrated at a venue far from our house, and not only my peers are attending the party, but also my father’s colleagues and some important guests. Probably here to close deals with him.

We kids are having a blast, and there’s a girl named Bunhong, Mr. Choi’s daughter, the only kid whom I genuinely like. She’s wearing a party hat and hands me a charming pink box with a ribbon on it. “Heebinnie! Saengil chukhaeyo!” she kisses my cheek and hugs me.

“Gumawoyo, Bunhong,” I say, with the same sweetness. I see her looking over her shoulder and pouts. “Where is he?” she mumbles. She catches sight of this kid who looks exactly like her only it’s a boy, and she frantically flaps her arm at his direction, telling it to come over. It kind of bewilders me how the parents of this kid could allow their child to have such funky hairstyle. The hair of this boy is blonde.

He wears this grumpy expression on his face with his arms folded, obviously impatient. He tells Bunhong, rudely, “Ya Bunhong-ah, Eomma and Appa won’t be here tomorrow for our birthday so they said we should celebrate today, remember? Come on, let’s go!”

Bunhong, clearly the nicer one, nudges the boy. She introduces him to me as her brother, but I could hear her, barely, as I am deafened by the sounds all around me. When she’s done talking she forces her brother to offer his hand in a handshake with me. The boy reluctantly does so, and as he stares back into my eyes there’s something familiar in them. Oddly familiar. Grotesquely familiar. “Happy birthday.” He says in a low, mysterious voice.

“Thank you.” I respond. We shake hands, but only for a very brief moment. He lets go first, and he turns to his sister. “I’m going to the car first. I’ll tell mom my twin is having too much fun in her friend’s birthday party,”

She sticks her tongue out. “She says I could stay a little longer!”

“Yeah, right.” He walks out of the scene.

My dream then shifts into another scenario, but I know it’s still the party, just maybe when it’s over. Having opened one of my gifts I’m already hyped up; one of my friends just gave me a set of colored pencils that I so coveted as a child and another one gave me a new sketch book. I hurry and show it to my parents, to a room in the venue where only the organizers are allowed, and just when I’m about to enter I hear yelling. They’re yelling. They’re yelling at each other. It terrifies me to the core; being the innocent child I am, for I have never seen my parents like this. So I run away, wherever my legs take me, crying. When my legs tire out I am at the parking lot, which still has many cars parked since only a few visitors have left the venue. I squat down behind a car and sob bitterly, covering my eyes. I wail, as loud as I could, thinking no one would hear me, but then someone does, eventually.

“Why are you crying?”

It’s Bunhong’s brother.

I look up at him, a thick cloud of tears obstructing my sight. I could not answer him since my throat’s too tight to speak with.

“I thought a birthday is a day when you should be happy.” He states. I don’t respond. “But then whatever your reason is, I’d understand, because my birthday won’t be as happy too, maybe…”

I manage to say between my hics, “W-when i-is your b-birthday?”

“Tomorrow. October 15.”

“W-why do y-you think it won’t b-be happy?”

“My parents are leaving for the States tomorrow for a business trip. So we should celebrate together today. Eomma, Appa, me, and my twin.” Then he grunts. “Where in the world is Bunhong, anyway?”

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