Three

"Nobody knows that she's a lonely girl,
And it's a lonely world..."
-Girl on Fire, Alicia Keys

JunMi was a product of my mother’s lack of caution with men. Exactly like I was 24 years ago, born with a father who had vanished right after he knew he would have an offspring in the form of me, JunMi was the result of the same situation.

But, no, my mother was not a —even though she’s gorgeous and had that body any woman would kill to have. If she had been a , I sensibly would have had a lot of brothers or sisters that came after me.

Yet I only had JunMi. And my mother and I had him 15 years after I was born. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist or a complex math equation to figure out that my mom’s not a . But, yeah, she’s that naïve to have allowed herself to be smooth-talked by a regular customer from the run-down diner she was working at as a waitress. From her experience with my father, whoever in the land of Chissamba he was, she should have learned her lesson, didn’t she?

But she didn’t. Then again, I didn’t love her any less. I loved her and loved her more with everyday, simply because she’s the coolest and sweetest Mom on Earth.

Like when I was five and started asking about who my Dad was, she pointed Ronald McDonald to me. Discounting the mischief that played around her eyes and lips at that time, I had believed her. I even boasted it to my kindergarten classmates the day after. Only to have discovered five years later that, of course, it wasn’t true. But I didn’t get mad at her. Since I was somehow a little old and a tad capable of understanding when I had found out, I fathomed she wasn’t simply trying to mess with me; she just couldn’t find in her heart to deliver the awful news. Because, really, how do you say, “honey, your father didn’t want you and that’s why you’re growing up without it.”

It hadn’t been easy. And surely, it would have also been a little painful …to not be wanted by the other half that created you.

Well, yeah, it had been.

Good thing, my mother was awesome. And so living without a father or a father figure had not been a big deal for me after all.

Unfortunately, even if I kiss fate’s all I want, bad things will still happen in someone’s life. And in my case, it was that my Mom died three years ago from a tragic accident, which left me and JunMi under the care of her sister, Aunt Yunah. But if I had thought that ‘bad things’ had already ended when fate took my mother’s life away, it was just part one of two. Because as if fate wasn’t satisfied enough, it also took JunMi’s away. More than a year ago, he was diagnosed with a genetic kidney disease that had 50% chances of getting cured. Otherwise, he was going to die.

And he did die, months later of unsuccessful treatment.

The memory of JunMi—his gentle smiles, his love for peanut butter and ketchup and G-dragon and guinea pigs and Dr. Doofenschmirtz and his silly inventions—they’re still fresh in my mind that I couldn’t help but cave into tears. He was young. He could have been an astronaut. Or a lion trainer.

But more than being regretful for the life JunMi could have been living and enjoying up to this day, the tears were more for myself. For the shame that I never took the choice of seeing him alive and for the last time say goodbye.

Because I had been too selfish to pick that choice. Knowing how much sending JunMi off would pain me.

So I tried to live my own life instead. Like I didn’t have a brother who was ill and dying, I flowed through the current of every day with a smile on my face.

While at it, someone had stepped into my shoes and took responsibility in the best way that he could.

Someone who actually took the time to write letters to JunMi. Someone who, though discreetly, visited when his tight schedule permitted it. Someone who unknowingly made a tiny miracle and gave my little brother additional days.

Someone who I was trying to pay off now.

And I badly wish he’d allow me to.

----

Maybe offering a once-highly-revered-but-now-ignored fallen idol as the face of a start-up charity doesn’t constitute helping at all, or more so, doing said fallen idol a favor. But it is, and it will be, if only Mr. Kwon will give me a chance.

I didn’t know how much this adorable 1-year-old Sharpei, which I just saved earlier from the hands of an abusive owner, will help me turn Mr. Kwon’s decision around. But here the both of us were, at the front of his house, about to plead for the second time.

Contrary to the first occasion I visited which was filled with loud music, today was silent. But I didn’t open the door even if I had this itch to do so. You know, to merely check if it was locked or not. Because if it’s not, he seriously needs some scolding. Just because his home now is way smaller and obviously shoddier than his condo unit doesn’t mean it couldn’t attract robbers. Okay, maybe not robbers, but kidnappers. Or murderers. Doesn’t he remember that over the months he destroyed himself, he has incurred a lot of haters?

At last the door opened, welcoming my sight with none other than Mr. Kwon himself. He looked different today. Different meaning he didn’t seem to be drunk. He still appeared rugged though with the stunted facial hair going on. The plain white shirt and torn jeans he was donned in punctuated that look even more. Had he hummed Payphone, maybe for one second I might have mistaken him for Adam Levine. A Korean version, that is.

 He stared at me for some seconds. I did, too. Until he finally decided to shut the door on me without saying anything.

I gasped. And before the door came to a full close, I was fast enough to lay my hand on it and put it to a stop.

“Go away,” Mr. Kwon ordered. There was no brazen display of fury, but his rough tone implied his clear indignation towards my presence.

A smoke rose up from his other hand and that’s when I realized he had a cigarette. He was smoking. I hated smoking. But I didn’t chew him out for that. Doing that might add another rejection ground—as what Minjee had termed it—into the list and the last thing I wish is for that to happen.

“Can you please just listen to me?” I begged, keeping my hand on the door although his effort to shove it has dwindled.

“Didn’t I do that yesterday?” he reminded me with furrowed brows. “Which let me tell you was a. Total. Waste. Of my time.”

This is hands-on learning self-control. To not cringe in pain. To not retort crudely. To not walk away pathetically carrying in my arms my dignity that died. Mind you, I was doing a pretty good job. In no time at all I might absolutely be able to master it.

“Actually, no, you didn’t,” I replied. “You haven’t even heard half of the deal.”

“Really?” He said, voice sarcastic. “Well, the answer remains the same. I’m not interested, nor will I ever be.”

“You do realize I will not stop until you say yes, right?” I sort of threatened him, and I hate that I have to sort to that.

But why does he have to be unaccommodating?

Nonetheless, it seemed as if this threat-making had helped. Mr. Kwon gazed at a distance, seemingly ruminating. Then he turned back to me, embittered, and opened the door wide. “You know how to cook spaghetti?”

I almost smiled victoriously. But I didn’t because it’s still too early for that. Who knows, maybe he’s just trying to bluff me again. Something like the stunt he pulled off yesterday outside the coffee shop.

“I can cook it even with my eyes closed,” I said pompously.

---

“Your pig peed on my floor.”

I turned to where Mr. Kwon was sitting for the last 20 minutes, watching me as I cooked while he guzzled his bottle of Budweiser. Perplexity was written all over my face at his recent statement. “What pig?”

He pointed the rim of his beer toward the Sharpei, which wiggled its body first before galloping to the living room, leaving a small puddle of its urine for me to see.

“That’s not a pig,” I corrected. “That’s a—”

“I don’t give a ,” Mr. Kwon interrupted. “It peed on my floor. Clean it up.”

“Do you want a spaghetti or a urine-free floor now?” I smiled in mockery.

He didn’t say anything, but his stomach grumbling made his answer all too clear for me.

When I was finally done and gave Mr. Kwon a plate of hot spaghetti in red sauce, I sat across him and watched him eat. There was a stupid smile on my face, probably because I found him enjoying the food—the food that I cooked. Although, if I’d be honest, it didn’t actually matter as much as I noticed that his cantankerous mood had eased up, leaving an open window of opportunity to lay out my proposal to him again.

“So about Roof-A-Dog—”

“No.”

My brows instantly wrinkled together in sheer aggravation. “But I cooked you spaghetti!”

He looked up from his plate, chewing. “Yes, you did. Which, as much as I really hate to admit this, the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“It would have tasted even better with… Nooooo!” I sighed, leaning heavily on the rear of the chair. One flattering remark about my cooking and I got distracted.

I pulled myself together. “What will it take for you to represent my foundation for free?”

Mr. Kwon almost choked. “Free?” He almost yelled the word, much more when he repeated it. “Free?! Any good reason why that detail didn’t crop up in our discussion yesterday?”

“Well, how about you leaving the coffee shop right after almost beating up a kid? Is that good enough of a reason for you?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

He narrowed his eyes at me for a response. He looked damn annoyed but he knew I was right. “So free… Let’s say your job offer is interesting, which is massively not, why would I agree to it without getting any payment in return?”

Excitement rippled through me. He’s showing, at least, a bit of curiosity and I couldn’t have been any happier. “Because this project is good for you to start all over again. To move on from getting heart-broken and ruining your reputation. But this is a two-way deal, Mr. Kwon. You help me get more donations and potential good foster dog owners, I help you build your image up again.”

Mr. Kwon looked doubtful as he pursed his lips and stared blankly at his pasta. But in taking a moment to be silent, I was positive he was contemplating about the things I said. “And how does representing a foundation that rescues dogs can help me build my image up again?”

At that point, the Sharpei had returned, settling beside my boots. I picked it up and it my cheeks. “Because dogs are adorable. Much more when they’re abused or abandoned. Like Jolie here.”

Mr. Kwon cocked an eyebrow. “Jolie? Like Angelina Jolie?”

“Or Jolie Andrews.” While I giggled at my (lame, I know) attempt at humor, Mr. Kwon assumed a deadpan expression. I rolled my eyes at that. I wasn’t really much of a fan of his’ to begin with, but when he guests in my favorite variety shows, he had always exuded that jaunty, boy-next-door aura. So when did he become Grumpy Grandpa? Oh yeah, since his girlfriend dumped him four months ago. “Look, one of the best ways to gain empathy is by showing your compassionate side. If people see that side of you with dogs, you’ll be back to the G-Dragon that everyone loved and respected in no time at all.”

For a second, I saw his dark brown orbs glinted, and the hope that he’d finally say yes ignited within me. But it was just probably the light, illuminating his eyeballs when he shifted positions from his chair. “I have one more question.”

“Shoot.”

“How does a fallen idol help you get donors or foster dog owners? Don’t you think my newly-found horrible, disgusting reputation will shy them away even more?”

I nibbled on my lower lip. He had a point. Though horrible and disgusting are a bit of an exaggeration. Well, at least he’s aware of what had become of his reputation. His reputation that certainly no positive adjective could describe. “That’s for me to take care of. Besides, you’re still free of charge. That matters to me more than anything else.” I lowered my gaze to the table, tracing circles on it. “Seeing that I’ve run out of funds for—”

“Why are you doing this?” he interrupted. Again. He really does have the habit of doing that, doesn’t he?

My attention swiftly shot at him, bafflement masking my features. “Doing what?”

“Helping…” He had a hard time articulating the word. I wondered why.

I was tempted to divulge the things he did for JunMi. But I decided to pop it in at one corner of my mind. This wasn’t the right time to tell him that. After all, I wanted him to agree to my project for himself. I wanted him to accept my offer because I sold the idea of helping him to merely help him, not through a series of events from the past. Because that’s what he did with JunMi. No questions asked, no payment in return, he tried to help a poor, sick boy to stay alive for as long as he could.

“We all need help, Mr. Kwon. It’s about time you have yours. So…do I have your yes or not?”

Mr. Kwon let out a loud, long, and deep breath, which must have scared Jolie because she squirmed within my clasp. I was forced to let her down on the floor and sprinted to God knows where. I wasn’t able to see; my eyes were glued to the guy, waiting with my breath held in my throat for his answer.

Finally, with a shrug, “yeah…sure.”

It didn’t matter that he sounded so lifeless, so unenergetic. It’s enough that he agreed and that made me Katherine Heigl-giddy. “Yes! Oh, thank you! I guess I should be going now. I will be working on your schedule for Roof-A-Dog events and will contact you tomorrow for that. In the meantime, keep Jolie here—”

“What?!” he roared, and my skin almost leapt out of my flesh from shock. “No ing way! Take it with you. I don’t need a pig in my house.”

My lips pressed together in restrained irritation. “For the second time, that’s not—”

“And for the second time, I don’t give a !”

“You should seriously stop doing that!”

“Doing what?!”

“Interrupting me!!!” I let out a loud huff. “Look, Mr. Kwon, you think you don’t need a dog, but you do. Trust me you do.” I stood up from my chair. “So I’m leaving Jolie here whether you like it or not.”

Then I stomped out of the kitchen. The moment I reached the porch, letting the door close behind me, I paused to lean on it for a while. No matter how committed and determined I seemed to be with having Mr. Kwon in my foundation, I dread the days I’d be working with him. Truly. Nevertheless, with the picture of JunMi coming into my thoughts, I was rekindled with another burst of fire to help the fallen idol. 

~*~

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