//00//

“What is the last thing you remember?”

“Going to school.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” was her immediate response, and then she chewed on her lower lip. “I’m eighteen, right?”

The doctor sighed and rested his forearms heavily on his knees, leaning forward in his seat. “No, Daesung-shi. I’m sorry to say this, but it appears that you have lost five years of your memories. You’re actually twenty-two.”

//00//

“Well, look at it this way,” her mother said cheerfully. “At least you get to come back home and eat your mother’s homemade meals.”

After making a full recovery, Daesung was discharged from the hospital. However, she left the building with five years worth of memories lost. Amnesia, they called it. It may take her from months to years to fill in those gaps from when she was a senior in high school to the day before she was involved in the car crash incident. In Seoul, of all places. What was she doing in Seoul?

Daesung pulled her gaze away from the blurring images outside the window and turned to her mother. “Why would I be away from home in the first place? Why didn’t I find work back in Incheon? My background report even mentioned that I didn’t take an extended education.”

Which was something that she found to be funny because, even though she didn’t hit it off well with the books, she pretty much grew up with life’s steppingstones already planned in mind: finish school, go to college, get a job. It was supposed to be an uncomplicated future, and it made her curious as to what could have drove her off course of her intended path to the one that she still wasn’t aware of.

“Something about wanting to try things differently,” the woman next to her said as she twisted the wheel. “You never told me much about it, dear, so I don’t know.”

“What about my current employment? Won’t the person who I’m working for be upset that I’m missing?”

“To be honest, I don’t know about that. You might want to call your employer about what happened once we get home; I had your phone packed in one of your bags. I’m sure you have his or her number in your contact list.”

And if she did, what then?  She was probably fired for her absence and inability to call beforehand in the duration of those two weeks that she was in an unconscious state, anyway, and it wasn’t as though she could go back to work, whatever her job may be. Nevertheless, it would be best to make contact with some because, who knows, perhaps her adult self had some worried friends who were uninformed of her current situation.

With that in mind, Daesung began to wonder if she could transition from an eighteen-year-old to a twenty-two-year-old. Could she adapt to the developments she had unknowingly made that seemed to have progressed so quickly? While it was obvious that she could never go back to her former life—either one of her lives, actually—until her amnesia faded, could she find herself in the reliable hands of those who had known her before?

It was a comforting thought, but it left Daesung unsure. Would they even accept her as she was now? Would they be awkward and strange knowing that she was not the same person they knew, especially considering that she was reduced to the mindset of a mere high school girl?

Daesung drew herself in as the radio sang the gentle thrumming of violins, cellos, flutes, and other instruments that she could never specifically identify that chorused together in sweet melody. Her mother loved classical music, and although Daesung hadn’t cared for it before she couldn’t help but be swept away in warm nostalgia. For some reason, it felt like it had been so long since she listened to classical music.

//00//

The ride back home ended halfway into Ode to Joy. Daesung slid out of the car and took out her luggage from the trunk. Half a decade passed and yet her house and neighborhood hadn’t changed in the slightest, it seemed.

“Do you need held carrying your things to your room?” her mother asked.

“I’m amnesiac, not incapacitated,” Daesung joked, smiling. “I’ll be alright.”

Her mother stared at her for a moment before inserting the key into the lock. “It’s nice to see you lighthearted, Daesungah; it seemed like it’s been forever since I’ve seen you smile,” the woman sighed. Before Daesung could inquire what her mother meant by that, her question slipped from her mind when she took in the unexpected appearance of a girl who she had never seen before.

“Oh, Aunt, you’re back,” the girl said. Her eyes then settled onto Daesung. “And unni’s here too.”

Daesung blinked in confusion. She knew her?

“Ah, that’s right. Daesungah, you remember your cousin Minjiah, don’t you? You used to watch over her when her mother and I would talk.”

The surprising information sank in like a dead weight. Minji? That Minji? The shy seven-year-old Minji who used to follow her around? The little Minji who she used to forsake her twelve-year-old dignity to play princess and dragons in order to satisfy the younger?

With wide eyes, Daesung took in the girl’s appearance. She was older and…very different. She wasn’t sure what surprised her the most—the fact that there was a rather stark contrast between the sweet and demure child she remembered to this poised and glamorous stranger before her, or what this older Minji was doing in their home in the first place.

She couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. While Minji had grown up well, Daesung wasn’t sure what she looked like; she wasn’t given many opportunities to glance at a mirror, after all. Aside from that, Minji, who should be nineteen, now, was certainly nothing what Daesung was like the last time she remembered inspecting her reflection.

“O-of course, yes, hello,” Daesung found herself say. She bowed, in which Minji returned.

“It’s good to see that you’re alright, unni,” Minji said, and the sense of discomfort was amplified at the idea that someone psychologically older than her, in a sense, was addressing her as the elder.

Flustered, Daesung only nodded.

“Minjiah’s been staying with your father and me for university. I’m sorry that I forgot to mention it to you, Daesungah,” her mother said.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Daesung reassured. She put on a smile because it seemed to be the only appropriate thing to do. “Well, I’ll, uh, be going to my room now to unpack.”

Retreating to her room after what happened downstairs was probably cowardly of her, but staying was stifling. Shaking her head, she reached to her door and entered.

Things at home had changed after all.

Her bedroom was shockingly empty. Gone were her plushies and blankets, her rug and poster, her books and stationary. The place that was once her refuge was now very unfamiliar to her; it was now an empty white room. As one becomes older, one would place little value in old possessions, she supposed with a sigh of resignation. The one thing that remained timeless was the vanity pushed to the corner of her room. Makeup stains and lipstick smears marked the surface of the desk from past attempts on painting her face, and the noticeable chipped edges conveyed her carelessness whenever she ran hard objects against it.

Daesung closed the door behind her and walked up to the vanity and peered into the mirror for the first time in so long. Broad face, small eyes, large nose—of course, she didn’t expect to magically transform into anything different; she didn’t dare to hope for too much. She looked older, probably a bit too much for what she would have wanted her twenty-two-year-old self to be. Had she been undergoing a lot of stress? Did she regularly drink? The concern regarding her outward aging was nothing comparable to her hair, however.

During her time spent in the hospital, Daesung was aware of her short tresses, but she had no idea that her head would be a shock of golden brown with streaks of yellow instead of the usual black. Why didn’t her mother tell her that her hair was dyed? She also didn’t realize that the heavy bangs that hung above her eyes and the of her neck would make her look like…well, like this. She looked like a man.

She looked ridiculous.

Whatever image that the other Daesung was trying to produce…she wasn’t going to put up with it. When she first discovered that her hair had been lopped off, she was devastated; she liked her long hair, that being the one thing that made her feel pretty at least—she didn’t understand why she would come to the decision of getting rid of it all, even going to the point of having it bleached.

She ran a hand through her hair and frowned at the stiffness of her locks that were once soft and silky. The future that she was waking up to didn’t seem that great so far, she decided.

Lowering her arm, she figured that she might as well unpack her belongings. She crouched to the floor and ped her bag, only to find a sleek mobile slip out. That was right—she needed to call some people. She grabbed the phone and briefly inspected it before turning it on. Being the owner of a Smartphone didn’t make this day a bleak one after all.

Once it was on, she went to her contact list, ignoring the bombardment of texts and missed calls, and scrolled down to see if there was someone who was titled as Boss or something of the sort. There was none. She then went to the list of missed calls and settled on the most recent one being from someone named Jiyong, who called four days ago.

It only took three rings for the other person to answer, hearing him explode furiously, “Yah, Daesung! Where the hell have you been?”

Startled, she quickly pulled the phone away, clumsily juggling it after nearly dropping it. The other line screeched through the small speaker of the device before falling silent. With great hesitance, Daeseung pressed it back to her ear and gave a meek, “Hello?”

“What’s the matter with you? You sound like you’re walking into a lion’s den or whatever,” came the peeved response. “Listen, do you know how long you’ve been gone? Three weeks. You suddenly disappeared into thin air—poof! And what did you leave us? Nothing: no messages, no calls, no note. You better have a legitimate excuse; otherwise, your is mine.”

She winced. Ineloquence ignored, could it be that this man was her employer? She couldn’t imagine to ever befriending someone who would forthrightly snarl boorish things to her, although she never would have thought that she would go around donning hair like hers. Either way, she didn’t like the idea of being associated to him right now.

“Um, sir,” Daesung began, unsure how to address this Jiyong person. Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say as he didn’t take it well being referred to as “sir,” hearing him sputtering and hissing.

“You little…! You have some nerve mocking me, don’t you?” he demanded hotly.

“Wh-what? No—“ She was cut off again.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I change my mind—I don’t want to hear it. Look, I don’t have the patience to deal with you now, not after the stunt you pulled on Seunghyun. Just come back to the bar tomorrow with an apology prepared, Kang Daesung, or else.” With that said, there was a click and the other line went dead.

Bewildered, Daesung could only stare at the phone in her hand.