I never really knew why people kept on telling me that my family was not normal. I had a loving mother that would cook me a meal each morning and kiss my head at night before I went to sleep. I know I never really had a father figure in my life, but why does that even matter. We were still a normal family of two.

                I was five back then; when my grandfather found out that my mother had a daughter. He suddenly stormed into our apartment building one day demanding an answer to his questions about where she has been for eight years. I was confused at first but then he suddenly grabbed mother's arm roughly and dragged her towards the door, eyes fuming with rage.

                "You can't take her away!" running to the man and aggressively pushing his knees. His eyes subtly calmed at the sight of a small child trying to defend against someone three times her size.

                He knelt down to my eyelevel whilst whispering words out with a sigh, "is she taking good care of you?" He asked softy, no hint of anger in his voice as it was previously emitting. I looked into his eyes, pouting slightly with an immediate nod. He just stared for a while, contemplating on my actions. He breathed out a loud sigh and ran his hand up his face meeting the whiting locks on his head in a deathly grip.

                "I'll come and visit. We'll talk later." He just left like that.

                We got more visits from strangers after that incident. My mother could not stop her tears whilst embracing each person. They were my relatives as I have found out. I had two uncles, an aunt, and a cousin. I was told that he was 14. He had a side fringe of dark hair accompanying a small smile. It was a wary one at first but after I went up to him a held his pinkie; a glorious dimple was dawned on the side of his face. My cheeks were squeezed constantly after that day; whenever he would visit.

                My uncle would eye our home weirdly whenever he came over. "You don't have much here do you, sis?" My mother simply waved her hand in annoyance to dismiss the subject. That day I saw my mother refusing to accept a bulgy yellow envelope on the kitchen counter. Their visits decreased significantly after that.

I knew something was wrong when our meals became routine – toast and eggs in the morning, a cheese sandwich for lunch and rice with limited side dishes for dinner. It wasn't really a bit deal since I didn't each much anyways, so I pushed the problem aside for later discussion to when I actually got bored of the things I ate. I would smile at every meal and grin whenever my mom gave up some of her side dishes for me.

                She was going out more as well. Whenever I fell asleep she would go to her part-time delivery job down the road. She thought I didn't know but the door creak would give it away every night. I was somewhat sensitive to sound, that's why thunderstorms freak the hell out of me.

                Our meals would significantly decrease whenever there was a storm. I knew it was because of me. My mother would stay with me those days, holding me tightly until the storm passed. She didn't go to work.

                I woke up one morning to the familiar smell of eggs and toast; my eyes cringing at the convenient stream of light that had seeped through the crack between curtains. The back of my hands reached up; rubbing my eyes at a vigorous pace.

A yawn escaped my mouth, then a cough, then a sneeze. The dust seemed to mocking me as they danced past the beam of sunlight at an unknown fast pace, considering how there was no wind in the room – must be a draft. Hands down; knees bent over the bed, I walked towards the floating smell; eyes clearly not yet opened.

                Sitting back down was the hard bit. My hands roamed to find its destination. A soft laugh could be heard until gentle guided me towards a wooden stool, patted me down onto it and forced a fork into my right hand.

"Wake up, silly" she joked, hitting the back of my head with a gentle touch. Prying my eyes open, I smiled a goofy grin and stared at the given plate placed in front – a slice of toast and half of a fried egg. It was not a luxurious breakfast but it was filling to say the least.

                Our usual lunch routine was interrupted that day. My mother told me to go outside to play instead. She promptly gave me a dollar for my lunch and told me to come back when it was dark. It was strange for me considering how I was still only eight years old and already given the responsibility of free time without parental guidance. But, I didn't question her actions because her face said everything to me. It was of a silent determination and guilt written on her face. But, now I know she just didn't want me to witness anything that was going to happen in there.

                I gave her a weak smile and slowly turned after saying a simple 'goodbye.'

                The street I walked on was all too familiar but anything that was beyond was untreated territory. I knew my way to the park but that was about it. My mother never seemed to take me shopping but I didn't mind. So I wanted to kindly ask a stranger walking by where the nearest market was, but no one seemed to notice me.

                I am small but this is just outrageous.    

They did give me however, the occasional glare. I knew who there were – local residents of this area. I've seen them walking around from the balcony of my apartment before, they seemed to ignore the existence of my mother too.

                One man was kind enough to stop and notice my frantic display of digression. I noticed that his hair was of a defined black, bouncing softly as he knelt down to meet my eyes. He was considerably pale for a male in his teens and I would have regarded him as an angel if it was for the large amount of colour he was wearing – not white. No wings either. He had a smile of a thousands watts that made me instinctively smile back at him.

                "Do you need any help little one?" His voice glowered in an angelic tone. I simply asked for directions and he gracefully pointed and detail described the way to the nearest market in town. Not too far away it seemed. I said my thanks, bowed politely and then smiled again.

                "Junmyeon! Hurry up!" A distance voice proclaimed. He simply smiled again, before waving a goodbye and speeding off in an unknown direction.

                I never really reached the market because on my way there, there was a stand selling cream puffs for a cheap price – forty cents for one or three for a dollar. Standing on my tippy toes, I asked for three cream puffs; slipping the dollar onto the counter for payment. The lady gave me them whilst handing back a five cent coin saying that it was special service for the pretty lady standing before her.

                I simply walked and roamed after that opting to visit the park for the remaining time I had before it got dark. Night took longer than I thought it would but it came soon enough. When I got home I was greeted with dinner and a smile on my mother's face. Nothing had changed or so I thought.

                This was now a weekly routine for me. Once a week my mother would give me a dollar at lunch, I would set out for a journey contently buy cream puffs on the way, received a five cent coin as a special, visit the park and return home to a homely cooked dinner.

                Food became more luxurious as weeks passed by. It was a subtle change at first such a orange juice for breakfast instead of plain water, but after our heating returned to the apartment and the lighting was no longer cut off we could suddenly afford to buy meat. We seemed to have more money even she no longer went out at night to do part-time jobs. It was strange but who would argue in this situation?

                I even started school; that was the biggest change in my life. I was a bit old to simply enter junior high at the age of nine. So I skipped a few grades and was just put into the designated grade I was supposed to be in – if I had started school normally. It was strange at first; I didn't get the functions and formality of schooling but I fully adapted once gaining the basics of it. Bow at teachers, raise your hand up to answer questions and do your homework. It was easy compared to the books I'd read at home. Although my mother had stopped borrowing from the library since last year; I simply borrowed them myself after I started school.

                My mother's smile seems forced now. She was always tired when I returned home from school and eventually stopped cooking for me. So, I simply cooked for her instead. I didn't mind. She wears long shirts and hooded jumpers now, no more of those summer dressers that she always used to wear. She still looked pretty and I would tell her that every once in a while.

In return I would get a hug and a muffled cry, tears running down the side of my neck.

                My mother only sends me out on Saturdays now; and the park would always be empty on weekends. So I was fed up with the park that Saturday, wanting to venture deeper into the park beyond the swings and play area. I was ten at that time, so slides did not seem as fun as before. There was a field down the path. A group of teenagers were playing soccer on the green grass, running and aiming after the ball. They seemed like they were having a lot of fun, one screaming his lungs out whilst running for the ball. I noticed that the angel was there with them, he was smiling again and I knew he was really having fun.

                Music was being blasted somewhere along the path further in the distance, the occasional cheer too. I pushed through the crowd and searched for the event that deserved this amount of cheers.

                It was a dancer – body flowing rhythmically to the beats of the music; hands twining and hips swaying to the melody of the tone. It was a powerful dance that was somewhat executed gracefully as the rhythm continued on. Sweat dripped down his face, meeting the pavement and his hair was ultimately drenched because of it. Smile turned into a grin, then a devilish lip bite and seductive scowl. He was the definition of perfection – for a dancer that is. I couldn't help but crouch down to a comfortable position and watch till my heart's content.

                The crowd began to thin as time passed by, until it was only left with me. The dancer seemed engrossed in with his dance. It has toned down from its previous ferocity as his endurance wearing thin. The music finally ended; chest erratically on its rise and fall, lungs searching for its all needed air. He finally noticed me and my smile that was emitting light.

                "Don't you need to go home? Your parents might be worried for you," barely gasping out and his breath has still not returned to its usual pace. I looked around and noticed that the skies were already dark – panic creeping up slowly. I hastily nodded and turn to walk off.

                I heard footsteps running off after me following after my step. Glancing behind me the dancer the dancer had his hand outstretched for holding.

                "I should walk you home. Girls should not be walking alone at this time of night," whilst smiling he shook his hand once more requesting for me to grab it. I simply took his hand and led him towards home.

                It was more or less a silent journey. He told me he was Kim Jongin and that was about it. Around half way through the walk he simply pick me up and carried he home – saying that he just felt like it. When we arrived at my apartment building, he gently knocked on the door, keeping me situated in his warm arms.

                My mother answered the door after quite some time, shocked at the revelation that she was not home yet and also in a stranger's hold. A man walked past us after saying a 'see you next week,' and simply left. I didn't know that man. I showed my gratitude to Jongin and he left with a smile on his face, candy wrapper in his hand. My mother had also thanked him before he'd left.

                It became routine from that day on. Every Saturday I would be sent out, buy my cream puffs, receive a five cent coin, go to the park, visit Jongin – which then would take me home and then be greeted with an unknown stranger fleeing from my apartment building. He would ask me every time if I knew the man, but all he was given was a eye twitch every time.

                The turning point in life was the day I had collected 403 five cent coins and was about to receive my 404th one. Four years since I was eight - a total of 404 weeks since my mother had started sending me out. That day I never did receive the last coin because the lady did not have a five cent coin in her possession right at that moment. It was the first time that I had ever actually paid for the full amount for three cream puffs.

                The rest of the day was normal to say the least. I had visited Jongin and he'd had taken me home. It was strange at first when my mother had opened the door and there was not a stranger in sight. She did however seem a little panicked.

Jongin left like normal. It was just like any other day with a small mishap. That's all.

                But when the door closed, I was thrashed to the side. My back hurt, it was searing with an unknown pain. There was a man hovering above me, eyes hazy because of alcohol and my mother trying to desperately hold him back. There was no sound and the world seemed to move in slow motion. He slowly raised his arm – ready for a punch. His blow was not strong but what made me scream a screech of fear was his ring that had cut through my left eye. A pounding began to vibrate off the side of the walls; my head beating along with it. The pain was immensely cut off suddenly when a blow to my abdomen set another scream of fear.

                The door was knocked down and Jongin began busting in with a bag of cream puffs, Yixing in follow – phone in his hand. Silence was all I could see. The world turned a deafening black.

                Next thing I know, I had woken up in the hospital – observing the white room through one eye. No one was in the room. It felt cold and distant even though it was the middle of summer. Breathing became my daily routine.

                Things moved quickly from there on. I was put in an orphanage because my relatives did not want me. My uncle said he could not afford to have another child; my aunt – his wife agreed. My other uncle did not want to have anything to do with me after he'd found out what my mother was doing for a living and I had found out that my grandfather had passed away recently.

      So, no one wanted me. I was left alone.

                The orphanage was also silent to my presence. Most of them were scared because of the scar on my left eye.

      I had heard that people were going to volunteer at the orphanage but I paid no attention to it.

      But...

                He came in with a smile – graceful elegance to his step and eleven men that followed. Although it was not a daily or even weekly thing I wanted them to become my routine.

But even they could not become that.

Still a family of two, a normal one at that. Me and my jar filled with $20.15 of money.