"Find me."

I jolted awake. The room I was in was bathed in a dull gray; the moonlight bled through the tattered curtains of my wide window. I reached underneath my pillow and almost had a panic attack until I my fingers enclosed around my pendant.

I looked over at my bedside table to my left. The digital clock flashed 3:30 A.M. Such an ungodly hour! I should still be asleep. School will start in a couple of hours and that damned school bell waits for no man...woman. I can't risk getting caught at another tardy sweep. The discipline head already warned me of a severe punishment if I get caught for the fifth time this month.

"Month...Month! Yoon Jin Hee-ssi, we have barely begun our second semester and you of all students have already managed to break so many rules! In record time none the less!"

Jin Hee smiled, but it quickly turned into a pout when Mrs. Choi narrowed her eyes at her.

"Don't you dare smile! As a new student here at Seoul High Academy, I had expected better behavior from you."

Jin Hee bowed her head and let out a barely audible sigh.

"I am sorry, Mrs. Choi. I will try my best not to cause any more trouble."

Mrs. Choi turned her head upwards and stared at the ceiling, letting out a frustrated groan. Yoon Jin Hee, the bane of her existence. She swore that the kid had been sent by the devil himself. How does one manage to rig the school P.A system to play TVXQ's "Catch Me" on their first day of school? Not to mention the food fight she had initiated...

"I promise you, Yoon Jin Hee, a terrible punishment awaits you for any misconduct. And yes, tardiness is included."

Eugh. I shuddered at the thought of having Mrs. Choi dictating my high school life. It's my damn senior year and yet everyone's on my case. Let me enjoy my last year in prison, damnit!

"Find me," I whispered. Find me. What the hell does that mean? For the past six months, I kept hearing that voice in my dreams. However, try as I might, I never seem to be able to remember what the voice sounded like. I don't even know if it's male or female. All I remember from that dream is the phrase (or more like the command) to find "me". But who exactly is this "me" person? Could it be my inner self? Ha ha ha. Very funny, Jin Hee. You should be a comedian instead of an artist. You'll probably have better luck gaining support from your parents that way.

I sighed and slumped back against the hard wooden headboard of my matte olive bed. My fluffy pillows were pinned down by my since I was too lazy to move them upward to support to my back. Why does life have to be so complicated? Can't I just be one of those happy-go-lucky heroines in a korean drama that eventually wins the heart of a cold, heartless jerk? But no. Apparently life has a wonderful way of taking everything I love and using them against me.

Take art for example. For as long as I can remember, I had always been drawn to the world of art. Be it painting on the wall with my unsteady hands using my mother's brand name lipstick or sketching the beautiful horses in my grandmother's paddocks on the ground with a stick, I always had my hands dirty and head full of beautiful images.

At first my parents had supported me. My mother willingly took me to art competitions. She beamed proudly whenever I won those huge- trophies and she patted me in sympathy while I cried after a loss. My father wasn't as supportive, but he never uttered anything discouraging. He even went as far as buying me my first adult sized easel for my tenth birthday. Life was sweet for young Jin Hee. I am quite ashamed to admit this now, but I thought my life would forever be rainbows and expensively wrapped presents.

Things began to go awry when I entered my first year of high school. My father was the first one to break the father-daughter bond between us. It all started with a meeting with a big-shot client and my barging in to tell him about an art competition I was recommended to enter by nearly all the staff in my school.

I guess I embarrassed him, but in my defense, the client was extremely friendly. He actually asked how my day was going and asked to see my work. Of course I politely declined to showing him my precious babies. I could barely handle handing them over to judges, for Christ's sake. Plus, my father was looking absolutely terrifying. Although he kept his "cool" composure, his steely gaze and sharp tone didn't escape my radar. I had to scurry or else.

After that dreadful event, my father began to distance himself from me. We weren't that close to begin with, but it still hurt a lot when he slammed the door whenever I tried to approach him or whenever he would push me back when I tried to hug him.

My mother began to drift away from me as well after this. She no longer took me to competitions- I had to find a way to transport myself there since she wouldn't allow our drivers to take me either. Eventually hugs and praises changed into curt nods and mono-syllabic greetings. It hurt... A lot. My mother was the closest to me, but she had always been a follower. If my father decided that red isn't a color, she herself will say red isn't a color. If father decided to ignore my existence, mother will make sure to erase my presence altogether. When I was a junior, she threw me out of the house with nothing but a luggage full of clothes and a credit card. A credit card. I wonder if father decided to jump off a cliff, would she follow after him?

Of course the fourteen year old me was confused. The fifteen year old me was hurt. The sixteen year old me was angry. And now, at seventeen-almost-eighteen, I could care less.

A wave of loneliness settled over me and I found it harder to breathe. The similar chest pains I felt when I was a freshman and sophomore returned. That empty yet self-pitying feeling that I experienced for those two years living with strangers as parents.

"Good night mom. Good night dad."