Prologue
REMEMBER ME (The Disappearance of Sandara Park)I don’t remember being a bad person. I don’t remember being someone incredibly inconsiderate and ungrateful.
I spent my childhood without any difficulty. Everything was right. Everything was enough. Everything was perfect. I’ve always been a happy girl. I’ve always been my dad’s favorite little girl and I always do whatever I want my way. But for some reason, being daddy’s little girl who lives in a wealthy family doesn’t determine my future. I mean I always thought I’d be like dad, or mom, I’d earn a lot of money and I’d buy whatever I want and go wherever I want. Maybe I’d become a genius composer or a supermodel or a famous painter, or maybe I could just become like dad, be a doctor, a successful and highly respected doctor. But none of those things happen. I suppose I’ve become one of those kids who grow up without purpose and live under their family’s name and money. Yes, I’ve become one of those kids.
And now, for some reasons, I’ve become a bad person. I’ve become someone I never thought I would be and I don’t think I’m happy now.
No. I’m not as happy as I was anymore.
This is a funeral. I’m supposed to be crying. I’m supposed to be screaming and crying out loud. But here I am, standing next to her grave, holding a bouquet of flower, not crying, and not screaming. I’m just standing in silence.
I remember her. I remember the first time I touched her face and when I kissed her sweet lips. Her eyes were my muses. Her smile and her laughter were what kept me alive.
I remember listening to her voice every time she talked her students by the telephone. I liked how ambitious and serious she is every time she explains something about how to open a man’s chest and save a life. It’s like she’s born a doctor.
I remember how happy and comfortable I was when she was next to me. When she caressed my cheek and when she brushed my hair with her long tiny fingers.
I remember how it to be left almost every night when she had an emergency at the hospital but at the other hand I was proud of her. She was a hero and the feeling of being loved and able to love a hero is just something that doesn’t happen to many people.
So I go
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