TRACKSiDED

ANNYEONG

Abby is used to my vanishing operations; I'm the cause of every gray hair she has. She and Aidan argued a lot because of me. Abby played the substitute mother, and her couple suffered. She'll be relieved to see the prodigal child is gone; she deserves a break.

My sister shouldn't be a victim of my behavior.

As for my parents, that's another story.

Since the accident, we haven't met. My parents are like Harpe seals; they just abandoned us in nannies' hands. Abby was lucky; my father didn't possess the Midas touch when she was born. My grandad had to kick the bucket for him to reach Eldorado with his heritage. When Abby was little, Rebecca went through all the mother bonanza, but the struggling years were over at my birth, and she signed out from the bonding.

Phew, at least a few circumstances explain why I became one of those precious spoilt brats portrayed in teen fiction. One could imagine they made the stereotype in my image.

Trust me, younger; I took the cliché to the zenith with my Icarus wings, which burnt.

A taste of metal fills my mouth, some thoughts and words are triggers, and the word burn brings back the accident's stench and sensations. I shudder; the person next to me tries to move away as though I released a silent but yet stinky fart.

At this instant, I'm happy to be wearing shades. I should have brought a sun cap like the middle-aged ladies put on to avoid the sun rays. It would allow me to avoid the stares; it's very efficient. You feel invincible like Darth Vader with one of those on; yeah, I need one.

Before, I was one of the extravagant girls who laughed loud and reeled in all the attention. The red-haired and party girl more Caliente you die. Yes, I was one of those girls; everyone appreciates for no reason whatsoever - all smiles and always down for an adventure. What increased my popularity was the lack of parental control. What's worse was kids found my parents cool too.

"Lucky, Jane, she can do whatever she wants."

Idiots.

Now I'm an awkward wreck; every stare makes me want to crawl under my skin. Sometimes I instinctively touch my forehead or back as though someone would tag or label what I am on me.

I'm ashamed of being alive, breathing, and eating. My soul howls and claws inside. The guilt is what affects my interactions with people. Being self-aware of every factor that traumatizes me without doing anything about it is even more frustrating. That's why my plan has to work otherwise.

Otherwise, what, Jane?

This time I'll do it. I'll go through with it for real.

One life is nothing compared to the three I stole, and what's worse is I don't even think my life is enough, but it's better than nothing, right?

Right?

Fooling myself is all I can do, so I do it daily.

My gaze travels in the wagon, and I look behind me and watch the tiny islands surrounding Incheon airport fade.

"Annyeong," I mutter. It's the first time I take public transportation from the airport to Seoul. Usually, a chauffeur came and picked me up.

The scenery is beautiful and frightening; what looks like a vacation is a lifetime endeavor for me; this is my pilgrimage for absolution, the last straw.

People try not to stare, but I know what they think, here's another 외국사람 [waéguk saram= a foreigner] come to live the Korean adventure.

Some old folk smile; I like the old folk here. The elders seem harsh at first, but they consider you like their child when they warm up to you. Koreans are family people; each member appears to live and die for the other.

There are burdensome obligations, but that's a family. No one wants to deceive or disgrace their family; it's not like it doesn't exist in the West, but it's something the Austen family bypass.

Sometimes I wonder and wish I had those types of parents, the ones who nag and ground you. Yeah, responsible parents, perhaps all this shit wouldn't have occurred. I wouldn't have become this drug addict. Blaming others is another thing I major in, according to Dr. Harvey.

An old lady sitting across from me leans over and hands me a tissue. The gesture makes me realize I'm crying under my shades.

"감사합니다," I utter while I nod.

See, they're kind; Koreans hospitality and empathy are beyond any comparison.

Just for that, I wish I was Korean.

Thank you for reading.