(Okokok more lighthearted stuff as tiny break :) tysm for reading. This story's got 400 reads now which is rly crazy to me cause that's a lot of glances at this crazy thing and so i give my utmost gratitude to you all and ilysm😘 so have a fun chapter)
astrophobia (n.)
as‧tro‧pho‧bia
The fear of stars, celestial bodies, or anything related to outer space.
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My mother taught me how to lose my mind.
Unintentionally, of course. But as Mrs. Moon has always said about any good book: sometimes the most indirect is the most powerful. Sure, she was talking about Dimmesdale dialogue and romantic era parallelism, but maybe The Scarlet Letter had a point to prove about its complete directness; as profound as Hawthorne was, few ever walked away from the The Scarlet Letter with their own on their chest. People don't like being told things. Maybe because it eventually becomes boring to be talked to but never get to speak.
When my halmoni died, a part of my mother died with her. I knew they were very close, closer than she and her dad could ever imagine to be, and a mother-daughter bond is an inarguably primal connection. There was something different about losing your mother than losing anyone else.
I followed everything my mother did, even when I got older. If she washed the dishes with warm water, then soap, then cold, then so did I. If she talked with her hands, I did, too. If she cut her hair, I wanted to cut mine. If she loved the color purple, then it was my favorite. If she hated white chocolate, then I hated it as well. On and on and on.
It went that way with bigger things, too. If my mother would disappear when she was sad, then so did I. If my mother loved my father, then so did I. If my mother told me to work hard, I would. If my mother told me to smile, I would. If my mother told me to stay quiet, I would. If my mother could not be at peace, then neither could I. On and on and on.
You admire who you imitate. You imitate who you trust. And naturally, you trust who you love.
"Why isn't Umma eating with us?" I asked my appa the night after the funeral, the dinner table all set up with three bowls of kimchi-bokkeumbap laid out before us.
He sighed heavily, eyeing the bowl across from him where my mother usually sat. Something forlorn lingered in the gaze.
"I don't know," he said. "She's not hungry."
I frowned. "Then, I don't want any."
"Don't be stubborn, Seohyun. Dameogeo."
I did, but reluctantly so, and only because he was watching. But when my mother stopped coming out for breakfast, stopped making my lunches, stopped cooking dinner, and sentenced my father to having to go into their bedroom in attempts to feed her, I decided I'd make my own stand. Not in belief of anything, but more because I missed my mother. What she did, I wanted to do, too.
"Ya, wae an meogeo?" My father sat next to my desk one night a month later, frowning down at me. He pushed his palm against my forehead, his palm rough with the dry weather. "Are you sick?"
YOU ARE READING
Suicide Buddies
Teen Fiction"My mother once told me there are three, and only three, truly defining moments in your life. One: When you don't know. Two: When you realize you don't know. Three: When you know. This is about the third one." --- Angel Young is going to die. Or at...
