Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
┈┈∘┈˃̶ＨＯＮＧＪＯＯＮＧ˂̶┈∘┈┈
" 𝐎𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐡𝐞."
The past few days have felt like being caught in a relentless storm. Unable to spend time with Seonghwa because of his father's vigilant oversight, I've felt the painful necessity of pulling away from the whole group, one by one. Each step back was a reminder of the widening gap between us, a gap enforced not by choice but by circumstance.
It wasn't merely the distance that hurt; it was the way Seonghwa's father scrutinized me each day as he came to pick up his son. The disgust in his eyes, sharp and condemning, cut deeper than any words he could utter. His stern tone, directed at Seonghwa whenever our paths crossed, carried a clear message of disapproval and warning.
Seonghwa's responses were subtle but telling. Each discreet glance he sent my way was tinged with sadness—a silent acknowledgment of the strain his father's disapproval was putting on our friendship. These moments, though fleeting, were heavy with unspoken words and shared discomfort.
This tension, this forced segregation, amplified the feeling of not belonging. It wasn't just about being separated from Seonghwa; it was about feeling isolated from the entire group. The camaraderie and warmth that had once drawn me to them now seemed like a distant memory, overshadowed by the cold reality of social boundaries and prejudiced perceptions.
As each day passed, the isolation became more pronounced, the interactions more strained. The smiles were fewer, the conversations shorter, and the meetings less frequent. The vibrant dynamics of our group, once a source of joy and belonging, now felt like an exclusive club from which I was gradually being expelled—not by my friends but by the rigid expectations of a societal structure I had no control over.
I found myself wrestling with the unfairness of it all, the way arbitrary standards determined by birth and wealth could dictate the connections between people. It was a painful lesson in the realities of the world—one that I was learning at the cost of personal relationships that I had come to cherish.
Each day's end brought a mix of relief and sorrow. Relief that I no longer had to endure the scrutinous gaze of Seonghwa's father, and sorrow from the growing realization that the friendship I valued so deeply might never be the same again.
As I sat secluded in the corner of the library, the familiar weight of a book in my hands and headphones set firmly over my ears, I tried to immerse myself in another world—a world far removed from the complex social hierarchies that dictated my reality. The music played a muffled soundtrack to my thoughts, serving as a barrier against any unwanted interactions, a shield against the whispers and looks that seemed ever more frequent.
The understanding of Seonghwa's family dynamics, their expectations and the image they upheld, was not lost on me. I knew they operated within a realm where relationships were often transactions, meant to enhance status or consolidate power. In their world, social circles were carefully curated, each member chosen for their potential to elevate one's social standing or influence. Seonghwa, caught in the midst of this, was expected to align with peers like Yeosang, San, and Wooyoung—individuals who were 'made from the same cloth,' whose backgrounds and aspirations mirrored the elite standards his family cherished.
