The Foreign Exchange Student - BTS - Jeon Jungkook

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◤COMPTON, CALIFORNIA◢
†

Life was as complicated as a walking a tight rope. Every time the sun would set, your journey across would finish, and you could finally rest. Every time the sun would rise, you would walk through it again. In a continuous loop, you would have to walk the tight rope and pray that you can keep yourself balanced.

But many have failed.

Many have fallen and many will fall. It's all a matter of how they carry themselves. There is no net to catch at the bottom. You could either fall or hang on by your hands. You can jump or you can take your time.

But you can never, ever, escape the rope. It's your lifeline.

The rope is a dangerous challenge, but it keeps you alive. Some ropes are weak, some ropes are strong. Some ropes are high and some are low. It's sadistic and it's cruel.

It's ugly, but it's necessary.

The problem with your rope was that no matter how hard you tried, at the end of the day, you barely make it out alive with nothing but the emotional burn marks on your hands from hanging on for so long.

And even when the sun set and your eyes closed, the rope didn't cease to end. There was no other side for you to get past. Because you weren't meant to live through your pain and Life wanted to make sure that wouldn't happen.

You had no idea what you were fighting for. You just hoped it would be worth it in the end.

†

     "What's this?" you asked upon entering your home. The screen door shut behind you and you looked up to see your Grandma behind the dining table placing the bowl of rice on the mantel.

You held a single white envelope separated from the rest of the mail in your other hand as you gave her a confused look. She returned the gaze and wiped her hands in her apron.

     "What does it say?" she questioned turning her attention back to the food.

     "It's an eviction notice," you replied coldly. Her frail and wrinkled hands stopped what they were doing and she stood there motionless, her eyes solely on the baked beans she was mixing.

You threw the paper on the table beside an empty plate and crossed your arms over your chest. She immediately went back to stirring the broth with her wooden spoon. It was clear you were annoyed, it was also clear that she was going to ignore you because of it

Her position straightened and she walked to the stove, opening the lid to a pot like nothing was said beforehand. Licking the inside of your cheek, you rolled your eyes and started to walk away. You weren't amused by her change of behavior and you weren't going to stick around to tolerate it.

     "I made some chicken, how many pieces would you like?" she asked grabbing a plate and placing the bits on top.

You scoffed audibly, and pulled out the chair to sit on.
     "One," you responded. She nodded and placed your plate in front of you, then adding the beans and rice. It was then you knew something was going on.

Grandma never served you unless she was guilty or hiding something.

"Abuela...?" you called. Your eyes burned holes into her, inspecting her carefully, but she made sure not to look in your direction. You leaned back against your chair and sighed.