What Are We Searching For, Really?

11.

—6:31pm.

"Won? Won??"

"Yes, dad?" I called, taking my earphones out and pushing my sketchbook away.

"Your mom's back in town. Lets go for a family dinner."

I resisted the temptation urge to groan as he stepped into my room. "Sure. When are we leaving?"

"In twenty minutes. I need to sort out some files before we can get out."

"Okay, that's no problem. Thanks," I said, smiling. As soon as he stepped out of the door, I started getting ready while Ferry played on the floor with a tinkly ball.

When my fluffy cat pyjamas fell to the ground, I stared at my bare legs and felt a frown creeping onto my face. When did they get this thin? Did I just not notice?

Unsteadily, I stepped onto the weigh and focused on the little arrow swinging back and forth, finally landing on the number forty five.

"This is...not..." I trailed off, having no term to explain it. After a couple moments of trying to figure it out, I gave up and slipped into a pair of skinny jeans and a thick cream-colored hoodie with an odd blue star in the middle. I noticed how it didn't-or couldn't-cling to my body at all. I was losing my figure.

"Dad?" I yelled out the door. "I know this is a random question but is forty-five kilograms underweight for me?"

"Why do you ask?" he questioned, stepping out with a stack of papers in his hand and a cup of half-finished coffee in the other. My dad absolutely refused to drink anything other than coffee at home, apart from water. Mom disliked how he drank so much coffee on a regular basis; at least 2 cups of double espresso a day. She, on the other hand, only drank tea. She says coffee will make you less beautiful.

"Because I weighed myself earlier and it says I'm forty-five kilograms. I used to be forty-eight."

"Well, in Korea many young girls will do anything for that kind of mass. But in a normal society, you are in fact underweight. Your body mass index is currently around fourteen, which I think severely underweight."

I winced when he said the word "normal", though he didn't say anything wrong. "I suppose I need to eat more."

He heaved a heavy sigh. "This makes me feel very bad. I'm sorry I'm hardly ever home to check up on you. Look at your state now."

"What do you mean, my state?" I hissed, the words coming out harder than I wanted them to.

He gave me a look; a mix of surprise and disapproval. I clenched my toes together and bowed my head. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. I just meant that...your mother and I can't be good enough parents for you. I didn't mean anything other than that. I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. I'm learning how to manage myself," I muttered, not thinking twice about lying.

"Thank you for being so understanding."

"It's the least I can do."

We knew what the true meanings of our words spoke. Our expressions were the same. I smiled at him and he mirrored it, both of us heading back into our rooms.

He's telling me he can't take care of me, and he never really has. And I had to deal with it.

Simple as that.

And the thing is, I don't-or can't-resent him for it.

---

"We're here!" My dads chirpy voice blasted through my ears as I groggily tried to escape my dreams. As I lifted my head from the car seat, my neck screamed at me and I winced internally, trying to stretch it out.