Ordinary

Prologue

Ever since she was a young girl, she'd had an itch. It was a tingly little feeling in the back of her mind that refused to go away even as she grew up. She wanted to travel. She needed to travel. It was in her blood, her synapses, her very atoms.

Her parents, on the other hand, were quite the opposite. They'd found their lovely little corner of the world long before she was born, and they were both content and intent on staying in it. She, however, was not. By the time she was ten, she'd explored every nook and cranny of the sea-side village her parents had chosen. She knew exactly how many paces it took to get from her bedroom door to the very last plank on the dock. She counted the seconds every day until the mid-morning bell rang, then she'd speed to her classes despite already being weeks ahead of the other children.

Years were toiled away like that. Desperately finding new ways to make small things big adventures. Slowly, she ran out of ideas. At about fifteen, she called it quits. She stopped counting hours, and minutes, and seconds. She stopped counting her steps, and breaths, and blinks. She stopped pestering the few sailors that made a pit-stop at her village. She stopped trying to scratch her permanent itch. By the time she was seventeen she almost completely ordinary.

Almost.

Her dreams were still haunted with far off places. She fantasized about towering pines, and brilliant deserts. Far off lands painted her unconscious mind in brilliant colors. No matter how far down she pushed her desire to find new worlds, the second she closed her eyes, her intense need for adventure would resurface.

Still, on paper, she was just a regular girl. She finished her schooling, did as her parents asked, worked as a shop-keeper for the local merchant, and fought the urge to scream every time a long-winded customer felt the need to describe every item they needed on a molecular level. She felt herself shifting into adulthood, and although it offered exciting new possibilities, she mourned the potential loss of her wild imagination. She felt as though she'd left a major part of her life incomplete, like she was missing a homework assignment that would make all the other lessons click into place.

It was right around the time when her dreams shifted from life-filled pigment to muted pastel that he took an interest in her. His name was Dajin-gan. And he was about as plain as they came. He worked as a fisherman, making enough to live, and spent all of his free time sitting silently with the older gentleman in the bar across the way from the shore.

It certainly was not his mediocrity that kept her disinterested, but rather the glazed look in his eyes, and his utter contentment to live in the same house in the same village with the same people that his grandparent had lived with. Despite accepting her ordinary life, she refused to settle on generational placidity. The least she could do was marry a sailor looking to settle and build a new house. There was plenty of space, and more than enough material. The only thing she was missing was the sailor and the means.

Of course, her mother wanted her to settle. She was getting close to eighteen, and there were fewer and fewer young men for her to choose from. That, naturally, did little to calm her. If she waited too long, she'd be a spinster, but the sooner she married, the sooner she'd have to absolutely give up on the idea of ever doing anything new. And that was something she just couldn't do. At least, not yet anyway.

It was the night before her birthday when her mother called her into the house. Her father was at work, and based on the look her mother was giving her, she was not going to like this conversation.

"Darling," her mother started. "I think it's time you made a decision."

"About?" she played the part of ignorance.

"About Dajin-gan. He's been trying to court you for the better part of a year."

"You'd think he'd have gotten the hint by now" she muttered.

Her mother's eyes took on a sharper glare. "You need to take this seriously. If you don't settle down soon, then there won't be any settling to do."

"I don't want to settle, though!" She nearly shouted. "I don't want to live in the same house in the same way that all the generations before me did. I want. . . I want to--" she didn't know how to say that she still wanted to leave. That she still wanted to run. That she still wanted to live.

"You want to what?" her mother asked, voice curt but not sharp.

She heaved a sigh. "I want to leave."

Her mother gave her long, apprehensive look before letting out a tired huff. "Your father didn't believe me, but I knew you wouldn't give up." she paused, a sad smile just barely tugging up the corners of her mouth. "I've been saving, you know."

"For my wedding?" the girl spluttered.

Her mother just shook her head. "No. For your escape."

"Escape?"

Again, her mother smiled sadly. "I love this place. It's my home, my refuge. But -- it took me years to see it, but I finally understand -- it's your prison. You're not happy here. Your father and I are, but you're not. So," this time, her smile reached her eyes, bittersweet, but sweet enough. "I've been saving for you to leave."

She didn't know what to say. This was her chance, her moment, but suddenly, the reality of having to pack up and leave home seemed a lot more daunting than it did when she was a little girl. The only thing she could do was whimper out, "mom."

"It's okay, sweetie. I named you after the sun, Taeyang, and now it's time for you to shine."

She finally mustered up enough emotional strength to speak. "I love you, mom."

Her mother laughed and threw her arms around her.

"So," Taeyang grinned. "When do I leave."

Her mother laughed again. "Tomorrow morning. I already made arrangements."