Weightless

o n e

Jisu Collins

        You know that feeling you get when you walk into a room and there's something out of place. You might not be able to physically see what's wrong, but it just feels off. That's how I've felt for the past eight years of my life. But instead of a room, it's an entire city.

        Flash back to high school, the beginning of freshman year. Now picture this: freshman me walking through the double doors, optimistic for the four years to come. That was my first mistake. Those over-crowded cesspools people call halls are where optimism goes to die. My second mistake was being born in a place where yellow glaringly stands out against an all white backdrop.

        Okay, wait. Let me rewind for a sec. Technically,  I wasn't "born" there. There referring to Berthoud, the city where I grew up. I was actually born in South Korea; however, due to reasons I have yet to fully understand and maybe never will, I was put up for adoption. And thus, I landed myself in Berthoud, Colorado. Hooray...

        I had what many would call a normal childhood. Participating in school events where parents would listen to a bunch of kids sing off-key, learning how to ride a bike I would inevitably fall off of, and attending awkward family get togethers where everyone felt that it was a necessity to comment on how big I'd gotten all happened frequently. Too frequently if you ask me, but that's not the point. The point is that on paper my childhood was just like anyone else's. The only difference being that when I looked at my parents, I couldn't tell you that I had gotten my mom's eyes or my dad's nose; I could only tell you that yes, they were my parents. That I knew I was Asian and they were white. That I was adopted.

        Now back to high school. Besides being the place where the majority of my sanity was lost, and any form of happiness I felt was brutally mutilated, it became my personal fun house mirror, minus the fun. Everywhere I turned, there was only unity. And not the good, let's all hold hands and sing campfire songs, unity. The bad kind. The kind that suffocated individuality until only a lifeless corpse was left. So every time I'd look at myself, I would only see a distorted attempt at the image everyone around me seemed to have. Berthoud High School practically became a neon sign that flashed, "if you're not white, something's off."

        Fast forward four years. Graduation. Just a single word, but it promised a freedom that I had been longing for for the entirety of high school. It was liberation. It was independence. It was escape. Or so I thought.

        Everyone told me college would be different.

        "You're going to have so much fun."
        "It'll be like a fresh start."

        I'll admit I had fun, and maybe the start was a little fresher than the dank halls of Berthoud HS, but let's be real, it's not hard to be fresher than dead fish. To sum it up, it was pretty anticlimactic. For all the hype adults shove down your throat senior year, college amounted to be little more than subpar. And I'm not talking about the education. Majoring in computer science was a fantastic decision, and the few friends I managed to make were decent; I even took Korean classes in an attempt to connect to a heritage I didn't get to grow up with. But here's the thing, I was going in expecting to find my place. Maybe not my place in the grand scheme of the world, but I was at least hoping to find somewhere that didn't make me feel like I was half of a whole.

        I specifically remember a meeting I had with my high school counselor senior year. She had told me that college would be good for me, and that it'd help me find my niche. I guess I let my expectations get too high because I'm here now, undergraduate completed, and I still feel like I'm in a room with something out of place.

Park Minhyuk

       What am I doing with my life?

        I've probably asked myself that question millions of times just this week. Having graduated with a bachelor's degree in biology a year ago, you'd think I'd have at least some of my shit together right now, but I don't. Instead, I'm working part time at a boba cafe, which, by the way, has absolutely nothing to do with biology, unless you count the digestive system, and I'm totally stuck in a rut. It's the prime of my life, I'm twenty-three years old, and I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.

        A vibration from my apron pocket disturbs my existential crisis. Looking down, I can't help the sigh that escapes my lips. Placing the buzzing machine back into my apron, I busy myself with wiping down the counters. A few minutes later, when my phone has stopped violently shaking my already fragile existence, I check the screen.

        4 missed calls from Ma

        Another sigh. Counting the four most recent, I've received at least twenty calls from Ma this week, and it's only Tuesday. I made the mistake of answering the first call yesterday; I swear the ringing in my left ear is from her. My mother isn't a particularly loud person, but when her only son is failing to apply for medical school a year after graduation, well... let's just say everyone has a dark side.

        Ever since I was little, it's always been my parents' dream for me to one day become a surgeon. They told me it's because they want me to have a stable future, but honestly, I think what they really want is for me to have the means to take care of them in their old age. Selfish? Maybe. Inconsiderate? Possibly. Stressful? Oh hell yes. I know my parents have good intentions, definitely not the most altruistic ones, but good ones nonetheless, and I know that I must be a huge disappointment for not jumping on applications right away. But the truth is, I don't want to be a surgeon. I never have. Try telling that to parents who have only ever dreamed of raising a surgeon since the day the pregnancy test came back positive, though.

        That's why, after the disaster that was the first call, I've just let the rest go to voicemail. They're all going to be the same anyways. First the yelling, then the pleading, then the guilt, all in an attempt to get me to apply for a life that I never saw as mine to begin with. So it's easier to ignore them and let the automated voice messaging system do the talking. Besides, I don't know if I could stomach hearing the disappointment in Ma's voice; it might make me agree to things I'll eventually regret.

        The chime of a bell draws me back to the present, signaling the departure of the last few stragglers. With the cafe now completely devoid of life, I say goodbye to my manager and begin the short walk back to my apartment, only the stars and my troubled thoughts for company.

        What am I doing with my life?

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Hello^^
        This is my first time doing an author's note (how exciting). I'm a little nervous though, ngl. It's like when you had to present for the first time, but you guys have no concept of my voice and it's harder to get my sarcasm across with bold italicization. It's a shame, really. Anyways, just wanted to drop in, express my gratitude, you know, author note-ish things. I've been an avid Wattpad reader, recently a for funsies writer, and I thought why the hell not. So, why the hell not? Here's the first chapter of something I've been working on in my spare time. Nothing too serious, just something I find myself gravitating towards when inspiration hits. Maybe I'll post again, maybe not. This year is all about doing things I feel like doing and going with the flow, so I guess I'll see where the current takes me.