Mirror

R a i n

|| e d i t e d ||

"The thick color of a rainy day in Seoul. I still can't fall asleep as I fade away. The rain stops and the reflection in the puddle, I see myself looking more miserable today . . . Even when this rain stops, when the clouds go away, I stand here, just the same. Without saying anything, looking at the world, there, a not so beautiful me is looking at myself . . . In this rain . . ." ~ BTS, Rain

비

R a i n

~ Jae-hyun ~

ASSUMPTIONS RUIN LIVES.

With every glance, people judge others. They see a little of someone's character, hints of what they show of their personality and their little, individual quirks that belong solely to them, and then they make guesses about who they are based upon what they see. We have no right to make those guesses, let alone treat others based on those assumptions. What do we really know about them? About anything? Though despite this, everyone seems to do it anyway.

Slipping through the fingers of an elderly man with a weathered face, an old flip phone clatters to the footpath across the street from me. It lands in a puddle, the grey rain of Seoul falling thickly all around it. He grimaces, struggling to lean down to pick it up with his cane in hand. A young woman with multiple piercings and all black, skin tight clothing kneels down and hands it to him, a sympathetic smile on her lips. He snatches it away as if she were about to run off with it, storming off regardless of his limp into the crowd of people swarming about the crossing without even a word of thanks.

I watch this play out as best I can though the forever moving sea of bodies. Based on appearances, the woman assumed that he would appreciate her help while he presumed that she wanted to steal his phone or, at least, something in return. Unknowingly, she has further damaged his crumbling ability to trust people despite not meaning to while he has left her feeling upset and full of regret. Regret at having stopped to lend a hand in the first place.

I, too, am guilty of making assumptions. However, I never act out on them. They exist only in my head, the individuals they're about the cast of my wayward thoughts and daydreams. Mine are hardly ever accurate either. Just fragments of reality distorted by my fading sanity.

Glancing down at my shod feet, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a still forming puddle. My cheekbones are more prominent than I remember them being, but they shouldn't be. I've been eating normally, quickly consuming my meals in uncomfortable silence under my mother's temperamental glare and father's sympathetic gaze. Haven't I?

Though hidden by several layers of clothing, my forearm stings. I have no memory of making the cuts or even entering the bathroom that evening - if that is even how I received these injuries in the first place. Instead, I can hear the animated shouts of the actors in Ji-han's dramas and picture the surprising polarity of all seven BTS members, Jimin included. Not pain or blood or fear, but rather comforting familiarity and unexpected uniqueness. My fingers brush over the fabric of my coat that covers my wrist at the same time a stranger bumps me with their handbag.

In the water, I see myself wince but the sting seems distant - almost as if it were detached from my body. My cheeks are wet with more than just raindrops and my eyes . . . my eyes are shadowy and subdued. Full of aggrieved and reluctant acceptance. I seem different. Is that even me I see?

The plump lips of the male in the puddle curl into a brittle smile. One that looks ready to shatter into a thousand pieces. And I blink once, twice, three times before I watch him morph back into my reflection.