You'd like to think you had a fulfilling life.

Your needs were met, your desires were attained... Perhaps you had a few regrets (who doesn't?), but overall, life had treated you good, considering what it could have been.

Of course, it's a given that your life wasn't perfect.

Your family consisted of only three members, living in an apartment at Seoul, Korea. Father was... not in the family picture, you were not close with your younger sister, and as for Mother, well...

Mother was not a bad person.

She had no criminal records, she didn't have any discernible enemies-- perhaps that one co-worker could be considered that, but that wasn't Mother's fault. She was the average, run-of-the-mill, model citizen that paid taxes and worked for her keep. She did what was expected of any parent and provided all your basic necessities.

She bought you clothes appropriate for each season, supplied food and water, paid rent to keep a roof above your head, and even enrolled you in private schools. She taught you how to clean up after yourself, use the microwave to reheat leftovers, and basically raised you to be independent.

Mother was not a bad person, but despite all her good intentions, Mother was not a good mother.

(You learned this too late.)

She worked late, taking on extra shifts at times, just to make ends meet. That meant she was absent from home far more than you would have liked. It wasn't like Mother was worried about leaving you alone though; she knew you were gifted the moment you uttered your first words.

At only six years old, she passed down the responsibility of raising your younger, still in diapers, sibling to you. You found it hard to keep up with school and still have time for yourself at the end of the day with all this in mind.

You brewed resentment for your younger sister; for, she robbed you of your childhood-- all the good memories a child should get with their parent.

(It was Mother who you should've resented.)

At seven, when you continued to have consistently high scores in school, Mother hired a piano teacher to indulge you in your spare time. You took to the lessons like a fish in water.

It didn't take long for you to realize that you liked working with your hands. You tried asking Mother for art classes, but she told you that art was an aimless endeavor. So, as a side hobby, you taught yourself how to draw.

(Mother was often disappointed in her own life and failures, so she dedicated her adult life to imposing her unaccomplished dreams on you.)

At eight, when your piano skills were passable enough for a contestant, she started signing you up in local competitions. The first time you won the first-place prize money, Mother looked at you with such pride. It made your heart soar, as it was the first time since your younger sibling came around that you felt seen by Mother.

Mother started paying more attention to you, and you had no qualms accepting it.

(There is a fine line between being proud of someone and loving someone. It's a line that often blurs in a child's mind when they don't know any better.)

At nine, you continuously excelled in your studies, and in a desire to please Mother, you skipped grade levels to save tuition money. You did not fail your goal.

Mother was now frequent at home.

(You knew Mother didn't love you, but if you continued to please her, maybe she would.)

At ten, you attended seventh grade. The principal was a greedy man eager to please others. Stern and often times considered odd, but with your beautiful grades, what more could he want? You gained his favor without a single polite smile. And other than a few snide remarks from your classmates, you were left to your own devices to study however you liked, mainly because they were either intimidated or didn't care enough to bother with you. You didn't have any friends, but that was okay; you only attended school for Mother.

(Because without Mother, who else were you left with?)

At eleven, Mother made you learn English. She said she wanted to move to America with you and your sister for better opportunities for you and herself. You later learned your Achilles heel fell in the palms of learning another language. Still, you persisted for Mother.

(You do not like memorizing, because you like solving better. Solving requires people to comprehend. There is a stark difference between remembering and understanding-- between memory and knowledge.)

At twelve, you wanted to impress Mother by learning more languages. You wished to learn Mandarin or Nihongo, as they're easier to learn compared to Western languages due to their similarities with the Korean language. Mother didn't like that idea of yours.

It was your first time seeing Mother angry.

After withering Mother's wrath, you chose not to learn any more languages other than English and your mother tongue. It's okay; you didn't like learning new languages anyway.

(Mother hated both China and Japan for reasons you can learn but don't understand. She taught you and your sister to feel the same, but your hatred was never genuine. It's hard to feel strong emotions for an experience that wasn't yours.)

At thirteen, you finally moved to America and attended tenth grade. It was where you first competed in a contest that does not involve the piano. You won first place in the school's annual Mathematics competition with the prize of one thousand dollars. Your school found a potential candidate for the International Mathematical Olympiad.

Mother was elated.

(Slowly, Mother's pride turned into greed.)

At fourteen, a boy-- a fellow classmate, you recognized-- approached you. He was one of the school's scholars, and he said he wanted to be your friend. The experience was surreal because before, you only had Mother. Now, however, you had a friend, and later, best friend.

He was like you in many ways; studious, hard-working, and so curious. However, he was also unlike you, because he was adventurous, unruly, and free.

Despite being his competition, he never resented you for being academically better.

(Looking back at it, he was patient, kind, and good.)

He taught you many things.

He taught you how to skateboard, the meanings behind English slang, how to catch frogs, and giggled immaturely when you uttered your first English curse words. He taught you how to play in arcades, identify local insects, and above all else, he taught you how to have fun.

He also shared with you a Japanese medium called anime. Even though it's against Mother's teachings, you found yourself unable to stop your best friend's passionate rambling about the Japanese animation he watches. You found it hard not to grin when he got started.

You were curious and followed his lead.

You watched anime online, then deleted your browser history; you saved manga volumes in your phone, knowing you can't buy physical copies with the risk of Mother's disapproval.

You diligently read all of your best friend's recommendations: Boku No Hero Academia, Naruto, Mob Psycho 100, and the list goes on. You were amazed by the Japanese authors' imaginations, and it didn't take long before you started imitating their art styles.

Your best friend likes Naruto best.

You, however, like Pokemon best.

Later that year, you won first place at the annual Math competition again. Then, you competed at the International Mathematical Olympiad, and were stunned to place only second.

Despite all the placating words and encouragement Mother and the principal said to you, it did not quell the bitterness that tainted your palate.

(You do not like losing.)

At fifteen, you came to a multiple of realizations.

Mother will never genuinely love you, no matter what you do.

Your sister envies you for having Mother usually dote on you.

You are easily overwhelmed by your own emotions.

And there is no such thing as unconditional.

"Hey, for this year's Math competition, can you try aiming for second place instead?" Your best friend had asked of you, and being the logical person you were credited to be, you found the reason why he approached you with an invitation to friendship a year ago.

He wanted something from you.

(Would you still have been friends if you weren't as smart? As useful?)

If you weren't so blinded by your temper, you wouldn't have immediately stormed away from him after he uttered out his request. Had you listened to his reasons, you could've understood.

(His family needed the money; his father's health was declining; his mother needed all the help she could get; he starved himself so his younger siblings could eat a full meal--)

You could've still been best friends.

However, you were never taught patience; for, you were raised thinking that the world revolved around you. You grew up with everything you want being easily given to you either through asking Mother or through your own efforts. You had almost everything you wanted on your fingertips.

(You are a lot more different than your only friend than you first thought. You're not sure if that's a good thing.)

You asked Mother to move you to a different school.

You had cut all contacts with your best friend.

You did not participate in the annual Math competition that year or the next, and you knew your ex-best friend was smart enough to place first, now that you weren't and will never be a contestant.

(You wonder that if someone were to beat him in first place again, would he befriend them like he did you?)

Eventually, your head cooled, and the anger you felt for your only friend simmered to bitter understanding.

Why be mad at him if that is how the world works?

Knowledge is power, and power is worth.

And you are valuable.

To have worth is to have something to be exchanged with-- a socially constructed currency that ruled your entire life.

Mother 'loved' you as long as you provide pride to her name and money to her pockets.

Your sister's dislike of you turned into neutrality when you baked her sweets.

The principal appreciated you because you brought his school a good reputation.

And your classmate became your best friend because you were what obstructed him from the first-place prize money.

They all ask for something because you're not worth nothing.

You find that the word 'Unconditional' is as beautiful as the word 'Forever.' They do not exist, but there's a word for them anyway. And you'd be as much as of a fool as you are doomed if you believe otherwise, as a vague saying goes.

(Even nature lives by this, according to the Law of Conservation of Energy.)

At sixteen...

You don't remember much of your last year being alive.

You don't remember when you died.

You don't remember where you died.

You don't remember why you died.

You don't remember how you died.

(Were you killed? Was it suicide? Was it an accident?)

All you remember is the dichotomy of the numbing cold and your burning insides. Afterwards, there was only the all-consuming darkness that comforted you in your supposedly eternal sleep.

Then, you woke up.