<Unfinished as of April 2026. I'm in the process of editing now. Come back later.>

In 1994, on a rainy evening, in a Korean-American suburb in Chicago, a hungry baby was born. Just wiped down from a red film, she felt her way up a squishy belly to find a chest and she drank. The faces in the room split open with a sound—laughter, it turned out—which sent a jolt of fear in her. Her throat closed up and loud sounds came out of her, then something wet on her face. Attention wasn't her cup of tea but milk was, and she continued to drink through these odd bodily reactions.

Though she hated the pinching of her cheeks, chubbiness was largely inconsequential. She floated through her childhood without memories. In middle school, she began to remember again.

A seven by five inch note entered her hands. In it were only a few lines and circles in pencil. It was a stick figure, but instead of a stick for the body there was a perfect oblong circle. That was her.

Another day, she walked up to a tetherball, a 1-1 game where opponents stand opposite a pole and a ball tied to a string swings around. There were four full tetherball courts, yet when she came to play, the games cleared out. The only sound on the playground was a ball whacked by her own balled-up fists, whirling through a lonely circumference back towards her.

From then on, she spent more time in the library or the bathroom with her feet up against the stalls.

<Unfinished as of April 2026. I'm in the process of editing now. Come back later.>

In 1994, on a rainy evening, in a Korean-American suburb in Chicago, a hungry baby was born. Just wiped down from a red film, she felt her way up a squishy belly to find a chest and she drank. The faces in the room split open with a sound—laughter, it turned out—which sent a jolt of fear in her. Her throat closed up and loud sounds came out of her, then something wet on her face. Attention wasn't her cup of tea but milk was, and she continued to drink through these odd bodily reactions.

Though she hated the pinching of her cheeks, chubbiness was largely inconsequential. She floated through her childhood without memories. In middle school, she began to remember again.

A seven by five inch note entered her hands. In it were only a few lines and circles in pencil. It was a stick figure, but instead of a stick for the body there was a perfect oblong circle. That was her.

Another day, she walked up to a tetherball, a 1-1 game where opponents stand opposite a pole and a ball tied to a string swings around. There were four full tetherball courts, yet when she came to play, the games cleared out. The only sound on the playground was a ball whacked by her own balled-up fists, whirling through a lonely circumference back towards her.

From then on, she spent more time in the library or the bathroom with her feet up against the stalls.