A child's happiness is brought out by simple things — playmates, makeshift toys, curves and silly shaped things. Anything that they perceive as desirably good is good.

It's not everyday that I wake up alive. Not in a literal sense. More like, when you feel alive, you're free. And you're ready to check one of your bucketlist or even the to-do list because mom won't let you out with your friends if you don't.

This day isn't spared either.

I wake up to the sound of screams, a girl's screams. Mine. The sheets around me are pushed aside, allowing nothing to cover my body. I'm sweating under the heat of the summer, more because of the midday sun shining through my windows. I'm still in my grandmother's inn.

It's another busy day.

Last night was no different than any other day, if any, it was a holiday special. The girls were dolled up at maximum because it was the time when men's wives were out to buy goods in the city.

Of course they took the chance. They were thirsty. They are. The desires of the flesh will never be satisfied.

Sighing, I sit myself, staring at the full-length mirror beside the door. I have big brown eyes; soft, milky skin; and a delicate figure. Everything that will make a man, sometimes a woman, look twice to decide which part of me has them struck.

But, there are red marks all over my bare body. They must have put something in my drink that made me comply the night before, knowing that I wouldn't let anyone spank the life out of me while I was harrassed in a whole different way. Those kind of men are the most horrible.

I pick out an oversized shirt and basketball shorts from my pile of clean clothes (I have too many that they don't fit my cabinet). I have nothing to do in the house — no chores, no responsibilities. Nothing.

My grandmother treats me like a princess. Until night comes.

Without anything else to do, I decide to wash up in the cottage house that my parents left for me. I miss going home everyday, when I was only tasked to clean up tables. Now I haven't been home for 5 days.

I live in a small town but our economy has a significant impact in the government. How that is possible is a mystery to those who didn't know the secrets of the town. Our restaurant and inn to be exact. My grandmother's.

I walk by the shadow-cast street, the mahogany trees draping above me to give shade so my skin is not to be damaged. From behind me, I hear gossips and whistles that I have grown accustomed of for the past months. They started when my parents died.

It had been the deepest downfall I had ever felt, above every failure I endured, even in comparison to what happened after the incident. I was forced to work for my grandmother then.

Once I stepped in the house, I lock the door. Double-locked it. And close all the windows and curtains, all doors, and even left the lights out. Living like me is living in confinement. Mothers point fingers at me in front of their children, telling them I am not worth of any of their mercy. Teenagers throw shady comments at me. Children are taught that the likes of me are on the way to hell.

I am an outcast. At least to those who know.

Apparently, not for those who receive my services. A forced service for the lack of words.

My bath was long. An hour to be exact. It consists of my rituals — shaving, moisturizing, tone ups, and all the kind of pampering. I am required to do so.

I walk back to my grandmother's house again to eat lunch at her restaurant.

Since my grandma doesn't want any blemish on my skin — even freckles — I always have an umbrella. The sun shone blissfully so I used my blue, sakura-patterned umbrella. I look around to preoccupy myself. In the middle of the growing crowd, I spot a similar umbrella. Before, it was only me (in town) who had an umbrella like this. It was a limited edition, which I bought in the city. It seems to pull me in as I wait for the owner to maybe bump on something that will cause him to raise the umbrella. So I can see his face.

A pair of familiar chocolate brown eyes latched onto mine.

"Woah, Chin-sun? Is that you?" The man's melodic voice caught my attention. I stare at him, thinking where I met him. By his looks, I can say he isn't from here. From Seoul maybe.

He walks in my direction. I fumble with the sleeve of my button up shirt in nervousness. I take a step back only for him to advance one step.

"Oh. You don't remember me?" He replies in a disappointed tone. He hesitates to come any closer. I feel like I know him, but I can't put a finger on it. His name. What was his name again? He rests his umbrella by his shoulder.

"Take a look at this. It's me, Park Jimin! How can you forget my handsome face?" He takes his cellphone out while he brags about his looks. The name rings bells in my head, I remember the name. But not his face. He continues to show me a childhood picture of me and a boy. He was smiling from ear to ear and we held an umbrella under the nice, warm sun.

"Oh, Jimin! You changed so much," I exclaim to match his excitement. I don't really remember him fully. But he seems happy to see me, and we probably were good friends during childhood.

He grins at my reply and offers to buy me a meal. "No, it's fine. My grandmother owns a restaurant nearby," I politely, and briefly, reject his offer. He looks like he is really merry at the moment, desperate for a common fellow to accompany him.

"But please, join me," I say when he looks down to hide his embarassed face. He instantly lights up and nodded. We both walk to the direction of the restaurant. My eyes look up every now and then to the two sakura-dotted weather protection. Mine was so rare, I never thought I'll meet someone with the same item.

I push the glass door of the modern-decorated restaurant that my grandma is so proud of and he goes in first, going straight to the back of the door to hold it for me. The customers buzzed, engulfed in their own entertainment, until they notice our presence.

I look for an isolated booth as people start to stare at us, becoming so intrigued by a newcomer. We sit opposite each other and start to catch up, while the waiter serves us two orders of my usual meal. Jimin doesn't notice the immediate service.

"How have you been? Wow, you really look beautiful." He smiles. His eyes hid behind two lines of thick lashes. I smile back at him. The compliments are all too repetitive to me — I hear them at night, in the morning, in the afternoon, even in my sleep. They've become haunting.

"I feel so stuck here. And you look good, too. Why did you move away again?" I try my best not to sound forgetful.

"My family moved to Seoul. You forgot already?" He crosses his arms on his chest, seeming like a kid. But shrugged to say, "We were 13 when I left."

"Sorry, my memory fails me these days. I remember now. You were the one who put rocks in my bag." I teasingly smile at him. It was the only memory I recall, as of now.

"That was before we became friends!"

"Still."

He rubbed his nape and picks up a piece of marinated fish with his chopsticks. He shoves it inside my mouth without permission or any warning, startling me. He seems unbothered when I coughed a bit, like it was okay for him.

"Hey, at least because of that, we fought and made up." He stops to rethink. "I mean, it was the initiation of our friendship."

"Yeah."

"Your grandma didn't have this restaurant then." And my grandma wasn't here then.We both look around the place. It was true. The restaurant opened when my parents died. Much to my suspicion, I was told they didn't leave any inheritance to me and then gave custody to my grandparents. Who moved to live near me.

"Anyway, where are your parents? I want to see my in-laws," he grinned cheekily. He giggled but I was left hanging. In-laws? What does he mean?

"You really have a bad memory." He clicks his tongue before leaning closer to elaborate on his claims. "Your parents used to tease you that you will marry me when you get older. Because you always told them you hate me."

I chuckle at the fond memory. I wish I remember, I would have been a better company to him. He looks proud that he got a reaction out of me.

There are a lot of things that slip my mind lately. Along with those that I purposefully forget. Because when you become one of us, every day you beg the spirits to take you instead. It wasn't just torture everytime though, some liked the change in their lives. But that's because they never had families to miss them; they never felt the warmth of freedom; they haven't been treated right in the first place; and they never had a loved one exploit them. For them, what we are isn't destructive. They were raised to embrace the terrible world.

I wasn't. I was loved and protected by my parents. And I never in the world have thought that when I came to the end of my teenage years I would live differently. I would be used.

"Hello to you two, who is this young man?" My grandmother slowly walks up to us. She doesn't spare me a glance. Instead, she smiles at Jimin, who returned it much brighter.

"Ah, this is the first time I'm meeting you, grandma. But I'm Park Jimin. Chin-sun and I were childhood best friends. It's nice to finally meet you." He bows to her. I almost told him not to bother because in fact, she should never be bowed to or shown respect to. She destroys lives.

"What a sweet boy. Do you have a place to stay?" Grandma touches Jimin lightly on the shoulder. Her hand stays there.

"I was looking for a room to rent. I left my things at the ticket booth by the bus station. And I bumped into her." Jimin's full attention is now on my grandma. I watch them converse while I eat my food, picking up some from Jimin's plate.

"I suppose you can rent her one of your rooms," Grandma says. I stare at her for a second, not registering that she's now referring to me. When I realize that, I furrow my eyebrows. She wanted me to what? As far as I know she always shoo away men in daytime.

"But I saw the sign outside, you also have an inn?" And it was obvious. The restaurant's ceiling is too low, anyone, even uneducated, would know that the building has a second floor.

"Oh just stay there. You won't need to pay." She waves off and leaves.

Jimin's head hang low. Should I? He's still a stranger for me. I was about to apologize when I caught sight of my grandmother on the side of my eye. She gestures and mouths, "Let him stay." And I was hopeless. I can never disobey her.

The acquaintance in front of me clears his throat, raising his head to ask the dreaded question. "Can I?"

I don't have any choice. "Sure."

We ate quietly after that. I don't have any schedules in the afternoon so I also offer to help him fetch his belongings. On the way, I can't help but be curious of him.

"So," I say. He perches up. "You said you moved to Seoul. Why did you come back?"

"Long story short, I became a disgrace to my family."

I feel my stomach turning. I don't talk for a while, evaluating whether or not I should continue sticking my nose in his personal life. I mean, we were best friends. It's only natural for me to ask him.

"What exactly did you do?"

He sighs. "I want to be honest with you, Chin-sun. I hope you don't change the way you think of me after this." He stops to confront me.

Now I don't know if I should make him tell me. "Go on," I push him.

"Nevermind, let's just go," he jogs up to the ticket booth. He talks to the lady inside, telling her about his luggage.

Meanwhile, I wonder about his claims that he's become a disgrace. What could it be? I wonder that if my grandma knew, would she still insist that he live with me?