YELLOW | yj x bg

☀︎ twenty six.

—yeonjun

From as young as the age of seven, I was taught about a golden rule that was carried down my family for generations. It was something that every one of my family members forcefully followed if they didn't want to known as the Curse or the Damnation or the 'Black Sheep' of the family. My parents feed off of the power of being able to boast about their son. And to be able to boast about their son, they need me to put time and efforts to actually achieve something.

Not something that I want, of course. Rather something that would uplift our reputation amongst chatty neighbors who spend their Friday evenings in a meeting where they gossip about everyone's children.

Basically a competition where they've got to prove there's no one better than them. My mom is so smart, I don't know how she fell for their tricks. I guess you've got to be hung by a string to pay your bills. My dad, though, this was to be expected from him.

The golden rule is to be the best no matter in what stage of life you're in. In simple words, you're not allowed to be imperfect. Mistakes? Who's she? I don't know her. Yeah, playing dumb one time, playing dumber the next time. It's not as hard as you think.

All I've got to do is crack my head together to concentrate studying math calculations I don't even understand the use for, settle for getting 3 hours of sleep every night (4 if I'm lucky),  memorize at least 100 new words of English vocabulary and grammar concepts everyday in order to impress my mom and have my dad say, "this way you'll have many opportunities abroad open doors for you," maintain the record of being a top student by completing homework on time and submitting assignments a week before they're due, take the hour-long subway ride home where I scoff down leftover morsels of my lunch as I read a lighthearted novel to catch my breath after an exhausting day, record my daily movements to reassure my parents and let them know "I'm not wasting a single second of my day. Are you happy now?"

Oh, and to top it off with icing on the cake- perform in a bunch of extracurriculars like getting a research paper ready so that my name stands out in college applications, never fail to go to volleyball practice every Wednesday, join the music club to regularly play an instrument I think is severely overrated - the piano. (I knew I should've signed up to be the vocalist of the band)

I've forgotten what it feels to be myself. To love something my parents didn't influence me to. Damn, my musical tastes are so outdated even Soobin laughed as if he's never heard a joke funnier when I told him my favorite singers were Bob Dylan and Frank Sinatra. I'm more interested in paint-watching than is the normal amount. Not because I'm genuinely interested or unwillingly lost myself in the art, but because it was my mother's dream to be able to decipher the meaning of 'art.'

So she regularly drops me off at some art exhibition every weekend and tells me to come back home with a full page's note of how the painting 'moved' me. Because what happens with a dream parents couldn't make come true for themselves? Pass it down in their child's honor, of course.

To be completely frank with you, I was used to this torturous routine of everyday; it was my normal. In fact, I was even starting to make peace with it.

But then there came you, Beomgyu. A hitchhiker I accepted into my car down the road of my life. And never has my life turned so unbelievably upside down.

I want to waste time with you, Beomgyu. I want to stay in bed forever, drowning in the ocean of our bedsheets staring up at the handcrafted star-dotted ceiling painted with brand new pastels and overused marker pens.

I want to go on escapades with you, lose myself in the haziness of my mind, these thoughts that get carried away like kites by the wind. I don't want this road to have end, but it will. I'm sure of it. Nothing lasts forever. But all I want is to hide in your arms for an eternity. Hide me from the world, teach me how to remember what it feels like to be alive. You're the only one I can count on now.

For the boy whose mind has been constantly drilled with the value of time, teach me how to waste it. Teach me how to spend it on meaningful things. On watching the seagulls dance, on playing with butterflies and setting them off into the air, seeing the ocean waves crash to the shore, taking joy in seeing children run happily with their arms flailing around.

I realized you're not like the ordinary bunch of us. Unlike the rest of us, you still find a way to dance till dawn, eat while paying attention to every bite, hum to music on the bus ride home, bring your precious teddy bear to class uncaring about what people say. In my eyes, you're truly the little prince. I want to spend time in your presence.

But who am I if not the Golden Boy?