Note: This story has absolutely no connection to real life and is completely a work of fiction from the worlds inside my head. So just play along with me and enjoy the realms of imagination which I hope everyone can do without any feelings getting hurt! :)
2. Before Yesterday
I slammed the stop button on the treadmill. Buckling over a little to ease the weird tantrum my queasy abdomen seemed to be having, I sneaked a look up at the clock on the dreary gym wall. I almost tripped... partly because I was shocked but I guess the fatigue of running for over an hour and a half straight without realising, was probably a another major reason. Stepping down from the machine, my body was drenched in all the fluid I had consumed in my entire life. I sat down on the floor and slowly removed my blaring headphones and let myself think again.
As much as I tried, I couldn't help but close my eyes. In my own darkness, it is harder to control where my mind goes. If I really had my way I would simply erase my identity. Not by killing myself, like ignoramuses who fail to realise that destroying your body, doesn't destroy you in person. People will still remember you, care for you, not care for you, talk about you – know you as someone who existed once. But I, I wanted to go beyond that, without dying, and that is exactly what I tried when I moved without telling anyone from Seoul five years ago.
Maybe I thought that persuading everyone that I didn't exist, would help me alienate a part of me from myself. For someone who really was placed in a most bizarre situation, since my mother's womb decided it had enough of me and pushed me out, I had grown up to be remarkably normal in a dysfunctional family.
I am not exactly sure why 30 years ago, my Grandfather decided that he wished to suddenly pack everything he owned (which to be honest and as humble as my proud being will allow, was a huge amount) and move to Korea. In my younger, curious years, I remember asking him this – and all he said was that the prospects in Korea were better than they were in India. Sometimes, I really do wonder whether he just randomly opened at Atlas and chose to move to a place where his finger pointed to, with his eyes closed. He entered Korea as a rich man and later left the world leaving a very rich son behind – my father.
Now, Pa is a special person, really. Every morning, he walks for exactly 25 minutes in our garden while he waits for the perfect wife to arrive with breakfast in the lawn. Pursing his lips at every thing that would be served, he would usually eat exactly half of what was on the plate before he gruffly announced that mother was a useless cook and that he better be going. But while he is supposed to have single-handedly raised the already rich company he had, into an international extravaganza of a giant conglomerate, I'd still rather believe there was magic behind all this than have him take that credit. Karma just doesn't add up, I think that is why I don't believe in it.
Leading my dad on from the sidelines was the other power head of the company – Mum. While at home she feigns to be the perfect housewife, leaning on the culinary skills of the servants and presenting them as her own expertise, at work she doesn't have to rely on anything except her adamant core – and that she has enough of to last all her 9 lives. Her strength is admirable but her lack of empathy is frightening. She ruthlessly undertook all the gritty work behind the success of the company and her sharp gaze never wavered while she 'took care' of unnecessary hurdles.
You never question about where they went and what phone call was important enough not to give a miss at 2 am in the morning. You never know how much money they are making. You never know why they need bodyguards everywhere they stroll. I never want to know why they both have their own guns.
Together, they made a strange couple at home, but in the office they played a deadly game together, crushing, destroying everything they could, if it could aid even the slightest in what they want, ultimately creating a world for themselves on their own surreal ideals of success. And now, they wanted me to get married.
I tried to scrutinise every possible reason for them to want such an absurd thing, but every idea seemed a bit too normal for the parents. I had disowned my shares in the company years ago, and of course, the idea of them wanting to get me married simply to see me well off is quite absurd. So I decided to recruit help. Shaking myself out of the stupor of the past, I walked to the changing room quickly before someone complained about a sleeping girl on the second floor..