I remember. I was only around about four years old, but I still remember it happened. I am not entirely sure if it were real; maybe it is my mind playing tricks of confabulation. Even though the memory seems surreal, the image is vivid, which is why I am convinced that it must have happened.

Everyone was clad in hues of black and white, even myself. My mom was down on her knees while from her mouth poured forth words of supplication. As I turned my head to see whom these words were directed at, I saw a rotund woman with a face masked in indifference. The stolid woman had a line of men with her as well, which seemed paradoxical because if she really were the strong woman her countenance displayed herself to be, why would she need men in suits merely to confront a young woman and her three year old child?

As I aged, I was given more background information to comprehend this memory that has been in the back of my head for more than a decade. My dad was a businessman. He was not just any businessman either; he was a shrewd and promising Seoul National University graduate. One of my mom’s relatives decided to invest in my dad’s business, and when things went wrong… These people decided to wring everything of my family’s possession.
We abjured our apartment in Gangnam and made way for those so-called relatives. My mom told me how crushed she felt when she saw her aunt march around our house like it was hers, with a small dog wrapped around her greedy arm. Ever since then, we have not had a house of our name. My mom would remark from time to time how she regretted so; how she regretted for complying too easily with the demands of her relative.
“I should have fought for it, Shirley. And maybe then we would not be living like vagabonds like we are now.”
I ruminate how things would be different if we still did own that house in Gangnam. However, I never dwell too much on the matter, because this is the life I am currently living and I can do nothing about it. Yes, we do move around more than I would like, but then again, that is exactly what makes the kind of person that I stand today. If I were stuck in that apartment in Gangnam, I would not be here writing essays in English now, would I?
So… Shirley, why are you writing about this personal account of yourself? Nobody asked you this. Yes, that is exactly why I decided to write this piece. I am writing this piece precisely because nobody asked me. Just because I do no mention the ordeals that I suffered, it does not mean that I have never had any setbacks to overcome. But that is precisely what people think.
“Oh, Shirley, you are laughing all the time. You do not look like you have a crease of worry at all.”
Which is completely wrong. Completely. However, as much as I wanted to relieve this burden of my heart, I never could bring myself to do it because I was afraid. Afraid people would look at me in a different light, as though I am a sad and miserable mess. That expression of pity that says, ‘you poor little thing.’
So, if in the near future, your friend decides to divulge the sufferings he or she has been through, there are few things you should know about. Firstly, this means that your friend has deep faith and trust in you. I hope you can maintain and grow his or her faith and trust. Secondly, empathy but not sympathy. Chances are, your friend has just as much pride as I do, and the last thing he or she wants from you is pity. Give your friend a warm embrace, and thank them for holding on to that rope of life in times of difficulties. And hopefully, the next time you see a clown, you will not see a perpetually happy entity. Rather, you will be able to discern a pensive countenance burrowed just beneath the surface.