By day I edit; by night I write. I am a blogger at Rich in Color (YA book review site for books by/about people of color), Feminist Kdrama Feels (exactly what it says on the tin), and Hands on Keyboard (a writing-support group I run with some friends). I like hearing from folks, so say hello!
EUN-SANG IS NOT A POSSESSION. YOU CAN’T JUST HAND HER OVER LIKE SHE’S AN OLD COAT.
OR ONE OF YOUR HIDEOUS SWEATERS.
I see the gaslighting, I see the status quo perpetuating itself, I see people endlessly justifying this behavior, excusing it, and telling women that how they experience their own lives in wrong. That no matter what, we don’t get to define what happens to us. Because if we do, then we are “crazy” or wrong or “too sensitive”. We should just shut up and let other people tell us how things “really” are. Because we can’t be trusted to know how our own realities have shaped us.
We’re told not to “make” men feel bad about what other men do. That relaying our stories is generalizing and condemning and unfair. We’re told it’s our responsibility to “get over it”. To internalize every single thing we are subjected to as “just the way it is” and, ultimately, our fault for existing as women in spaces. For existing in the world. For trying to make our way in that world and be treated as human beings.
We are told: don’t feel this way. Don’t think these things. Don’t express normal human emotions, like anger and resentment, about upsetting experiences. Stop talking about things we don’t want to hear about. Stop telling us we are complicit through our inaction. Stop expressing yourself in ways we don’t like. Stop making us uncomfortable about the things that go on around us that we don’t see/ignore. Don’t trust yourself. Don’t exist in ways we don’t like. Don’t exist in “our” spaces. Don’t try to live your life like it matters. Like it’s important. Like you have the right to be here.
Women don’t exist for you to approve of or to make you feel better about the shitty way the world works. We don’t exist for you at all. We exist for ourselves. And we’re going to keep demanding for our rightful place in the world whether you like it or not.
You can get on that bandwagon or you can fuck, permanently, off.
So, last week’s episodes kind of messed with all of my Hyo-shin feels. Oh well, that didn’t stop me from writing yet another pre-show!Hyo-shin fic. This time he’s trying to deal with the fallout of not taking his medication or attending his therapy. It’s not exactly a picnic, but there could possibly be hope tucked away in there. Somewhere.
P.S. Hyo-shin, please stay alive. Just four more episodes! Then you can run off with whomever will keep you from jumping off a building.
The sound of his father’s raised voice that night sends Hyo-shin rushing to his bathroom to vomit up the dinner he barely touched. He waits long past when the house goes quiet and dark, but his father never charges down the hallway to yell about how much Hyo-shin has disappointed him.
It would be unnecessary in any case. Hyo-shin has that lecture memorized already, along with all its kin.
The next morning his mother waits at the dining room table for him. She stands without a word to hand him a glass of water and his morning bottle of pills. But after he finishes the water, she grabs him by the chin. Their gazes lock, and Hyo-shin is startled by how bloodshot her eyes are.