Boo Jiyoo
The only lookable picture of myself from Jeju

Being stuck in South Korea and having your flight cancelled was the worst thing that could happen to a socially anxious college kid who wished more than anything that she was at home reading century-old novels for the heck of it.

I am not sure how I survived. But I did, and this is a late revelation but isn’t it amazing how we think we can’t do something until after we did it, then realise we can actually do it? Not saying that surviving a cancelled flight is a big accomplishment or anything, but I managed to do that without even being unnecessarily grumpy.

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War meant little to them. All they knew was that it took lives and that, in itself, was unjustifiable. That didn’t mean much though; everything grown ups did always was either cruel or unjustifiable, but their War meant both.

All Rue knew about War was that it robbed the softness of eyes and the gentleness of hands; War did worse than end people, it twisted them. And Rue knew this because she had seen it (Mrs Platt lost her son to War – she now used hands instead of heart to deal with Rue and the rest of the children), heard it (no longer could any of them bother between rainstorms and gunfires; this was how Rue knew that even she was War-damaged) and read of it (a selected few from the Home were taught to read at an early age; it all stopped after Enemy bombed System one night; any pretences of peace crumbled along with the wreckage. Rue learned much from the books she could get her hands on; she imagined the rest, filling in the gaps where words and phrases meant nonsense to her—what was Tranquility? It sounded a lot like a sister of Quarantine).

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lost child of gloom and gold
holds invincibility.
dark child who snuffs out fate
shall suffer eternity.
mind child of things unseen
swallows past harmony.
— part child oldest of all restores what laws divide.

young love shrivels to tomb
by doom affection owns.
hanging child haunts on under
lay bare over death’s bones.
— wretched soul above below to weep its dying tiber.
— every child broken by trial must borne its own murder.

Hello, my name is Boo, and I plan to save humanity from itself.

During the twenty years of my life, I suffered from four different mental illnesses, was handed from doctors to doctors. My life was littered with hospitals, stalkers, physical assaults, more hospitals, media play, and a couple of suicide attempts.

I used to dance and sing, having been misled to believe that to succeed in life, I’d have to beat my way into the limelight. “You’re a fast learner but you are lagging behind!” they said. “Pathetic. Focus.” That was what life was like for years. And school was (“You psycho!”) just as great…

Reality’s more tragic a story than any greek mythology, and I wish I had known that, that somebody had told me something, but instead what did I get? Disney cartoons and fairy tales with princes in shining armours.

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