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Jaehee was seven years old, then. The whole world was still big and white and beautiful, twinkling starlight as mist left her mouth with each awestruck breath.
It had been a day before Christmas, four days before her birthday. She was barely big enough to fit into the new coat her mother bought her, but she never complained. Jaehee took it in stride, made large movements so her entire body would trudge through the snow.
“Jaehee,” she heard her mother call, laughter trickling through her cool voice. Sometimes, Jaehee could emulate it in her memories, if she thought hard enough. “Slow down! I won’t be able to catch you!”
“Because you can’t!” Jaehee cackled, pushing herself to run further. She loved this game of chase, even if it exhausted her mother. She knew she’d always catch up, anyway, that she’d always find her and grab her hand. Scold her, perhaps, for running off, always followed by a comment on how fast she was growing, and how proud that made Jaehee feel.
Through the tree-lined streets, dotted in the cleared out snow, she continued to sprint. Her lungs started to give out, but she still ran, squealing with laughter. Her mother was catching up to her now, that prickle of recognition only pushing her further. She can’t catch me, I’m too fast. I’m all grown up, it’s almost impossible now.
She made her way into a crowded rush of people. It was a festival, Jaehee believed now, with stalls set up and a large Christmas tree at the crux of the aisles. Adults seemed so high and mighty back then, almost like giants. Her tiny hands balled into fists as she tried to push her way through them. She could do this before her mother caught up, because she was seven years old. About to start school. Wasn’t that such a big girl thing to do? So surely–
“Ow!”
Falling front-first into the stone pavement, she let out a loud yelp, her arms flailing, outstretched. But when the impact came and startled to settle while she lay on the ground, the pain felt so sudden, so unbearable. Her eyes swam upwards, puffy with incoming tears. Eomma , she wanted to call out, mom.
But within the packed surges of people, she couldn’t find her. They were all unfamiliar, frightening, dangerous. It made her heart pound against her chest, suddenly feeling helpless. Not so grown up.
Jaehee remembered sucking in her breath then, letting her nerves calm themselves. She couldn’t act like a kid, or else her mother would be worried. She couldn’t make a scene now, or else it would inconvenience her further. An adult had taken notice of her on the ground – a woman with kind eyes – and asked if she was alright.
“Yes,” Jaehee had said, sniffling. She still couldn’t get up. It hurt too much. “I’m okay. Thank you very much.”
“Where are your parents, honey?” The woman had asked, bending down on her knees. “Are you lost?”
“N-no, I’m not. My mom is here. She’s just – she’s just trying to chase after me, because I’m too fast,” she announced, in that childish, matter-of-fact way. “She knows where I am. It’s okay.”
“Are you sure?” The lady looked around for a moment, scanning the crowd. “Could you tell me what she looks like?”
“Um. Um.” Jaehee took a moment to think about it, still stopping herself from bursting into tears. “She looks like me. She has– brown hair, long, like mine. Pretty eyes.”
“Do you remember what she’s wearing, honey?”
“I don’t– I don’t know.” Her head was starting to hurt. “But she’ll find me. I know she will.”
“What about your father? Was he with you, too?”
Father? Jaehee’s eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t have one.”
A pause, a moment of recognition. “Ah, I see. Well, I’m sure your mother will find you. But– why don’t we make it easier for her, okay?” A cold hand rested on hers, gently. “Let’s go to the station. We can meet someone who can help both of you.”
“No!” Jaehee squirmed, moving her hand away from her. “I’m going to stay put. She might get confused and not know where I am anymore.”
She chuckled, then. It annoyed Jaehee. Even at that age, she knew she wasn’t being taken seriously. “You must trust your mother a lot, huh?”
Jaehee huffed, crossing her arms tightly. There was something aching in her knees, down her calves, but she’d been too afraid to point it out. A big girl doesn’t complain about this kind of stuff . She’d learnt that much from her relatives. And she was a big girl .
Right?
“Jaehee!” A voice rang through the crowd, echoing and panicked. “Jaehee, where are you?”
“Eomma!” Jaehee called. Then, as if on instinct, she began to cry. Wail, almost. “Mama!”
“Oh my goodness,” her mother had gasped, catching her breath. “I keep telling you never to run off like that in crowded places. Look what happened!”
Jaehee continued to sob, the tears down her face warming the initial cold she felt. Both older women stared, only one of them finally deciding to say something first.
“Your daughter is very brave, you know,” the other woman laughed, “She trusts you completely. She knew you’d come.”
“Yeah, well…” Jaehee’s mother laughed, awkwardly, wiping off the cold sweat from her brow. “This isn’t the first time she’s done this.”
“They’re all like this at that age. Rebellious, I think the word is? I have two of my own at home, so I know how it feels.” She finally stood, dusting off her knees. A hand rested on her mother’s shoulder, with a sentiment Jaehee didn’t quite understand yet. “You’ve raised her well,” she smiled, before waving and disappearing into the crowd, right after her mother uttered the first of many “Thank you”s.
After the beat of a moment, her mother’s focus finally geared itself onto her injured, crying state. “Kang Jaehee, what did I tell you? I said you would get hurt if you kept running away from me like that. And look what happened! I almost couldn’t find you, you know?”
She leaned down, her large, soft hands wiping the tears off her face as it cupped her cheeks, eventually using the sleeves of her coat. “I’m sorry,” Jaehee squeaked, already hiccuping in between her words. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?” Her mother asked, almost expectantly.
“For crying. And getting hurt. And– and running away.” There was a different kind of ache surging deep into her belly, but it wasn’t the kind that one caught from being injured, or sick, though it felt like it. It was the kind that made her want to hide into the depths of nowhere, never to be seen again.
But her mother seemed to pull her out of it, lifting her up from her underarms and wrapping her legs around her waist.
“You should be sorry for running away, yes,” she said, running her hands through her hair – long and soft, somewhat messed around from the run she made – “But never for crying. Never for getting hurt. That’s not your fault.”
“Isn’t it?” Jaehee blinked. “I’m seven years old.”
“Yes, you are.” With Jaehee wrapped around her, her mother walked away from the concentrated mess of people, eyes scanning for something in the distance.
“I’m a big girl now. I shouldn’t cry. Or get hurt.”
“Even big girls cry and get hurt, Jaehee,” her mother sighed. “Oh, look. A bench.”
With a huff, her mother lowered her down onto the bench – concrete and cold, but manageable still – and gently pulled down her stockings, revealing the small bruise on her right knee. Jaehee remembered how even the feeling of it being exposed in the winter air made her flinch, how it made her mother tut as she reached for something in her bag. She was always prepared for these instances . “Your father was a pharmacist,” she recalled her saying in her late night stories, amongst the very few times her father was ever mentioned. “He taught me to always be prepared for anything. If he were here, he’d tell you the same, too.”
“Do you cry, then, mom?” Jaehee asked, wiping the crusted tears from her eyes. “And get hurt?”
“Of course, darling.” Finally bringing out a packet of baby wipes, she pulled one out, cleaning out the cut softly as she wrapped it around two fingers. Jaehee whimpered, but found it in her to suck it up. “I wouldn’t be a human being if I didn’t.”
“Does that mean I’m one, too? What’s that word?”
“Human being.” 인간. In-gam. “And of course you are. It’s just a fancy word for a person.”
“Human being,” Jaehee repeated. “I’m a human being.”
“And you’re allowed to cry and get hurt sometimes.”
“I’m allowed to cry,” she hiccupped, her mother already unpeeling a band-aid. “I’m allowed to get hurt.”
“Yes, you are. Now there we go. All better.” With her thumb, she smoothed over the plaster across Jaehee’s knee, before tugging up her stockings once more. Warm again.
“Thank you.” Jaehee kicked her legs shyly, still too small to reach the ground from the bench. Maybe she wasn’t that much of a big girl, yet. It made her want to cry all over again. But before she could do so, her mother took out something else – a pink hair clip, barely bigger than her fingernail – and tucked it into Jaehee’s hair.
“My pretty girl,” her mother grinned, still adjusting it properly. She ran her hands through Jaehee’s hair again – it was always her favourite thing to do – before cupping her small face in her hands. “You look just like me.”
“I do,” Jaehee smiled widely, holding her mother’s cold face in turn. “I do!”
“Let’s go.” She stood up, holding out her hand for Jaehee to hold. “I have something I want to show you when we get home.”
“A gift? Is it a gift?” With her small fingers, she reached out, yearning for the warmth of her mother’s palm. “Am I getting my presents already?” She hoped it would be something like the snow globe, something that sparkled, almost magical. But she would be happy with anything, really.
“You’re so impatient,” her mother sighed. “You’ll see. Now keep holding my hand and don’t run off, okay?”
As they walked off back into the bustling streets, snow faintly twinkling across the deep night sky, Jaehee figured she had more time to grow up, still. Especially if it meant she’d get to hold her mother’s hand like this for longer.
“Yes, mama!”