The Second Move
Because of my parents' work, I moved once more — this time to an island surrounded by a sea so blue it seemed unreal.
At first, I hoped to find new friends there.
But soon, I became the target of bullying, left to face solitude.
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Cruelty in the Name of Affection
A strong-willed classmate set his sights on me.
Waves of silence and exclusion pressed against me until I was treated like a shadow.
Even when I turned to my teacher, it was brushed aside with, "There must be reasons."
A quiet bitterness settled in my chest.
Eventually, that classmate softened and became my friend,
yet I often wondered how peaceful it would have been had the hostility never existed at all.
Another person, I later learned, had harbored a special affection for me.
That knowledge left not relief, but something closer to nausea.
I came to understand the double edge of the word affection — even as a child.
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The Chains of Friendship
There was always one beside me who said,
"If you don't do as I say, we're no longer friends."
For a long time, I allowed that childish chain to bind me.
But one day, I finally said,
"Then let it end."
My heart trembled as if frozen,
yet in my chest, a quiet wind of freedom began to blow.
It was then I learned that loneliness and freedom often walk side by side.
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The Island Custom
At the island's school, there was a peculiar tradition:
older students called the younger ones their brothers or sisters and offered them protection.
Two seniors invited me into that circle, and I accepted.
Later, I learned that this practice existed partly so that the older ones could gain pride by taking "someone charming" under their wing.
Even so, those shadow-like figures behind me brought a strange sense of comfort to my isolation.
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Fear in the Church
Around that time, a high school boy from the island's church began spending time with me — as though I were a playmate.
But during a game of hide-and-seek, when he guessed all my hiding spots with uncanny precision,
a chill unlike any other ran through me.
The light in his eyes carried the same murkiness I had once seen in my former teacher's.
From that day, the church ceased to be a refuge.
It became a place with no escape.
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Confession and the Varieties of Affection
As I grew older, confessions of affection came from classmates and underclassmen alike.
Some I could accept with sincerity,
but when a different kind of gaze entered those words, a quiet heaviness filled my chest.
It was then that I learned — not all affection is pure.
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Memories of Middle School
When I entered middle school, I learned how to live unnoticed.
When friends sought my opinion, I simply smiled,
agreeing softly so as not to disturb the calm.
I had discovered that smiles could often preserve peace.
Yet the mask began to crack.
My silence, my gentle smiles — they were taken as my own opinions,
twisted and used in ways I never intended.
Even so, I sometimes think that the unfairness of childhood is still an innocent kind of cruelty.
It is in the adult world that the distortions grow darker.
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Silence in the Examination Room
On the day of the school's physical checkup, a doctor from the village was invited.
Clad in a white coat and backed by the authority of the teachers, he stood before the students.
The room was cold, filled with the faint scent of disinfectant.
I was only to have my height and weight measured — nothing more.
But his gaze seemed to measure not numbers, but me.
It lingered too long.
His fingers brushed my shoulder — too vaguely for it to be medical.
In that moment, a small thorn took root inside me.
I had believed that doctors were figures of purity,
and that belief made the unease all the more confusing.
When I stepped out of the room, the words escaped me:
"That felt disgusting."
A teacher overheard and immediately frowned, scolding me:
"Don't be rude to a doctor."
My feeling was dismissed.
My discomfort sealed away.
In that moment, I understood — in the world of adults,
authority weighed far heavier than the fragile voice of a child.