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According to their parents, marriage recognized in the eyes of God was the truest form of 'love.' Legitimate, no matter what part of the world you hailed from and that in itself was supposed to be a 'gift' and a promise of a future.
But why did her parents fight so much, only putting aside their differences when either of them had any 'reason' to yell at Min, or her twin Jun?
The string called marriage that held them together by a narrowing thread couldn't have been as powerful as they claimed it was when the only shared thing that seemed to flow in their veins was hatred--a tired anger and bitterness, the only inheritance they could offer their children for years to come, delivered in the form of thrown porcelain toilet seats and the unwanted ways the body stretched in accordance to God's list of demands (cosigned by His favourite scientific experts), a list that included her parents' prescription of equally unwanted pink dresses.
With the ironic effect of making a body feel out-of-place, there goes His promise, 'straight' out the window, along with the air conditioner, the second toilet seat in the past six months and, of course, by her own hands, her pink dresses.
If this was 'love,' then Min didn't need it.
She didn't want it.
"DO YOU HEAR ME? DON'T GIVE UP!"
"I WON'T GIVE UP IF YOU DON'T GIVE UP!"
She thought she didn't want it, had it not been for that fateful encounter at the baseball diamond that set her heart racing in unprecedented ways--a warm flutter that would only continue to grow for years to come, delivered in the form of shared seaweed snacks, playground 'dates,' an unwanted farewell, a long-desired reunion, an awkward confession and the kisses and embraces that followed.
From that moment onwards, something began sprouting.
"What's your name? I'm Min."
A love she could learn to nourish, not just by her own hands, but hand-in-hand, even if it was going to be messy.