It was a tough childhood for the young girl, growing up with no idea who her parents are, calling her foster mother and father 'appa' and 'umma' along with 40 other kids in the YMCA, she always knew something wasn't right. It was the day she was sitting beside her 'appa' on his death bed, she received the brown box. 'You can only open this when you turn 19' he whispered in his normal low and calm tone. Of course she waited, 3 years to be exact. Every day she would look at the box, resisting the urge to tear the wooden box open. The day arrived, by now she was patient, did she even want to open it? What if it was something bad? After endless days, she finally got the courage and took a peek inside. She was given a name, picture and address. Her father apparently. Of course her nerves had her trembling, she couldn't even breathe at the sight of the photo, lungs burning from lack of air.
After a month of tears, nerves and research; Junghwa stood in front of the strangers doorstep, fiddling with the black box her late foster father gave her. Apparently he had moved numerous of times and this was his current address. This was a make or break moment for the girl. Her whole life up until now had been filled with a bleak void. Her real father, in the flesh and blood could be standing on the other side of this door. She stood for around half an hour, comtemplating whether to knock or not, thinking of all the things that could turn wrong, typical Junghwa.
With a 3 quiet knocks she waited, chewing on her bottom lip with anticipation. It soon became too much for her as she started at the strangers door, every second felt like an hour. A small sigh escaping the small girls lips before she turned her heels and proceeded to walk away. She had lost hope.