DISEASE

"No matter how high she climbed, the bar was always just a little higher—just out of reach."

Scholarship or not, peace was always temporary.

After the initial pride faded, the same old expectations returned—only harsher now. Now that Mun had shown she could "do something," her parents expected more. No room for mistakes. No room for average.

If she scored 80, they asked why she didn't score 90. If she ranked 5th, they compared her to the girl who ranked 1st. And every time she failed to exceed their impossible standards, the punishment followed—words sharper than knives, slaps that echoed in her bones.

Her mother's love shifted fully toward Nix. He was younger, softer, and a boy. Somehow, everything he did was enough, even when he did nothing. But Mun? Mun had to fight for every grain of approval.

When she got sick before an exam and couldn't perform well, her mother screamed at her for being "lazy." Her father stopped speaking to her for days. No one asked how she felt. No one brought her medicine. She lay in bed, feverish, whispering equations and essay lines to herself just so she wouldn't fall behind.

She wanted to ask—Why is it never enough? Why am I never enough?

But those words stayed locked behind her teeth.

Every time she saw a parent hug their child after school, she looked away. Every time a teacher praised another student, she clenched her fist under the desk. Not in jealousy—but in quiet grief. She wasn't asking for the world. Just a small celebration. Just a soft voice saying, "You did well."

Instead, she heard: You should've done better. Why can't you be like them?

And so, she pushed harder. She studied longer. She smiled less. Her notebooks filled with underlined notes and tear-stained corners. Her back ached from leaning over books. Her heart ached from bending under expectations.

But still—she didn't stop.

Because somewhere deep inside, a voice whispered: One day, I will be enough. Even if it's only for me.

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