Cycles

There’s a big problem here. It’s more urgent than paying off your debts, meeting deadlines, and maybe even solving another midlife crisis:

Your daughter is throwing a tantrum.

Before becoming a father, you had no idea what ruckus a five-year-old could cause. You have little cousins from which you got some introduction, but nothing really prepared you for Hyunjoo. She’s a beautiful little thing and the light of your life. She made you step back and only want to be the best version of yourself, someone she can look up to and rely on. You want to be nothing less than a man she could call on if she needed.

Funny—the only other person who made you feel this way was her mother.

“Thank god you’re here.” There she is: Yuri, in her most beautiful state without makeup and only dressed in loose house clothes. She stands on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around you.

You return the hug while placing the keys in their bowl next to the door. “What’s wrong, love?” you ask. “Still bad?”

“Still bad,” Yuri says, voice tight. There’s sweat on her forehead and a look in her eyes you could only compare to a frightened puppy. “I—I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything but she just…” She buries her face in your coat before letting out a shaky sigh. “Can you be honest with me?”

Of course. It’s what you promised on your wedding day, since the moment you slipped that rock on her finger.

Yuri looks up at you with tears in her eyes. “Am I a bad mother?”

“ Yul.”

“I dunno, maybe I’m just not cut out for this.” She’s fragile glass in your arms, all the pieces broken. “I thought I was doing a good job, you know, for a first-time mom. But I feel so useless because no matter what I do—”

You can’t believe she’s talking about herself like this. She has always been a great mother to Hayoon: sweet, firm when needed, a rock for her to stay grounded. It breaks your heart that it’s not quite an impossibility that you could say every sweet word to Yuri, and she’ll never understand a fraction of how much more you mean them.

Hush her with a kiss on that pretty mouth, carding away the hair stuck to her cheek. Your hands gently frame her small face and now you’re holding your entire world, a perfect fit in the cusp of your palms.

“You’re doing your best, baby,” you tell her softly. “That’s all you need to do. Understand?’’

Yuri’s still pouting but she finally nods. It’s a slow nod, one that tells you she’s not quite sure if that’s true. But Yuri’s smart. You know she’ll figure it out sooner or later. You trust her to.

“I’ll take care of her now, okay? You should get some rest.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. I’m her parent too, Yuri,” you say with a light chuckle. “It’ll be alright in the morning.”

Hesitation flickers across her tired face, but even a hard worker like Yuri knows that something’s got to give. Work has been getting to her. It follows her right into your little home where she also has to take care of your kid. She needs a break.

She looks regretful to leave from your touch so early. She probably needs you to rest with her as well. She might want you to lay with her and throw a blanket over her exhausted frame, tell her it’s going to be alright. She’s your baby too after all.

“Alright,” says Yuri pursing her lips. “Let me know if there’s any trouble.”

You nod. There’s a lot of it upstairs, where your daughter cries loudly in her room. But soon, there won’t be. You’ll be the one to fix it.

“Oh, and babe?”

You’re about to take the first step of the curved staircase when you hear that gentle voice call to you again. You don’t think you’ve heard anything more beautiful. Look down to find Yuri still standing in front of the door, right where you left her.

You don’t think you’ve seen anyone more beautiful. But it turns out that Yuri is even more gorgeous when she smiles.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

-

Although you and Yuri bought this home a long time ago, it remains unfamiliar to you.

It’s not even about the architecture alone. The walls are painted cleaner than the one you had as a child where the cheap paint chipped off and the rain seeped through. Even the almost beige colors of the lights are different from those that flickered uncertainly.

You run your hand along the bar of the staircase. You didn’t even have a second floor before, but it’s not about the stairs either or the heater that buzzes softly down the hall. You’re trying to figure it out.

“Honey?” You gently knock on your daughter’s door before opening it. “Are you alright?”

Ah. You think you get it now.

If this home was anything like your childhood house, there would be no place for a crying little girl. Hayoon would be yelled at right there on her foam playmat, and that dollhouse you gifted her for her birthday would be in pieces before you could even count to five.

But instead, you find yourself sitting there with your daughter, holding her tiny hands in yours. Your heart swells with how cute Hayoon looks in those pink pajamas. They’re another gift from you, and many more to come.

“Go away daddy,” she sniffles. “I’m too mad to talk.”

This home feels more unfamiliar by the second. A little remark of defiance like that from you when you were around Hayoon’s age would make your father yell even harder until your childish anger dissolved into pure fear. Because growing up, you were taught to recognize the distinct difference in the size and strength of your father’s hands next to yours. You were taught to see them as the hands of justice who held all the claims in the court of a family.

You’re no longer five years old. You’re an adult man with a job of your own and a daughter who loves him. So you put Hayoon in your lap and hug her close. Her tears pour against your chest.

“I hope you’re not too mad to give me a hug,” you say with a tinge of hope in your voice.

Hayoon shakes her head and hugs you back.

Why didn’t they teach you this? Your daughter’s given your more lessons in life than any parenting book out there. It turns out that fixing a child’s temper tantrum doesn’t have to involve whipping out your belt and deafening the household with your voice.

Oftentimes you just have to sit here with her, in her messy room of dolls and plushies.

“I heard you’re giving mommy a hard time, is that true?”

Hayoon harrumphs, crossing her arms. “No!”

“I knew that couldn’t be true. The Hayoon I know always listens and makes mommy and daddy smile.”

She looks so much like Yuri. Those almond eyes and that bratty streak could only come from her mother. You can’t believe you were blessed with two of the girls you love most in the world.

Only Yuri and Hayoon can make you forget that anger is a possibility. Seeing them side by side in the cute selfies Yuri sends you fills you with pride. You have a gorgeous family, don’t you? You can’t understand what pushes people to hurt theirs.

Can’t understand what pushed your father to hurt his.

“I just couldn’t find Charlotte,” your daughter complains. The thought of her missing doll emerges in her mind and makes her burst into tears again. “Me and mommy looked everywhere again and again but she’s gone!”

Oh, so that’s why Yuri looked so disheveled and tired. Hayoon is persistent when it comes to getting what she wants. You suspect they’ve conducted several search parties before you clocked out of work.

“Charlotte’s around here somewhere.” You look around. It’s gonna be hard to look for a red-haired doll with the mess in Hayoon’s room, but it’s not completely undoable. “Tell you what. Tomorrow when you wake up, Charlotte’s going to be sleeping right beside you. I’m sure she’s just meeting up with friends.”

“Really?” Hayoon asks.

The sheer trust and hope your daughter has in you to find a little doll. The sheer trust and hope your wife has in you to believe everything’s gonna be fine. It’s a weight you’re privileged to carry.

“Yes, really,” you reply. “But first I need you to go to sleep, honey. I’m sure you’re tired too, like mommy and daddy.”

Hayoon is agreeable tonight, letting you tuck her into bed. You check under the bed and in her closet for monsters. Once she’s assured that there are none, she tells you good night.

But there’s another thing she tells you, as she dozes off to dreamland: “I love you, daddy.”

-

When you go into your bedroom, Yuri’s still awake. You don’t think she’s safe from letting her head fall onto the satin pillow though. Her eyes are half-closed and barely open as you get into bed with her.

You slip an arm around her waist. Half-asleep Yuri is conscious enough to melt into your touch, tangling your bodies around each other under the covers. Her head rests on your chest. You wonder if she can hear your heart beating. You wonder if she knows it only beats for her.

They told you the honeymoon phase ends sooner than you think. Your older relatives at the wedding smirked haughtily and told you to enjoy it while it lasts. Before a year passes by, they told you, you’d start wanting your own bedroom. You’d start looking for other women to pass the time.

But you’ve never grown tired of Yuri. She’s impossible to stop loving all the way back to the day you met at the café. Her face was rounder then, and she was shy as she shook your hand. Who knew that years later, she’d be snuggling up to you in bed? Who would guess the number of inside jokes you have with this girl?

“Is she asleep?” Yuri asks. Her voice is groggy, like she’s been waiting to sleep for an eternity.

“Yes, ma’am.” You kiss the top of her head and smile against her locks of black. “She looks a lot like you when she’s whining.”

Yuri giggles, slapping you on the shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Good night to you, too, Yuri.”

Yuri’s smile turns serene. All the humor turns into something more calm and composed. You don’t remember seeing it on your mother’s face. You didn’t think it was possible.

“Good night.” She leans up the best she can to kiss you. “I love you. And thank you so much.”

Growing up, you thought it was a fantasy to be happily in love with someone. Your friends all agreed you’d be the last one to marry, might even sign up for priesthood.

You laughed along with their jokes and took them all lightly. But you just… didn’t see yourself married. You didn’t want to be the husband your father was, whose temper was infinite and presence a haunting phantom in your house. You didn’t want to be a father like him one day who snapped like a branch at every wrongdoing.

You realized you didn’t have to be. Yuri doesn’t get tired of telling you that you are nothing like him. You didn’t have to pass down all that rage to your daughter and her daughter’s daughters. You didn’t have to put your hands on the woman you love.

So you don’t.

Your hands on Yuri’s waist pose no threat. She doesn’t flinch when you put them there. Under your pillow, your phone buzzes angrily with messages from a man you vowed not to be. Each one is accusatory and vulgar and obscene, just like how you remember him.

Cycles don’t have to go on forever. You put your phone on mute and hug Yuri tighter.