To Be A Swan

Symphony Number 9. Unconventional choice but it will do for the job today.

Now tell me, am I beautiful now?

They say that beauty is only skin deep, ugly goes all the way down to the bones, down to your soul.

Am I beautiful now?

Comparison breeds inferiority, just like abuse and neglect. But you'd never know these things, would you? They don't teach that in school or in Sunday service. You just find out too late, or sometimes you don’t even get to find out at all.

Am I beautiful now?

I never asked for much, but still less was given. Just enough that I subsist under her shadow, afraid to step anywhere close to the world's harsh light. I was contented to be in the grey but the grey wasn’t contented with only me.

Am I beautiful now?

I think I was about five when I learned the meaning of the word envy. It was Suzy's seventh birthday. She looked like a princess in her pink dress and tiara. Everyone adored her and gave her gifts of all kinds. Mom said that the seventh birthday is like the eighteenth―a debut. It needs to be special and therefore Suzy had three cakes on her grand day. It's ironic how I didn’t have any on mine.

Today, Suzy turns eighteen. With a razor sharp knife, I cut her cake carefully― give her and our special guest a slice.

Mom, am I beautiful now?

Suzy was Snow White, the fairest one of all. She was Beauty, a belle whether awake or sleeping. She was wide eyed Alice and the world is her wonderland. She was Rapunzel with her long river of hair flowing to capture everyone's hearts. She is Odette in this pitiful swan lake. I am only Cinderella. No. I am the ugly duckling waiting for the day that I become a swan. Oh, to be a swan. But alas, it never came.

I wanted to be like Suzy. I wanted to shine. I wanted to be adored. Maybe if I were a little fairer, my face a little slimmer, my hair a little longer, my features a little more like hers, life would have been a little kinder. Maybe then they would look at me a little longer, like me a little better, love me a little truer, and I would be a little less lonelier. Or maybe not.

I used to go through her closet and wear her clothes. Wearing Mom's makeup, I would then stand in front of the mirror pretending that I was Suzy.

Hello, Myungie. You are such a darling. Would you walk me home today? A date tomorrow? Of course. Of course. I would wear the scarf and gloves that you gave me. Am I really that pretty?

I thought that I was really pretty, almost as pretty as her. I wished that everyone else could also see that. But sadly they couldn’t. No one could. I was just different.

I would take her high heels and walk all over the house pretending that I were strolling the park. Then Dad would find me and he would be oh so mad that he would forget that I was just thirteen and my body couldn’t take much beatings from a full grown man.

"Wipe that stupid makeup off your face Sungjong," he would yell. Some days I would easily comply. I didn’t really like being beaten up. It hurt a lot, as one would expect. It hurt even more when he would pummel me while he was sober; however rare such an occasion was. It felt like he really meant it. It felt like he really hated me.

It was hard to conceal the bruises when Dad threw away Mom’s makeup. She was three years dead by then anyway. I sometimes feel that he blames me for her loss. But then again, in all probability, maybe it was just because I was different.

As time went by, I almost couldn’t feel a thing when his knuckles landed on my jaw so I would just lay there and wait for him to drag me and dunk my swollen face into a bucket full of cold water. I would just stay still holding my breath, my eyes shut under the biting frost, thinking that someday it would all be better. Someday he would accept me. Someday they would no longer look at me different.

I would wash Suzy's clothes and return them into her closet. Sometimes she would catch me but never say a word. I would stay inside her closet and fall asleep.

Today, I am wearing her white dress―elegant as a swan.

Dad, am I beautiful now?

 Myungsoo is my only friend. He is really nice. I met him at seventh grade. He sat on the chair to my right. He had eyes like diamonds shining so bright and a smile so warm that it could melt anyone’s heart. It made me really happy when he called me his best friend.

Jongie. I really like that name especially when he says it. I wasn’t different, ugly and unwanted, the freak Sungjong. I wasn’t the unloved child. I wasn’t the shadow under Suzy’s light. I was the ray of sunshine, Jongie. I was free as the wind, Jongie. I was the playful pouring rain, Jongie.

 Jongie, let’s play soccer... Jongie, I have a new computer game. Come over to my house… Jongie, my parents are fighting again. Let’s just eat jajjangmyun outside instead... Jongie, you are the best... Jongie, I love you very much… Jongie, I wish that you were really my brother.

For a moment, I thought that I didn’t need to be anyone else but me for he appreciated me as I was. He was the only one who ever cared about me and accepted me even if I wasn’t Suzy.

Then he met Suzy.

I didn’t want to introduce him to her. I knew that she would steal him away from me, just like she did with Mom and Dad. And I was right.

They started dating during the winter break. He would come over to our house and help set up the Christmas tree. I was happy to see him a lot more but he was always looking at Suzy that I doubt if he noticed that I was still there.

But right now, both Suzy and Myungsoo are looking at me.

Myungie, am I beautiful now?

I don’t know when it was that things changed. Dad no longer beat me up even if I walked through the house in Mom’s old wedding dress. He couldn’t. Not anymore. He couldn’t even get up from his bed even if he wanted to. Maybe it was the alcohol finally taking its toll on him. Maybe it was drugs. I wouldn’t know, wouldn’t care.

He has grown a lot weaker as I grew stronger with every single day. I became more and more beautiful, I believe. Maybe this is finally me becoming a swan, I thought.

One day, I served him his breakfast but he wouldn’t rise up from his slumber. That is how he died. Suzy cried. I didn’t.

I was free. Emancipation was oh so sweet. I wore thicker makeup. I wore higher heels. I wore nicer clothes. And when I walked the streets, everyone looked at me in awe.

But Myungsoo wouldn’t look at me anymore. His eyes couldn’t be peeled off her face. Bitterly, I wondered what would happen if I peeled her face off instead. I wished that her face was mine. Maybe then he would look at me. Maybe then I would really be the beautiful swan.

I move the fork close to her lips, the icing smearing on her gloss.

Eat.

She spits the cake out, the chocolate falls on the hem of the dress I am wearing; her white dress, pristine and oh so lovely just like the swan I am about to be. With a crisp sound, my hand lands on her peach cheek and lingers there for a moment. I caress it.

Soft. Beautiful. Picturesque.

I wonder how it feels to be under that skin. I wonder how the world would look if I were to see it through those eyes. I wonder if Myungsoo would kiss me too if I called his name with those lips. I wonder if he would spare me a glance if that face was mine. I wonder too late.

Tell me, am I beautiful now?

To be or not to be. It was no longer a question. I have come this far and this is my destiny― to be a swan.

I can’t be the ugly duckling forever. My metamorphosis can not wait. I can not be a dancer who practiced all my life and never give my performance. It is long overdue. I have to be a swan. I take the knife and wipe off the icing.

Today I cut my third cake.

The blade reflects the glint in our special guest’s eyes. Myungsoo. My dearest Myungsoo, with eyes shining as bright as diamonds. Such a pity that I could only find broken glass to reanimate his now lifeless eyes. They look at me and only me; fixed, unmoving and soundless audience, enthralled with my long awaited recital. Sitting cold and silent, waiting for my transformation, Myungsoo.

I turn the knob and the music grows louder. Lovely. Symphony Number 9.

I start to open the beautiful vessel. Careful. Careful. The wrapping is my present.

If she made a sound, I don’t know. All I can hear is Symphony Number 9.

Inch by inch, I make the incisions. I wish I have better tools than this lowly kitchen knife. But it’s almost over. Too late for regrets. I did a good job in keeping her face in one piece anyway. It’s just stained by blood but we can wash that away later, can’t we? And there we have it. A beautiful mask.

The carpet has now turned crimson. It’s quite a mess, but no worries. Dad wouldn’t be here to yell at me “Sungjong, clean up!”

I take my prize and fit it over my face. It is still warm, still wet. But who cares? It is my trophy. At last, my transformation is complete.

Behold the swan.

I stand before the mirror and see Suzy’s face staring back at me. A swan at last.

Sister dear, tell me. Am I beautiful now?