Body Talk

38: Jungkook's Past

The only memories of his childhood included static white noise; and fuzzy images of his father's darkened smiles.

Birthdays. Jungkook never knew how special a day it could be. In his knowledge, it was a day of normal occurrences— where he'd wake up, watch the neighbour crank up his television to the highest volume as a binge of mixed martial arts would play endlessly. If he was lucky, he would see boxers in the ring.

It was only during his 14th birthday that he would realise the difference he had in contrary to others. That birthdays were special; and that it was normal to receive such love, and even gifts. On the day that marked his 14th year alive, Jungkook was delivering boxes to pay for his textbooks.

Although others had expressed their pitiful stance towards his situation, he had never thought his life was anything pitiful.

"Son."

Jungkook turns towards his mother; who was making pickled vegetables despite the freezing cold winds that threatened to dry her tired eyes.

A brief thought crosses his mind. She had always been frail....but had she looked this tired before?

"Son, I have something for you." She smiles, eyes crinkling under the rivers of wrinkles. "Go check your bed."

Jungkook responds with a smile. As he walks past the tiny hallway towards his room, he notices the picture of his father lying vulnerably open on the dining table.

He must be doing well. He thought.

Good enough to pretend his illegitimate son doesn't exist.

But.....it doesn't matter, does it? No matter how much hatred he felt for this rich businessman who is supposedly his father, Jungkook's existence is just nothing but a figment of fantasy. An imagination; an unfulfilled delusion.

It was when the boy notices a pair of brand new boxing gloves sitting idly on his bed, that his train of thoughts dissipate. Excitement. Gratefulness.

But also......guilt.

Mom made it clear that it didn't matter how hard she worked to sell those pickled vegetables. What mattered was Jungkook, who used cloth from old clothing to wrap his hands. Jungkook, who would imitate the boxers on his neighbour's TV, sometimes even better than them.

As he trained, the more he ravished in the hobby. The moment his fists connected to cold, hard flesh; the brilliance of the force he'd control as he manipulates gravity to his favor. His movements—which are faster than anyone else's, his landing punches— which are heavier than any brawler.

As the national tournament draws closer, Jungkook is plagued by the growing worry of his mother's apparent illness.

Due to years of neglect, her tumor had grown into her nerves; potentially leaving her permanently paralysed. But before the doctor could even worry about paralysis, her possibilities of death was far more of an urgent matter.

Money. Jungkook needed a load of money, somewhere, somehow, fast. He was running out of time. And so is his mother.

It wasn't a question of whether Jungkook felt that someone like him could win the nationals. He needed to, no matter what. He needed to. Jungkook is presented with a choice none other than the champion, where the prize money was enough to send Mom for treatment.

And it was as if, his desperation consumed him alive.

Get up. Jungkook's mind rang, and his ears fell silent. Get up. You have to. Even if your bones are broken, your legs gave way, your nerves screamed in absolute agony. Get up. Get. up.

Get up and win.

The sounds of the roaring crowd had drowned out from his intense determination; Jungkook's vision was so blurry and stained with his blood, or his opponents' blood, that he could no longer make out the cheque that was presented to him. He was so determined, he won. A boxer without any formal training. Who taught himself, tirelessly, through the tiny screen at his neighbour's window.

Maybe it was the adrenaline that moved him, but he pushes the medics away without feeling any ounce of pain. Perhaps even his ribs were broken, but Jungkook was only interested in telling his mother that she was saved.

He drags his limp, fallen body home.... somehow.

"Mom!" He rushes in, calling her name. She seems to still be sound asleep. Her expression— for the first time in a while, seemed peaceful as she rested. Is she having a good dream?

Jungkook smiles, setting aside the prize money on the table. He drags a stool and settled down next to her bed, placing his hand over hers.

Cold.

Jungkook's eyes widened gradually in realisation as he observes her expression.

"....Mom?"