Poor Unfortunate Souls | Mingi ✓

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I'm surrounded by people that, day in, day out, I think I shouldn't be with. A movie already portended to head down the wrong path and so, it turns one off yet one doesn't turn it off.

I have got to see the ending, says one to themselves.

We're a cult of four made from somewhere that I know isn't heaven. Maybe hell, it's a likelihood. By the time I'm done taking in poker-faced Ryujin (it's her norm expression), Jungha attempting to create a makeshift spoon out of a single chopstick (she's actually succeeding), Eunji winking in the direction of nearly every male that passes by (so far, two have surrendered their numbers) and me, staring at the former three (I assume I know how I do look), I conclude it might be.

The four of us together augments an odd quartet, which is the only way I can underscore the point I want to make. Odd and quartet-y as we are, we cannot do without each other. In this square of friendship, I'm pegged the oddest. Not that I was given chance to vote in my choice, because every clique of people attached to each other by platonic feelings (most times) and whatnot should have someone capable of putting the odd in oddball.

In Eunji's opinion, a twenty-year-old college woman, dateless for a full sum of four years and six months, is rather befitting. Each passing day I take a look at them and procure reasons to beg to differ.

Manless for sixteen seasons and still kicking. From my mind's eye, I see someone who knows how to work it—me. Hence, I shouldn't be bothered. I'm not bothered. I tell myself it doesn't bother me. Exams, bills, rent. All cardinal stuff for thoughts to drift off the trail of dwelling on what I don't have; probably don't need, either. Getting linked to a man (for the fun of it) is an unwanted addendum to that stress—the eventual family, tuition, extra spending, obligatory selflessness, wrinkles before you clock forty. And God forbid you have time for yourself. Again, obligatory selflessness: What he wants, what they (the kids) want if it comes to that, what the other they (the in-laws) want if you survive to see that long. Yet with all of this construed, I wonder where Eunji gets off trading numbers with a chap ranging between Asian and another race. Ryujin: squealing until Eunji is believing she's the best thing since sliced bread. Jungha: seeing her boyfriend and, altogether, ignores the idea behind breathing.

The Thing approaches.

"You invited him?" I bemoan, loud enough for his encroaching presence to grasp. Needless to say, I already anticipate whatever he might shoot back in repartee. "Whatever could I have done to deserve this. Give a girl a heads up next time, would you?"

"So you could revamp?" Song Mingi retorts. It's embarrassing, inside and out, to think his voice makes everything go amok inside me. He settles his endless figure into a seat beside Jungha. His eyes never leave me. "I agree. You could use the extra minutes."

I shift attention to Jungha. "Why is he here?"

At least she's apologetic, even though a surface reaction. Seo Jungha doesn't mean it one bit because she's ridiculous enough to believe Mingi completes her.

"Oh, relax, would you?" She flicks her wrist, the case drops. It's hard to miss the way she leans into him. It's cute and I want to puke. One arm travels around her shoulders, slender fingers of a large hand gripping loosely but nevertheless protectively. I think I can use that kind of love right now. "He was alone, I invited him."

I grunt and shove my plate of spring rolls away from me. Barely touched. "There goes my lunch. I appreciate."

"Don't mention it," Mingi answers, pulling my abandoned food in his direction, not hesitating to dig in. I'm much too slow to react.

Mingi's existence is a thing of spite. I've never been able to stand him long before Jungha decided he was cute, dropped hints, kissed him, and said yes to an evening at some swank restaurant down at Myeongdong. Best date ever! She squealed that night. Imagine my petrification when Eunji thought she was relaying good news, in the process, dropping herculean hints that I gradually came closer to dying alone.

Orientation week would do a lot to someone, especially when they wake up on the wrong side of bed. I swear some days are deadset on leaving one frustrated.

Opened my eyes that morning: sun was extra meanie (Vitamin D, they said), turned on the faucet in the bathroom: hot water ran out (and while it was a commonplace, it still added to the Make-Yoon-mad list), shook my cereal box upside down like a thief ridding a stolen handbag of its content: three wheat flakes and a raisin flipped me off (I think I was hallucinating that day because I could've sworn the three pieces of wheat and one of dried grape sprouted out fingers). The figurine atop the layered cake of unfortunate events was running late, bumping into an alpine human I thought was attractive until he put his tongue to work.

"Dude, watch where you're going!" He said, no, snapped. "You blind or something?"

"How about you watch where you're going!" I retorted, no, snapped.

To this day I think I should've had a better comeback than that.

From there founded the relationship that is today: two people tolerating each other for the sake of a third party. We do less than tolerate.

In my head, Mingi is the victim from every clip I've watched on 1000 Ways To Die. I know when Mingi looks at me, what he sees is a witch sent to torment him for some past sin he wouldn't have cared to reckon. How Jungha sees us both: two people with great potential of becoming best of friends overtime. How Ryujin and Eunji see us: I'm not sure. I'm thinking a bunch of jobless asshats with no aim in life.

Ryujin is more than capable of such thoughts. Eunji is just Eunji: incapable of such thoughts.

"Hongjoong's hosting an appreciation party for Seonghwa," Mingi speaks albeit chewing. It's disgusting, I think, but when I spare a glance at Jungha and see heart eyes, I settle for suppressing my thoughts. At this point, I can only imagine the day he says something that doesn't point to his social life. "You're all invited."

"Appreciation party?" Eunji asks.

"A thank-you-for-being-my-friend dumbshit party. Brainless idea for the likes of him, yes, but a party's a party at the end of the day."

I snort. "Of course it's all that matters. At the end of the day." One of Mingi's brows tip up in inquiry. It's sharp, it's appealing to the eyes, I don't dwell on it. "How are the job resumes looking at this point, Song?"

"Yoon!" Jungha sounds like a disapproving mother, even if her voice gets drowned out by her boyfriend's.

"As bad as that makeup. Seriously," Mingi pauses to smirk, leaning forward, he rests his folded arms on the table, "get help. I know a guy."

"Mingi!"

"Right after he helps you."

"Get a face lift?"

"Screw you."

"Screw you, too."

"Damn you to hell."

"Damn you to hell f—"

"That's enough!" We shrink back under Jungha's voice, certain that a few heads turn in our direction. Her brown eyes are spine-chilling. "If you both want to fight so badly, take it someplace else because heaven help me, if I hear one more word out of either of you that isn't along the line of 'I like you, let's be friends', you're going to regret it."

Noted.