#lmn:app

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, NA SAEM

Age Twenty Five Occupation Music Producer Length of Residence 4 Months Apartment Top Floor, Even Unit, North-Facing Add-Ons Floor T10, Unit #10

Those on Floor T10 have something to hide. 

Tenants that live in units that start with #1 should avoid using cameras past 11:30pm, as they’ll see something that they won’t want to see.

Trigger Warnings: None

saem is born into a world where he’s given everything but the things that he needs. barefoot on the hardwood floor, he wakes up and wanders the apartment, lonely and cold. outside the new york skyline is covered by a thick fog of what he realizes is snow. his parents are gone. the nanny is reading a magazine from a year ago in the sitting room. he plays with his toys alone, silently. for as long as he can remember, it’s always been like this.

he grows up, moves to a new country and in this place, he’s going to school wandering the halls looking for something. like a wallflower, he’s wilting. he’s just barely into his teens now and he realizes that something’s wrong with him. a dread builds up in him and when he looks around him and realizes he’s alone in an empty house.

he becomes a trainee because it seems like the right thing to do, he’s aways been interested in singing and dancing. lone in the spotlight, being judged by a panel of corporate music faces, he’s decided to be worthy and given a contract. being a trainee is hard, it sucks, and he grows to resent dancing being forced to do it for hours a day. even singing sucks, he’s never allowed to be apart of the process, his voice being critique and pushed in such a way that it doesn’t sound much like himself anymore. but at least he’s not alone, he has friends, all going through the same thing.

saem thinks he’s ready for this, prepared for the spotlight. but with all eyes on him, he can’t picture anything worse. the support from millions of people he doesn’t know doesn’t make it better. it feels phony, like he’s constantly living a lie, having to wear such a thick mask it doesn’t feel like himself. so he finds time to escape, in one night stands, in things that help numb him, steady the shake in his hand.

he leaves. he doesn’t tell the company about the text he’s gotten from one of his flings telling him that she’s pregnant. saem somehow finds a way to get out of the contract, telling them that he really can’t cope anymore. and once he’s free from some of the obligation, he feels... different. not necessarily better but different. he allows himself time to heal, for the birth of his daughter, and to experience things that he once loved.

saem finds sanity in making music, not for himself, at least not always. he sells a lot of it back to the same companies that he hates so much. every single time he regrets it, hearing the technical changes to his music that’s made mainstream and easily digestible. but he needs to keep himself busy and make some kind of money. when he looks around himself, things haven’t changed much. his apartment is lonely, except for the two furry animals that prance around on their padded paws. his daughter is far away in another country, forgetting about him until he becomes a name on a check or a tasteless, generic gift.

saem is living the same day, everyday, in the hope that something will change. but he’s afraid, confident, it never will.

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, SEO YEJUN

Age Twenty One Occupation Unemployed Length of Residence 4 months Apartment Bottom Floor, Odd Unit, East-Facing Add-Ons Odd Unit #11, Floor B2

Tenants that live in units that start with #11: Every tongue that rises against them shall fall. Figuratively speaking (for the most part). Only no amount of horrid luck on their enemies is going to change theirs for the better.

Those living in Floor B2 are being terrorized by strange happenings that appears to be the work of a vengeful ghost.

Trigger Warnings: None

walk.

yejun is afraid. he walks the corridors of his childhood home, remembering all the times he cowers in its corners. his father’s deep booming voice drowning out his mother’s voice, his sister’s laugh. all he remembers about the house is pain, an uncomfortable gnawing feeling that had always chewed his insides and left him with an empty hollow feeling afterward. even now, the house doesn’t seem so scary, with its clean floors and polished china. nothing is out of place, the picturesque family home that any young family would dream of. but to him, it’s just a bad dream, one that seems so distant but comes back to him like overwhelming waves when he’s smells something like his mother’s perfume or sees the brand of white button downs his father used to always wear.

sleep.

yejun was in love. his childhood best friend, the one he’d always looked for when things felt like too much to carry on his weak and tired shoulders. yejun learned to share some of it, to let him carry some of his burden and in turn yejun learned to carry his. wrapped in his arms, it would seem so natural, a moon orbiting the earth and pulling its waves to shore at a gentle lull. yejun felt no pain here, even when they argued, it was always out of love and respect. yejun found himself able to tell him things, things he never told anyone, about his father, those men at clubs who treated him nice only to want something at the end of the night, his mother who he missed so much. and in turn, he’d be rewarded with a light airy feeling at the base of his chest where a weight used to sit, fester. it was healing now, shrinking into a size so small, it hardly existed.

wake.

yejun wakes up. he’s not sure whether he was just a dream, or maybe he wasn’t and died in yejun’s sleep. some part of him can still feel his warm fingertips grasping his wrist, pulling him up from his sinking hole of addiction, trauma, and neglect, but in most moments it just feels like a ghost knocking on his door, only to be gone when yejun finds the courage to investigate. he doesn’t cry; can he? for someone he’s not sure he ever knew, for a lover that he’s not sure he’s ever lost, for a life he’s not sure he’s ever lived? when he wakes, his addiction is still running it’s course in his bloodstream and his thought still raging back and forth between two extremes of high highs and low lows.

walk.

he’s in a new universe now, where everything bad still exists, vivid memories like terrible hauntings, and everything good, he’s lost, like waking up too fast from a dream. he lives in a universe without his soulmate but remembers every single part of him. and exists, craving what he’s sure now he never had, not in this lifetime anyway, too scared to sleep and dream of a boy he once loved, in a distant place somewhere between real life and the next.

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, FRANCESA ABE

Age Twenty Four Occupation Unemployed Length of Residence 6 months Apartment Top Floor (Serviced), Odd Unit, North-Facing Add-Ons Odd Unit #1

Tenants that live in units that start with #1 should avoid using cameras past 11:30pm, as they’ll see something that they won’t want to see.

Trigger Warnings: None

Fill in the gaps.

The story sounds more exciting than it actually is. Father is a guy who’s a big deal in the 80s and 90s but people don’t care so much anymore when they hear his name. Marcel Wilson means barely anything in 2021. Mother is a girl all of 19 named Madoka, a flight attendant. The two of them meet at an airport bar, and for two weeks they’re a thing. Then three months late Madoka finds out she’s pregnant, hits Marcel up and when he denies any responsibility she hits him with a paternity suit. It’s a whole ordeal in the tabloids for a few months, stuck sitting in the bottom corner of US Weekly but it doesn’t matter, it’s not really important. Only the ending result is: the court says Marcel is the dad and both Marcel’s marriage nearly collapses. Nearly.

Here’s the collateral: Marcel doesn’t want the kid, neither does Madoka, there’s never any accounting of what actually happens to the baby once the lawsuit is over and the money is paid out, just a simple of statement of fact that no one actually wants her. So Madoka leaves her in Honolulu at her parents house when maternity leave ends. Then she gets on another flight off to somewhere better, away from the shitty old house her parents raised her in. She names the baby Francesca before she goes because little girls need pretty names, even the unwanted ones.

Grandma says a lot of things, mostly how girls shouldn’t be made of vices. Incidentally, Francesca is a girl filled with vices; flawed to the very core. She’s no good in school, spends too much time staring out the window daydreaming about this and that and any free time is spent with Uncle’s record collection or skating up and down the street until the street lights come on and Grandma calls out to her in her raspy voice with her heavily accented english. “Too much like your mother”, Grandma likes to mumble under he breath, “no good. no good. no good.”

She’s always trying to fill some endless void. Like Sisyphus with that fucking boulder. Looking for love in the wrong people, looking for approval in people who don’t care, searching for things eternally denied. The process goes on ad nauseum. There are words for people like her, most of them boil down to something near masochism. “I just want to prove to myself,” She tells her therapist in her very last session before she ghosts for good, “I just want to prove that I’m something people can love. I just want to be the little kid who’s parents put their artwork up on the refrigerator. That’s not a crime, is it?”

Side story: First time in a long time she sees Madoka they’re both at LAX. “You drink right?” Madoka asks, and it dawns on Francesca that maybe Madoka can’t remember her brithday, doesn’t know if her only daughter is 21 yet or maybe she’s a little younger. Doesn’t matter, Madoka takes her back to the bar anyways and orders her a manhattan. “It’s good.” she says. It’s not. And for an hour Madoka talks her ear off. Talks about her flight to Buenos Aries and the shitty guy in business class, and how fight attending isn’t all it’s cracked up to be and how she’s got to borrow from her 401k to stay afloat sometimes. And the whole time Francesca can’t stop bouncing her leg and watching the way condensation accumulates on the glass. Her flight is probably boarding right now, and all the while Madoka is talking ceaselessly, saying more to Francesca in the instance than she’s said over the course of her own life, but if she listens closely Francesca swears she can hear someone calling the final boarding call for her flight. “You know,” Madoka says while Francesca’s slowly getting up, trying to figure out the best way to make a polite exist and praying to god the plane hasn’t taken off, “You know maybe I should’ve been a mother to you. Maybe we both would’ve ended up better off for it.” The plane ends up taking off without Francesca.

She runs away a lot, probably gets it from Madoka. First she goes to New York under the idea that maybe for once in her life she’ll try to get closer to Marcel. Then the rug gets pulled from under her and Marcel dies* and some stupid boy breaks her heart and Francesca’s too sensitive and weak to deal with any of it so she runs to California under the guise that it’ll fix her depression. (Spoiler Alert: LA only makes depression worse). Then back to Hawaii, back to Honolulu because Grandpa is getting old and senile and Grandma can’t really handle him on his own. “It’s time to grow up,” Grandma tells her, “you can’t run forever your feet can only go so far.”

*Footnote: Marcel leaves his entire estate to Francesca. There’s a threat of litigation from his last wife but nothing ever materializes. His only child gets the whole $200 million. Doesn’t make up for a father. Doesn’t hurt either.

The shocker is Grandma dies first, peacefully in her sleep after visiting Grandpa earlier that day. No suffering, no pain. Just Francesca crying at her bedside before the paramedics take her away. Grandpa asks what happened to the nice woman that used to visit, he can’t remember that she was his wife, though he asks about her too. The staff says he tells the picture of Grandma good night every night, just like he did when he was home. And then on some unimportant Tuesday not long after Grandpa goes to be with Grandma because everyone knows he could never bear the thought of being away from her and Francesca is alone again.

Madoka comes back, just for the funerals and to settle the estates. She hugs Francesca for the first time in what feels like forever, and apologizes that she had to deal with it all alone and something in Francesca wants to breakdown but instead she claps her mother on the back and tells her it’s okay, and comforts Madoka as she drowns in her own loss and self pity. “I’ll be the mother you wanted now,” Madoka tells Francesca, “the mother you always deserved.“

Epilogue: Francesca runs out one night. She’s good at running, feet hitting the pavement, going going going until she ends up in Ville City. Madoka leaves her a voicemail, asks her where she’s run off to and why. Francesca never replies, she just keeps running.

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, PARK SUNGHYUN

Age Thirty Five Occupation Pediatric Surgeon  Length of Residence 1 year Apartment Top Floor (Serviced), Odd Unit, North-Facing Add-Ons Odd Unit #09, Floor T12s

Those on Floor T12s have been visited by some black animal when they step outside of the apartment. It feels like an omen.

Tenants that live in units that start with #09: Should not be alarmed if they cross paths with a doppelganger of their younger selves in and around the building. They just have a habit of showing up on the date marking the anniversary of the the worst day of their life. 

TRIGGER WARNINGS: None

a scrapbook is placed half haphazardly into a storage bin, the front of the book has “the park family” written in faded golden lettering. a few old yearbooks, some old medals, and a tacky snowglobe with a miniature tokyo sit alongside the scrapbook. blah blah blah

polaroid of a young couple, no older than teenagers, posing in front of an arcade game. the girl is wearing a baggy jean jacket, her permed hair framing her huge smile. the boy has his arm thrown over her shoulder, he’s wearing an oversized t-shirt tucked into high wasted jeans.

scrawled underneath the photo in neat handwriting is mikyung and junho’s first date 1984.

on the next page, a photo of the same girl, mikyung, only this time she’s sitting in a hospital bed,  her hair has been straightened, her smile subdued and a baby tucked carefully in her arms. the same boy junho,sits beside her bed, his eyes a bit red as he smiles towards the camera.

scrawled underneath in the same neat handwriting is sunghyun’s birthday, 1985

a toddler dressed in hogeon sits in the middle of various objects, he’s clutching a toy stethoscope in his hand.  

sunghyun’s doljabi ceremony, 1986.

the next page has various photos of the young couple — the first being junho wearing a cap and gown, holding a diploma, with mikyung beside him carrying a boy who seems to be around 3 years old.

junho’s graduation, 1988.

the second photo on the page is of mikyung, her hair tied neatly into the bun, posing by a makeup counter, two other women are beside her.

mikyung’s first day at the department store, 1989.

the following page has a photo of the young boy sunghyun, now around 6 years old, smiling with a tooth missing, he’s holding up a small gold ribbon with an older woman, with graying hair and smile lines standing beside him.  her nose looks vaguely similar to junho’s.

sport’s day at sunghyun’s school, with grandma 1990.

the next page features another hospital photo, mikyung lays in the bed smiling at sunghyun who is now around 12 years old, carrying a baby. he’s wearing a school uniform and smiling proudly at the camera, as he shows off the baby in his arms.

sunghyun meeting hyunmi for the first time, 1997.

beside it, is a photo of hyunmi, sitting in a high chair. sunghyun’s back is facing the camera, but his hands are in frame, as he holds up a spoon of rice towards hyunmi.

below in much messier handwriting, hyunmi and sunghyun, 1998

the next page has a photo of hyunmi, now around 5 years old, her hair tied in pigtails ( though one is lopsided ) with junho and mikyung behind her. but she is clinging onto sunghyun,now a teenager, who is kneeled beside her, her eyes watery.

the same messy handwriting as before, minnie’s first day of school, 2002, and a heart sticker beside the caption.

a photo of hyunmi laying in a hospital bed, her smile forced as she looks up at the camera. mulitple stuffed animals litter her bedside table, and sunghyun sits beside her, holding balloons. his dark circles are apparent even through the photo.

minnie’s successful surgery, 2004

tucked in the corner of the page is a picture of sunghyun, posing alone with a diploma in hand.

sunghyun’s high school graduation

the next page features multiple photos of sunghyun and a group of young adults. the one in the center is sunghyun with his arm wrapped around the waist of a young woman wearing a scarf.

post grad trip in tokyo, 2007

another graduation photo, this time sunghyun is centered in the photo dressed in a cap and gown, holding up his dilopma. hyunmi now a teenager, is beside him her smile wide. mikyung and junho stand on the other side of him, now middle-aged.

med school graduation, 2011

a photo id of sunghyun, titled “intern” and the name of the hospital is on the same page.

on the last page of the scrapbook, there are multiple pictures missing, only a caption remains.

sunghyun’s wedding, 2014

the last photo is of sunghyun, wearing a lab coat, his smile bright as he throws a peace sign at the camera. his wedding ring is missing.  

sunghyun’s first day at (redacted) hospital in ville city, 2019

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, TOUKA HIROSE

Age Twenty Four Occupation Radio Host Length of Residence 6 months Apartment Middle Floor, Odd Unit, South-Facing Add-Ons Odd Unit #1

Tenants that live in units that start with #1 should avoid using cameras past 11:30pm, as they’ll see something that they won’t want to see.

Trigger Warnings: None

“we’re getting close to the end of this program, so thank you everyone for allowing me, your host; none other than your always caffeine driven-widely awake kahi to be with you on this quiet night with your favorite songs, stories, and everything else your heart wants to share with all of us. we have one last song for all of you, it was a suggestion by an anonymous caller and it’s… oh, come on, you guys! really? thriller?! i guess it’s because we’re close to halloween! Here‘s a 1984 hit song, ‘thriller’, by the amazing and incomparable legend, michael jackson.”

on cue, the song begins to play. she sinks back into the chair. she is wearing the kind of sweater that swallows her up instead of hanging off her shoulders in a fitting form. when she closes her eyes, it feels just like 3am back in her bed.

‘… under the moonlight you see a sight that almost stops your heart …’

touka hirose is a strange creature. a strange creature who is folded twice over her own soul. as a child, her smile was wide and effortless. the dry heat of the summer could be layered onto the island and yet she would be going at it for days. a weary traveler, a foolish and gentle spy. sneakily filling her stomach with strawberries from their backyard and feeling the soft grass tickle her toes were among her favourite things. a young sakura lurks through life like it is an old house, teasing the wallpaper until it falls down. layer by layer, story by story. motions to people with the edge of her voice, with a change of expression. they say her talents overflow, they stem from her never-ending curiosity.

‘… you fell the cold hand and wonder if you’ll ever see the sun …’

mid november and the sky is greying. she doesn’t say much from behind the window as she watches droplets of rain hit the glass with a ‘tap' and by now she knows better than to light all the dark rooms in her house. and she can feel it, the tide of the past july. it’s like this one morning she looks across the dinner table and everything that has ever been left unspoken was being said. no one ever had to tell her anything, she always managed to catch snippets of what was happening around her, observation had been but a hobby to her for as long as she could remember and the sight of her mother crying was something unfamiliar to her, something she would notice right away. touka can see it now, the way her mother speaks in dim lit words, the way her father’s name escapes her mother’s. how often do we wear smiles that hurt, smiles that tell us we have endured too long? touka feels heavy and the worst thing is, she knows the weather of departure; the humid air, the rain pouring announcing that winter is near.

‘…. this is the end of your life. they’re out to get you. there’s demons closing on every side …’

by now, she is a messy book, filled with half read sentences, marked up paragraphs, folded corners and empty pages. she doesn’t let people in, only a few have trickled deep within the small gaps between the pages, and somehow the book opens up a little and she gives them a chapter. she feels with a terrible intensity. too many vowels in her mouth, too many crumpled up pages in her pockets. her mouth twisted into rivers, pouring into too many oceans at once. at times, she says quite a lot and nothing at all. she always takes too little and gives too much. reaches for anything, finding joy in the most rare of places. comes and goes, disappears like mist rising in the sky. maybe she is a liminal space. an in-between. a gas station on a longer journey. blurry, dreamlike. a threshold. an exhilarating parenthesis. she is simply someone searching for — a phrase, a light, a fire. the signs along the way.

she leans forward towards the microphone when the song begins to finish.

“… it’s now my time to go. and like always, i leave you in this late night with a song of my choosing. this is Thank you by Led Zeppelin. sweet dreams, everyone.”

[liminalrp]

INCOMING RESIDENTS

Until 10/27

Bae Joohyun (Irene) › Red Velvet

Until 10/28

Komatsu Nana › Actor* 

Until 10/29

Im Nayeon › Twice

For 10/29

None as of now!

[liminalrp]

INCOMING RESIDENTS

Until 10/24

Im Jaebum (JAYB) › Soloist*

Until 10/25

Komatsu Nana › Actor

For 10/29

None as of now!

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, REID WEITZMANN

Age Twenty Four Occupation Electrician Length of Residence 6 years Apartment Middle Floor, Odd Unit, North-Facing Add-Ons Floor M6

Those on Floor M6 are sometimes struck with a strong, inexplicable sensation of vertigo. Some say that it’s because the floor itself physically shifts.

Trigger Warnings: None

model of the week: reid weitzmann was booked for alexander mcqueen the same weekend he was signed

august 14, 2021

reid was shot exclusively for models.com by vincent ogunleye, with styling by hsiang-chien so, in london.

name reid weitzmann

agencies img models (london) next (paris) morph mgmt (seoul)

instagram @reid.weitzmann

place of origin auckland, new zealand

ethnic origin my mum’s korean and my dad’s a settler (white)

how were you discovered? i was visiting family in london, actually. we ate at some touristy pizza parlor that apparently had the best nolio in town, real stuff, no dominos or hell pizza. i stood around with my sister trying to find our way through to another destination using google maps, until hunter stopped me and handed over a leaflet from img models. seemed legit. did a few test shoots, walked a few times. i thought i was gonna get swindled, then a few days later i’m backstage with alexander mcqueen, working on vacation.

what was your first modeling job? not entirely sure if this counts, but i’m in a band and we had to shoot the jacket cover to our ep. my friend is a photography student so she hooked us up with editing, the images, so forth. my first actual modeling gig was when i got flown out to berlin to shoot a lookbook for hugo boss. on the flight back home i got food poisoning. maybe it was a bad sausage, i don’t know.

what do you like to do when you’re off duty? i practice a lot. i enjoy touching up my rudiments, so thank god for electronic drum kits or else i might’ve pissed off my neighbors. i also like watching movies, psychological thrillers and dark fantasies are some of my favorite genres. i’ve been slacking lately but i can also catch some waves as i’ve recently invested in a new surfboard.

what are you listening to at the moment? everyone dubs me as the “rock guy” but i listen to everything. i think to be a musician, really, should mean appreciation for a little bit of everything. some days i find myself chilling to sarah vaughn, other days fka twigs or talking heads. the one album i’ve had on heavy rotation is danny brown’s atrocity exhibition.

what were you doing before modeling? i had just graduated from high school. i don’t know how people miss those five years but y'know, i guess. umm, i was mostly gigging around town whether with my group or with other local musicians. going in and out of recording sessions. should’ve been contemplating something like university but didn’t really feel the need to.

do you have a memorable experience from modeling? i love meeting new people from all over the world, it makes me realize how new zealand is so small. my work husband turned brother is from senegal, and i think he’s about the coolest person to walk the earth. i met him after a jacquemus show in paris, so now we complete each other.

favorite designer and/or beauty product? i think fendi is pretty cool. i really liked the outfit i walked in during milan fashion week, then again green is my favorite color so i could be biased. i also like the punk-rock/edgy energy saint laurent has, so i’d like to get booked one day, who knows. i’m not really a fashion head to be honest? i also can’t live without lip balm, so i always have one on me. drunk elephant!

what was your family’s reaction with modeling? my mom laughed, though she thought i should give it a shot. she’s been pretty supportive, but i agreed and thought my agent was high when he was like, “he’s got a good face! a good, unusual face!”. as someone who grew up ugly, it’s kinda weird seeing how the tables have turned.

any funny story times from your career? fun fact but actually sad fact, my recent digitals were taken just three hours after i had a thirty-minute crying session because my girlfriend of two years broke up with me. the polaroids are my best though, i think.

is there something you would like to say about the industry? a job is a job. i don’t think i’m doing anything boundary breaking. the industry is still pretty white, able bodied and pertaining to a specific bodily aesthetic. every time you take ten steps into inclusiveness, twenty steps seems to go back.

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, JONAH TANILON

Age Twenty Five Occupation Electrician Length of Residence 1 year Apartment Middle Floor, Odd Unit, North-Facing Add-Ons Odd Unit #07

Tenants that live in units that start with #07 at a glance look like every sense of the word blessed. The kicker here is that they’ve been siphoning luck off of everyone they come into contact with ever since moving to Center Point.

Trigger Warnings: Death mention 

love, you find, usually takes one of two shapes:

(1) on a good day, it’s dad’s laughter — on july 20th, 2007, he’s laughing at the intense color of your sunburned shoulders.

(2) on an average day, it’s mom’s scolding — on july 21st, 2007, she’s telling you off for not wearing sunscreen and telling dad off for not making you.

it’s always like that, isn’t it?

always you and dad, getting into some kind of trouble, from sunburns so severe that the freckles persist over a decade later to stealing candy and flowers from the supermarket, and it’s always mom telling you exactly what you did wrong before she picks up your pieces. it’s a good life, you’ll recall years down the line, when dad’s face isn’t quite as clear in your memory and mom’s stopped answering your calls.

/

2010 is when it happens. the summer of 2010, at that.

dad’s gone in a flash (“i’m sorry,” the doctors say, because what else can they say to a fourteen-year-old boy who’s just lost the most important figure in his life?) and the funeral’s held on a perfect weather day. something about it digs at you. the sweat in your eyes, maybe, or the fact that no amount of hoping is enough to make the clouds move in, make the weather match the occasion.

something breaks. you’re moving too much and mom’s elbow keeps rubbing up against yours — she tells you to keep still and you tell her you wish it had been her.

neither of you will speak another word to each other for the next month.

/

you learn that things will never go back to normal.

still, that doesn’t mean that you don’t try. you let mom cut your hair when it gets too long, let her show you the ropes of being a beautician, running a salon. sometimes you even humor that idea of hers — working with her after graduation, making it a family business. both of you know it won’t happen, because you’re already too deeply dedicated to a different craft if those callouses on your fingers and packs of shoplifted guitar strings are anything to go by, but it’s the thought that counts and you’ve (almost) always meant well.

it’s just that your grades aren’t what they used to be and business isn’t what it used to be, either. all your pants keep ripping in the same place (always behind the left knee) and mom’s tired of reminding you that she doesn’t have the money to replace your wardrobe every other month. (you’re equally as tired of telling her that you’re not sure how it’s happening).

you can try all you want, but things still get worse and you slowly forget how to say the important things to mom, like “i love you” and “i’m sorry” because you’re always too busy avoiding her stare in the salon mirror.

she looks at you like she doesn’t know you, let alone know what to do with you.

/

the music thing didn’t work out. the ‘film school’ thing didn’t work out, either — and could you believe that interior design fell through, too? (you applied to a ‘gap year’ program, but they told you that they didn’t accept drop-outs. it put some things into perspective.)

you’ve always been a dreamer, so when you leave ville city for a year and come back a certified electrician, your friends aren’t sure what to say beyond ‘good for you…? i guess?’ and you’re not sure what to say, either. your life wasn’t supposed to be like this. at twenty-four years old, you’re certain that you’ve already peaked.

but after six unsuccessful weeks of apartment-hunting and couch-surfing, you find a not-too-big, not-too-small apartment for less than some of the one-rooms you’ve checked out, and it’s the last one available.

(you must have finally paid off your dues, the way your luck’s been looking up ever since.)

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, RYU YISEUL 

Age Twenty Eight Occupation Food Blogger Length of Residence 4 months Apartment Middle Floor, Odd Unit, East-Facing Add-Ons Odd Unit #03, Floor M6

Those on Floor M6 are sometimes struck with a strong, inexplicable sensation of vertigo. Some say that it’s because the floor itself physically shifts.

Tenants that live in units that start with #3: if one doesn’t return to their apartment by 10:00pm. they’ll return to a barren space. Not to worry, their things will come back! Just give it 24 hours.

Trigger Warnings: None

yiseul’s first memory is of her father, he’s sitting at the kitchen table, the newspaper laid out in front of him — was he reading it? no. he’s cutting out coupons, something she saw him do often. her mother is scratching her head behind him, her tongue out as she did when she concentrated, a big blob of dough in front of her.

 she’s saying something, but yiseul can’t recall the actual words, but she remembers her mother sighing before walking over to her younger self, her fingers pinching her cheek, leaving a dust of flour in its wake.

 —

 yiseul’s first day of school is terrible. she was too shy, maybe too proud to speak to any of the other children there.

 she was the only one who remained without a friend by the last bell.

 her father who heard yiseul complain about her inability to make friends tapped his chin, before moving towards the fridge.

 “i’m going to teach you how to make kimbap, it should be super easy even a baby can do it,” he says with that smug grin that always made yiseul want to kick him in the shin.

 the next day, yiseul shyly pushes her lunchbox to the girl who sat beside her.

 they share the meal, and yiseul gets an extra chocopie to take home.

 —

 “yiseul!” her friend calls out to her, clinging onto her arm her expression desperate, “ you have to help me make the chocolates for haejin sunbae. come on, please no one else can beat you.”

 the middle schooler frowns, the poetry book she was holding almost dropping at the impact, “ why? it won’t be the same if you don’t make it, you’re just gonna leech off of me like in home ec.”

 “i’ll do your math homework come on….”

 “no.”

 “ i’ll buy that new manga you wanted.”

 “deal.”

 —-

 a young man sits in a coffee shop, books and his laptop before him, he’s engrossed in his work until a young woman appears, dropping some sort of pastry in front of him.

 the woman has a determined expression on her face, her head held high. “ let me into the roster for tonight,”

 “hu-you’re too late yiseul, i told you the deadline was tw-”

 “ try the pastry oppa before you reject me.”

 the man scowls, before quickly ripping opening the package and taking a small bite out of the pastry, he’s silent for a moment before sighing.

 “i’ll see what i can do, but you really need to keep track of your deadlines.”

 yiseul grins, though her hands are shaking at her out-of-character behavior. yes, okay, let’s do this.

 —

 “editor jieun, please! you can’t expect me to go to japan on such short notice…” yiseul cries onto her phone, her eyes readjusting to the darkness, she can’t believe her boss called her at 1 a.m.

 “well you shouldn’t have given me the mochi you made, and told me you learned it from your old host family,” the older woman says matter of factly, “ i want an article in by friday, good luck.”

 yiseul isn’t even able to get a word in, jieun had hung up with a crackle, god that lady was crazy.

 —

 “ i was up late watching some travel show,” her editor trailed off, obviously building up to something, “fusion cooking and travel seems to be the next trend.”

 “ yes, i can see that, i think a few ar-”

 “no not an article my dear!” the older woman cries, a mischievous smile appearing on her face, “ you’ll be doing a deep dive!”

 yiseul raises her brow but before she could say another word, a brochure is pushed into her hand.

 “you’ll be going to ville city, so get packed up.”

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, MA ILSEONG 

Age Twenty Three Occupation Event Actor  Length of Residence 4 months Apartment Bottom Floor, Odd Unit, East-Facing Add-Ons Odd Unit #11, Floor B2

Tenants that live in units that start with #11: Every tongue that rises against them shall fall. Figuratively speaking (for the most part). Only no amount of horrid luck on their enemies is going to change theirs for the better.

Those living in Floor B2 are being terrorized by strange happenings that appears to be the work of a vengeful ghost. 

Trigger Warnings: None

you never learn the proper way to leave.

at six years old, it’s you standing in the entryway of the only home that you’ve ever known, hands gripping the doorframe with all your might. it’s raining outside and mom’s saying something about how you’re letting it in while dad’s screaming ‘get your ass over here right now, ilseong’ — a core memory, your school counselor will call it years down the line, when it’s the only thing that you really remember about america.

/

you’re korean, but your mother tongue is english. the ‘universal language’, your parents had called it when explaining their reasoning for not forcing you to speak korean at home, but it doesn’t help you any when you have to introduce yourself to a class full of people who hide their snickers behind their hands.

mouse, you say. a nickname you haven’t outgrown yet, never will outgrow. my name is mouse. but they laugh again, and your homeroom teacher clears his throat behind you. says something you don’t quite understand, but you catch ‘name’ and ‘what is?’, so you try again.

my name is ma ilseong. (“he’s so bad at his own language that he can hardly pronounce his name,” someone says. you pretend you don’t understand.)

at ten years old, ‘leaving’ is the clumsy way you stand up from your desk, elbow slamming against cheap wood (but you don’t show that it hurts). it’s how you disappear faster than everybody else. by the time the motion sends that glass milk bottle toppling from your desk, you’re halfway down the hall. the glass breaks, but you don’t hear it. can’t hear anything beyond the blood rushing in your head, always embarrassed to be alive.

/

dad doesn’t get it.

he tells you that adventure is what life is all about, but you can’t sympathize with the point that he’s making and the stare that you receive in return is just as hollow when you tell him that this might be adventure, but it just feels like being lost. the next day, you’re in bahrain.

/

at seventeen, ‘leaving’ is holding a crying girl in your arms and not knowing what kind of apology would make up for the fact that your dad’s work is sending your family to a country she’s never heard of before, so not saying anything at all. it’s listening to her say “i’ll never forget you” in a language she barely speaks just to make sure you’ll understand. it’s not looking back on your way through the terminal because looking back never makes leaving any easier.

it’s writing her a letter two years later and never receiving a response, because just like you’re always leaving, the ones left behind are always forgetting.

mom says that no one’s meant to be in your life forever, anyway.

/

twenty-two years old and still looking for home.

you sign a lease to rent an apartment in center point, but when move-in day comes, it seems like they’ve already forgotten you. what’s your name? the front-desk help asks. ilseong ma, you say. they look at you like you’ve grown a second head.

mouse. my name is mouse.

something clicks. the new tenant, sure, but something older than that, too. “there was a kid called mouse who lived here years ago, big eyes and bigger ears — always, always, always up to something…” a break, then, “was that you?”

small world, you say, unfitting of the situation. you take your key without another word, wanting nothing more than to relax in your new home, but the second the door opens, a vase topples from a table in the entryway. completely shatters at your feet.

((you’ll never forget how every waterline had been running at full blast that day. how when you’d called the front desk help, the amiability suddenly disappeared. housekeeping must’ve been in a rush this morning, they said. just turn the water off. you can’t call up here for such simple matters. how your neighbor told you that housekeeping skips your floor altogether.))

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, SON MINJUNG

Age Thirty Four Occupation Food Critic & Bakery Owner  Length of Residence 11 months Apartment Top Floor, Odd Unit, West-Facing Add-Ons Odd Unit #9

Tenants that live in units that start with #9: Should not be alarmed if they cross paths with a doppelganger of their younger selves in and around the building. They just have a habit of showing up on the date marking the anniversary of the the worst day of their life.

Trigger Warnings: None

PEAR IT WITH EVERYTHING By Minjung Son

 It’s a fruit that bears its own, and not just from trees.

 Published Jun. 1, 2013 | Updated Oct. 14, 2017

 Perched on my dad’s shoulders to catch pears from trees in our backyard? A fantastic childhood memory for me. Another: Mum subjecting my siblings and me to pinching dumpling skin around pear jelly (not its real name by the way, but we’ll call it that for the sake of juvenile accuracy) and minced meat on a rainy afternoon. We take turns coming up with something that involves this sometimes crisp, otherwise soft but never not juicy fruit in the years that follow. Our parents met under one, after all; it’s only pear…

 The bad puns aside, why is there a sudden influx in pear-based dishes? Who started it? Would you try French onion pear soup dumplings, truly?

 [...]

Minjung Son has written, been written about, and been written for—this being the first article in which all three have been done at the same time. For more critiques about food and the people making and eating them: @3rdjung

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, LI YIEN

Age Twenty Eight Occupation Flower Delivery Driver Length of Residence 3 years Apartment Top Floor, Odd Unit, West-Facing Add-Ons Odd Unit #09, Floor T10

Tenants that live in units that start with #9 should not be alarmed if they cross paths with a doppelganger of their younger selves in and around the building. They just have a habit of showing up on the date marking the anniversary of the the worst day of their life.

Those on Floor T10 have something to hide.

Trigger Warnings: Car accident

yien counts four cameras pointed to two chairs out on the freshly trimmed lawn in front of Lotus building. the poppies have just started blooming, starting to overtake the neatly manicured hedges. someone comes to direct him to one of the chairs and he zones out while they finish setting up, head tilting back to watch the sun peeking thru the clouds, ready for their morning debut.

he’s lucky it’s will, someone who feels a little more familiar and more compassionate, but buxton is still a reporter - intent on creating his story. the usual introduction flows: yien li, driver for lotus, the youngest to enter formula 1 at age 17,  and the only american driver in the competition, also youngest and first american to win the 2011 monaco grand prix, world champion - - - it goes on and he hardly hears the rest, just puts on a smile as his only defense for the questions to come.

have you watched any footage of the crash afterward? with your family?

how did you get out of the car?

what was going through your mind when you were in there?

what do you think went wrong?

every question feels like he’s being put back to that moment, inside the blazing car, halved and flipped over, hands stuck on the wheel and thinking ‘this is it, this is the end. i’m dead.’  his stomach knots, hands clasping together to keep them from trembling too much, and he leans back against the chair unconsciously like he’s trying to curl in on himself - his mama calls it hedgehogging.

“i haven’t yet, no.” and leaves it at that, doesn’t talk about how his psychologist says it’d be good, how it would help him confront all the flashbacks and nightmares that have him waking up in the middle of the night, keep him from falling asleep until his eyes just can’t stay open.

his pr manager gestures with her hands, a reminder to be more friendly, amiable. so his tone lifts, puts on a face that looks the right amount of serious and sweet while retelling the way it felt when he realized he was engulfed in flames, the smell of melting chemicals, what it feels like to try and make peace with facing death. “it’s hard to face the reality of what’s happening when it’s happening, i didn’t feel terror or panic, i just wondered… what would burn first, how painful would it be, how long have i been sitting here. it felt like ages had gone by before i was pulled out, but it’d been hardly a minute and it just.. felt like a miracle that i was alive.”

so what’s next for you?

“well, actually,” he sits up, hands unfolding to wipe the clamminess onto his trousers. “i’ve decided to retire at the end of this season.”

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, YOO SANHO

Age Thirty Two Occupation Photojournalist Length of Residence 6 months Apartment Middle Floor, Odd Unit, South-Facing Add-Ons Odd Unit #09

Tenants that live in units that start with #9 should not be alarmed if they cross paths with a doppelganger of their younger selves in and around the building. They just have a habit of showing up on the date marking the anniversary of the the worst day of their life.

Trigger Warnings: Implied death

[GREEN POST-IT NOTE, BLACK INK - A SMUDGE WHERE ‘REMEMBER’ TURNS INTO A QUESTION. ON THE OTHER SIDE, IN AGED PINK INK: ‘MOM SAID TO EAT THIS BEFORE LEAVING!’]

am i starting to remember?

the little things, i mean.

i know i have a family. i’ve always known that. mom, dad, a sister who isn’t here anymore.

where is she? she wrote this note, right?

(YOU LOSE FIVE YEARS. and those five years contain these hurts:

your sister starts hiding in her room. neither you nor your parents know why. all you can offer is patience, and this green post-it note is a reminder that your sibling is still there.  

your parents start going to church more. they’re hurting, too. aching. blistering. and they chase divinity to hide it.

when you start packing your bags because your ambitions are taking you far, far away from this place of too-familiar aches, your mother cries and your father buries a fist into the pocket of his trousers. you too? they don’t ask aloud. you’re leaving us too?

this green post-it note means more after you leave. during a rare phone call where the line connects, your mother tells you your sister’s gone now, and you don’t ask anything. you snap a photo from a high peak where even debris looks poetic and name the photo after her.)

[CONVENIENCE STORE RECEIPT, DYING RED INK.]

wow… that’s a lot of bottles of soju

who did i drink this with?

hope their liver’s okay

(VISIONS don’t always come to fruition. that’d be too easy. you like photography, love photography, and there’s nothing that brings you more comfort than snapping photos of the things people don’t want to see.

over too many bottles of soju, over a carton of cigarettes, your closest friend tells you that there’s nothing for you to capture here.

you have to get out of here, they say. and they’re drunk, inebriated, and their hands are shaking from the cold. nothing that’s said here, tonight, should be taken seriously. everything that’s exchanged should be done so with a handful of salt.

you have to leave, they say. go somewhere no one wants to go. that’s how you’ll get everyone to start paying attention.

a cold night, too much to drink, and a cloud of smoke hanging above their heads.

their words stay with you, whether they know it or not.)

[POLAROID: PICTURED ARE TWO PEOPLE, ONE OF WHOM IS YOU. THE OTHER - YOU DON’T REMEMBER HER THE WAY YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO. YOU LOOK HAPPY.]

sorry.

i loved you, didn’t i?

wish you well

(FIRST LOVES aren’t always meant to last. that’s the truth of it; it’s human nature to race to stave off curiosity. but some first loves could last. they could have lasted if the fates were kind and the world spun the way it should have.

you’ve known her all your life, and forever seems less frivolous when you frame it with her smile.

nothing sparks until two years before you leave.

and in the two years before you leave, you break up twice, get back together twice, propose once, and forever seems real.

you leave.

she leaves too.

when you come back, she says, when you come back, we can figure it out again.

you leave.

she leaves, too.)

[CHURCH BULLETIN. UNMARKED. IT READS: ‘GOD WILL LISTEN. PLEASE PRAY FOR THE YOO FAMILY’S ELDEST SON, YOO SANHO, WHO IS COMATOSE FOLLOWING AN ACCIDENT ABROAD…]

(ONCE, you told your mother that it was easier to forget your own hurts when you saw the rest of the world’s. it was a lesson in comparison—you learned to be humble. you want everyone to see the things you’re seeing so you start to take photos, and your photos take you places, some less inviting than others. before your flight to a war-torn place, you say goodbye in this order:

FIRST: to your fiancee. she gives you her ring back, and you hold it in your fist the entire nine hours your decision cements itself.

SECOND: to an old friend. they push a beat-up carton of menthols into your hand. they never did like the foreign ones you smoke much.

THIRD: to your family. to your parents, crying as they embrace you. and at the door of your sister’s bedroom, the one she hasn’t stepped a foot out of in two years.)

(AND FOURTH:

TO YOURSELF.)

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, SONG GARAM 

Age Twenty Six Occupation Ghost Writer Length of Residence 8 months Apartment Bottom Floor, Odd Unit, North-Facing Add-Ons Odd Unit #3

Tenants that live in units that start with #3: if one doesn’t return to their apartment by 10:00pm. they’ll return to a barren space. Not to worry, their things will come back! Just give it 24 hours.

Trigger Warnings: None

did i get catfished?

> redsmvp:

hey… so. like it says in my title. i’m trying to figure out if i got catfished? maybe even scammed? are they mutually exclusive? sorry, losing track of everything now. anyway.

don’t get me wrong. i don’t actually know her (my ex. or my catfisher? scammer? dude IDK) that well and i’ve only met her in person twice… we actually met on m*plestory maybe six months ago? she was really friendly, for one. super excited about the snails she was fighting because i guess a bunch ate through her plants or something? i literally don’t know. anyway, she said she was new to the game and i told her i’d help her out because i felt generous that day. it was easier to talk over voice chat, so we swapped socials.

now okay. it’s been like a few weeks at this point. she stops playing m*plestory and starts playing f**xiv.

this cycle goes on. literally every 2 weeks she’s convincing me onto some other game where i end up paying real money to keep up w/ her whims. i’m like honestly about to snap when she messages me one day asking to meet up. by this point she’d made it pretty clear she was nervous about meeting people on the internet which is fair. so her inviting me to some coffee shop was pretty weird, but since it was a public space, i decided to go.

you know maybe if she didn’t have a sleep deficit of like… 123847894783 hours or if she wore something that wasnt a giant sweatshirt with I LOVE MILFS on it? she might be pretty? i don’t know. we got swept up in conversation really quickly. she’s super nice, for what it’s worth. a little crazy, but super nice. went on this whole speech about her life story. only child, born to the most average parents on the planet. she said she had the most unexciting life ever until she decided to leave home and become a ghost writer for the most popular horror novelist in our country right now.

lol. i know. stay with me here.

this was the last time i met up with her in person. she messaged me the next day. brought up how she wanted to start a business pickling produce because she watched some youtube video about it and thought she could do it better than them. didn’t really know what the fuck she was on about but when we met at the cafe she mentioned she’d been scrambling to make ends meet these days (btw did i mention i bought the coffee? like i don’t mind but seriously??? am i being used?). she somehow convinced me to spot her $[A LOT OF ZEROES] to help start it up and what happens?

i wake up to find all of her socials gone. someone just break it to me: i know there were red flags. did i get scammed by someone i was e-dating?

REPLY TO: did i get catfished?

> hatsunemiku99

how did u not block HER socials when she tried to convince u she ghost writer for a blockbuster author

bro there werent “red flags” she literally was the red flag

REPLY TO: did i get catfished?

> dilfhunter100

[FLAGGED FOR SPAM, INAPPROPRIATE CONTENT] I’d pickle your Daikon ! ! ! Meet hot busty singles in  your area at https(…)

REPLY TO: did i get catfished?

> redsmvp (original poster):

sorry op here. updating my earlier post because it turns out she did actually try to start a business. woke up to her AND a package at my door of the worst fucking pickled radish i’ve ever had in my life today. like. literally. fucking vile. my bad tho because she said she wanted to pay me back but her business didn’t really land. (you don’t have to wonder why. i’d pay to never taste that daikon again.)

we chatted a bit and she explained that after i’d spotted her the money she’d dove right into starting up her shop or whatever. like i said, it ended up bombing. she had to cut off her phone and wifi for the rest of the collateral or whatever. i honestly felt kind of bad? forgot she ghosted me after taking my money. and i was kind of gauging whether she was interested in me or something. the first time i met her she looked like she’d fought through hell and back but this time around she actually looked kinda normal. so yknow. i wasn’t against it.

but then get this.

we’re chatting, exchanging numbers. she’s inputting her phone number into my phone. doesn’t even bat an eye or look up when she says we should go out sometime, but she has to be home before 10pm.

the last time i asked her “why” she somehow conned me out of a, frankly, gross amount of money to commit war crimes against produce. i don’t know why i did it. but i had to know.

“why” i asked.

“oh, it’s nothing really,” she replies. “it’s just that my apartment’s super haunted so if i don’t get back by 10pm my room’ll be empty and i won’t be able to serve you any tea!”

i changed my number recently. updating my post to also let everyone know that this girl is batshit insane. and she’s out there. watch out.

REPLY TO: did i get catfished?

> sockaccount

this sounds super familiar. i swear i know exactly who you’re talking about… does her name have the letters s*ng g*ram…?

[liminalrp]

WELCOME TO CENTER POINT, SON JUNGHWA

Age Thirty Seven Occupation Restaurateur  Length of Residence 9 years  Apartment Top Floor, Odd Unit, West-Facing  Add-Ons Odd Unit #09 

Tenants that live in units that start with #9: Should not be alarmed if they cross paths with a doppelganger of their younger selves in and around the building. They just have a habit of showing up on the date marking the anniversary of the the worst day of their life.

Trigger Warnings: None

No reciprocals, no sacrifices, no need to overcompensate. Decisions revolve around the matters of timing—do now, do later. In her mind is a five year plan that gets patched up, expanded, then toppled down faster than a house of cards. There's no fun in middling in spite of where she falls in step within their family. Most can't say they enjoy baptisms by fire, but that's the difference between them and Jungwoo, her and Minjung. She simply knows better than to be burned twice.

[...]

With parents who are relatively hands off, it's smooth sailing otherwise. The eldest trips up and off, possessed by some odd passion project that brings more genuine confusion than disbelief (”You go by what now? Julien?”), and the other two remain steadfast. Firsts are torn through, relay ribbon through relay ribbon. A degree, an accolade, an internship, a step turned steep incline up the corporate ladder. Ambition is less intent and all feeling. The body is preset to its motions, the electric hum in her bones low and anticipatory, the engine in wait for the overdrive.

[...]

In hindsight, she should’ve seen it coming. Not naïve enough to be blissfully unaware of the cut-throat politics around these parts, not under the radar enough either to not be picked up as a potential pawn. No better backhanded way to put a woman in her place than offering it all but at a price. In one hand is the fatter paycheck, the prospects of a leadership role, and a not-so-subtle proposal in the other. 

Everyone looks good on a dossier, better in person. Debonair and silver-tongued, but there’s no shortage of those in their world. On the first date she’s already mulling of other faces, the one from Room 501 two nights ago a standout for reasons other than just said face. As a potential backup plan? The thought darts across her mind far too quickly to be comfortable. Now that’s unexplored territory. 

As is, it dawns upon her then, everything about this. 

She excuses herself before the second round of aperitivos. In the powder room, she crouches in one of the stalls and texts to anyone who asks: I quit.  

[...]

“Oh, you were serious.”

They’re smoke breaks only in name. A breath of clean air feels achingly balmy after hours slaving over a hot stove. 

She offers a wry grin. “You’re the first person who hasn’t meant that as a question.”  

[...] 

She doesn’t have the smile to match, but Junghwa can’t help but let the tables turn anyway. 

“Oh, you were serious.” 

[...]

The other 11pms on a Saturday in her past life have got nothing on this one: a pint of mint choco shared trifold and Madagascar playing on the 52-inch because if that’s what the kiddo wants, that’s what the kiddo gets. 

It’s a dazed silence that stretches on until the lemur shows up. Something clicks into place, blinks on like a bulb. Junghwa turns her head, exaggeratingly mouths at Minjung to get her attention. 

“What?”

“It just hit me—” She points to the screen. In the tone of You think they know? “Jungwoo...” And it’s either the sleep deprivation talking—or it’s too fucking good to be true—Julie, Julia–

A snort. 

“Shut up? No way.” 

“He makes it so easy though.”  

They can’t help the laugh that spills out. 

So fucking easy.