15 September 2001

W 22nd Street, Chelsea

"What is your answer to my proposal, Simon hyeong?"

The artist had been leaning against the pillar of the gallery housing in his latest exhibition, holding a flip phone to his ear. He hadn't spoken much in the minute leading up to the question his distant cousin had asked frequently. Usually, he would have brushed off the younger man but the swirling of leaden clouds in the sky changed that. His state of mind reflected the storm gathering above.

"I'll talk to Melody. I'm sure she'll see reason this time," the artist bid farewell as a gale-force wind tore asunder green leaves from the trees. He would ensure that his family would not meet the same fate. It had barely been a week since the fateful bombing of the Twin Towers, the memorials around the city perfuming the air with the scents of melting candle wax and slowly-decaying flowers.

"Meteorologists fear that Hurricane Gil will render the worst damage in the last decade-"

The woman tuned out the news after that warning and looked at the room her son had just left. What kind of future would be left for him and any children that might be born of her later on? Ahead of him walked the photographer and her assistant.

"How was it?" she held the four year old boy's hand as she stood up, applying more warmth and pressure than usual.

"Hansol was a pleasure to shoot, as always," Miss Smith handed over the portfolio.

"I had a lot of fun," the boy beamed at her. Her son was the calm after a storm, she returned the smile.

"Yes, I can see that," the mother flipped through the photographs before taking out her wallet. Her husband arrived as she gave the $2 bill to the receptionist.

"Who's ready to go to Coney Island?" the artist hugged his son.

"Really, Appa?" the boy grinned so widely, showcasing the adorable dimples that occasionally featured in his portfolio. The fairground was a rare treat, rewarded for good behaviour but he hadn't done anything special lately so he was pleasantly surprised.

"Yes son," they walked ahead so they could open the passenger door for the mother.

"Kyuhyun phoned me earlier," the father began by way of conversation, the first few moments having been a hesitant silence.

"He probably heard of the hurricane," his wife guessed. Her in-laws were as concerned about them living on the island as she was.

Their son beamed as the carousel came alive, waving to them from his snow-white seahorse- a precious sight they would forever try to preserve.

"He made the offer again," Hansol momentarily disappeared from their sight.

"What did you say?" there was a hint of wariness in her voice as she lifted the Kodak and snapped a photo half a minute later.

"Dear Melody, I think it's time we agree," Simon placed a hand on hers'.

"I think so too," she caught him off guard. "Not only are the hurricanes becoming more frequent and devastating but I heard a rumour that the federal government is considering Brighton for a nuclear waste disposal site. Once it leaks into the water-"

"Let's not go there, you'll only stress yourself out," the artist smiled, observing that the carousel was slowly returning to a state of rest. "I'll deal with the estate agent while you and our son rest." Once the fairground music and the ride had stopped, he bought candy floss for his family.

The first thing the little boy did once he entered the house on Manhattan Beach was to run himself a bath. Although he did not know it, the Vernon half of his family had a love for water that couldn't dry up. His mother had already baked a fish pie and had left it to cool while she slipped into the tub. The crash of waves and mew of seagulls from beyond the window, along with the briny scent of the bath salt, refreshed her.

Downstairs, the door unlocked and Hansol excitedly ran to his father. Usually, they played a game before dinner time but tonight was different. The mother walked in, clad in her nightdress, as they had finished their serious discussion.

"Eomma, is it true? Are we really moving to South Korea?"

"Yes," she held out her arms so that he could run into them, which he did. "We will be going soon and Appa will be joining us a year after. We know that you made friends here. You will miss them but I know that you will be strong and make new friends across the sea too."

"You promise?" the little boy looked up expectantly.

"I have a feeling that you will make an unbreakable bond with them," the smile was reassuring and he believed in it, with all of his heart. Soon, the voice of Billie Joe Armstrong filled the room as the little boy played Basket Case on air guitar.

Simon and Melody spent the next day packing, Hansol helping where he could. The landlord would sell what couldn't be boxed or bagged in lieu of the costs of finding their replacement, gladly helping out his exemplary tenants. Fly Emirates was still going ahead with the scheduled trip to Seoul. The only difference was that they'd take a slight detour to avoid Hurricane Isabel.

The little boy sat next to the window, the scenery sure to provide him entertainment. His father sat in the middle so his wife would have easy access to the bathroom when she needed it. The flight attendant frequently haunted the aisle, the bombing of the Twin Towers having made everyone hyper-alert. However, the plane touched down safely and without incident.

"We have arranged permanent accommodation for you," Kyuhyun needlessly announced as they stopped in front of the house. He then left the lease contract with the Chwe adults while all of their children played on the front yard.

"Thank you," Simon bowed. All around them were picturesque vistas, waiting to be captured on canvas.

"You can even teach art at a school, Melody," the distant cousin smiled at her.

"I'll think about it," she nodded. They then ordered takeaway, planning on unpacking immediately afterwards. The children joined in, making a game of an otherwise tedious task.

"I'm glad Hansol had a good first day in Hongdae," his mother sat down with a cup of chamomile tea, the new house resembling the one they had left behind on Ocean Avenue.

"When do we tell him?" her husband pondered as he stirred the sugar around.

"Age 12," she finally settled on a number. "If we tell our son that he's possibly a merfolk now, he'll repeat it and most likely be bullied for it. Our son is a sweet boy- he might also consider himself to be a disappointment if he doesn't take after me."

"I only hope that he isn't bullied because of his parentage," the artist chose his wording carefully.

"Kids aren't born racist- they learn it," his wife reminded him. "That is an issue we will have to tackle around the same age."

Whilst they lived in New York, no one caused an uproar about the child of an Asian man and a Caucasian woman. But New York was a melting pot where many races diverged and converged. South Korea was different and they resolved that they would raise their children up to be resilient against the racist lunacies that would inevitably be hurled at them.

"A body surfer fell victim to Gil," Simon read the headline out to Melody, who could only speak English. In light of such news, the ensuing facts about the millions of dollars of damage done seemed quite insignificant.

"Good thing we left when we did," Simon would leave at the end of the day, returning to New York to tie a few loose ends. He would miss his wife and son but their emergency funds had been depleted and he needed more money before he could become a permanent fixture of the country. Kyuhyun had been kind enough to pay for the plane tickets but he'd need that money for his business. Simon did not like being indebted, be it to a family member or friend.