I’m Minju. And before you ask—no, I’m not okay. I mean, yeah, I survive most days, but thriving? That’s for people with magical skin-care routines, reliable families, and a full understanding of math. I have none of those things.

My name literally means “precious pearl,” which is kind of funny because pearls are rare and shiny and desirable, and I am currently wearing socks that don’t match and smell vaguely like despair. (Not poetic despair. Just like, regular teenage chaos and laundry I forgot to do.)

So, here’s the rundown:
I trip. Like, a lot. On the sidewalk. On my own shoelaces. Over words. Over thoughts. If there’s an embarrassing way to do something, I’ve already done it—probably twice—and someone definitely filmed it. I once spilled an entire tray of spaghetti on a boy who had a CRUSH ON ME. That was two years ago and he still flinches when he sees marinara.

But I guess it’s kind of funny? In a tragic sitcom sort of way. I’m the comedic relief in my own life. The girl people root for in the background while the main character shines. The one who always says, “Of course this would happen to me,” but secretly hopes one day it won’t.

I don’t have a ton of friends, but I do have Yunah. Yunah is the best. She’s the human version of one of those calming ocean sound playlists. She somehow always knows when I need to cry, need to be dramatic, or need bubble tea and a bad movie to yell at. She’s the kind of friend who tells you you’re glowing, even if your “glow” is just highlighter badly blended with a sweaty forehead.

School’s okay. I’m not a genius like some people (hi, Wonhee), but I try. Sort of. I spend more time doodling on my test margins than answering the questions, but in my defense, my doodles are incredible.

I used to think some people were just born lucky. That there were these invisible sparkles following them around making sure they never miss the bus or spill anything or get caught picking their nose in second grade on the school cameras (yes, that happened to me, no, we’re not talking about it).

But maybe life changes.
Maybe luck changes.

Maybe the universe just gets tired of handing the same person the winning card every time.

And maybe—just maybe—my luck is starting to turn.
(Or maybe I’m still just a walking disaster. Who knows.)

But I’m Minju.
And if my life’s a mess, at least I can laugh about it.
Kinda.
Eventually.
Okay, maybe not right now—but we’re getting there.