"Pandora's Box"
I always felt sorry for my dad that I was not a boy so leave him the only male in the house. He would have wondered if I were a boy doing together the active things he loves: bicycle traveling with him throughout whole country and having a taekwondo match. However, these were just roaming illusions of my poor dad. In my white-colored with pink-dotted room, there were Mimi (a Korean Version of Barbie) posing delicately in a dream-like house with her boyfriend, Hello Kitty, Mickey Mouse, and tons of stuffed dolls. I was just a shy, very girly girl. In my childhood, being a girly girl playing with my toys was not bad for me; instead being an active and energetic boy was unimaginable. I was never anything else than the girl for whom my dad had to wear his most tender side.
Nothing to say more, my dad indulged himself in mountain bike, mostly alone. Still a loving parent, he had every week tempted me to go bicycling together since I was ten years old, but why? Could he just go by himself and not be stuck with me having trouble striking balance on the wheels? No one cares about me riding the two-wheeled vehicle. His intention passed all my sympathy throughout my childhood.
It was a nice summer day in 2012. I had already grown up by then. Expectedly, I was invited to go for a bike ride with my dad. This time I was successfully dragged out by my father's undying zeal for bicycling, the sky was azure, and the sun repulsively wore a smile at me. I wished that the storm runs riot, we get a hurricane warning or something that would end our excursion in innocent guise. It was a particularly humid day in the monsoon affected Korea. The heat was unbearable, but I knew for some reason I could not avoid the trouble this time. So I kept echoing inside my head: If you cannot avoid it, savor it.
Riding a two-wheeler for a hundred and fifty nine kilometers (about a hundred miles) was not an easy task, especially for someone who had never liked that kind of portage. But, it was different from what I had initially expected. The first fifty kilometer was more than manageable; if I worked a treadle, my vehicle would automatically follow me. What an exhilarating machine it is! So I led the way over my dad, teasing him on his slowness. Nevertheless, the next fifty kilometers was the climax; as I was fighting the urge to give up, I kept saying to myself, "keep it up, you can do it!" My dad did not help me. He always left me alone and let me arrive at my own pace in everything; though my dad was in my sight, I was all by myself. Alone, I was pretty good at keeping myself on track. Ensuring my whereabouts in the path, I decided not to be defeated. When the summit came closer to me as I pedaled vigorously, even though my butt was burning, legs about to disintegrate, and face to be drenched in suffocating sweat, I continued my leg motion.
While I was riding the bicycle, I felt that my mind opened as Pandora's Box opens. The journey was like reaching to the point to find a hidden treasure. The bicycle trip was my first experience of self-discovery. In the evening of the first day trip, I felt a sense of completion, though there was still a distance left to be ridden. I wondered what tomorrow would bring in my journey. Fifty nine kilos long left? It is not a task.
I always felt sorry for my dad that I was not a boy so leave him the only male in the house. He would have wondered if I were a boy doing together the active things he loves: bicycle traveling with him throughout whole country and having a taekwondo match. However, these were just roaming illusions of my poor dad. In my white-colored with pink-dotted room, there were Mimi (a Korean Version of Barbie) posing delicately in a dream-like house with her boyfriend, Hello Kitty, Mickey Mouse, and tons of stuffed dolls. I was just a shy, very girly girl. In my childhood, being a girly girl playing with my toys was not bad for me; instead being an active and energetic boy was unimaginable. I was never anything else than the girl for whom my dad had to wear his most tender side.
Nothing to say more, my dad indulged himself in mountain bike, mostly alone. Still a loving parent, he had every week tempted me to go bicycling together since I was ten years old, but why? Could he just go by himself and not be stuck with me having trouble striking balance on the wheels? No one cares about me riding the two-wheeled vehicle. His intention passed all my sympathy throughout my childhood.
It was a nice summer day in 2012. I had already grown up by then. Expectedly, I was invited to go for a bike ride with my dad. This time I was successfully dragged out by my father's undying zeal for bicycling, the sky was azure, and the sun repulsively wore a smile at me. I wished that the storm runs riot, we get a hurricane warning or something that would end our excursion in innocent guise. It was a particularly humid day in the monsoon affected Korea. The heat was unbearable, but I knew for some reason I could not avoid the trouble this time. So I kept echoing inside my head: If you cannot avoid it, savor it.
Riding a two-wheeler for a hundred and fifty nine kilometers (about a hundred miles) was not an easy task, especially for someone who had never liked that kind of portage. But, it was different from what I had initially expected. The first fifty kilometer was more than manageable; if I worked a treadle, my vehicle would automatically follow me. What an exhilarating machine it is! So I led the way over my dad, teasing him on his slowness. Nevertheless, the next fifty kilometers was the climax; as I was fighting the urge to give up, I kept saying to myself, "keep it up, you can do it!" My dad did not help me. He always left me alone and let me arrive at my own pace in everything; though my dad was in my sight, I was all by myself. Alone, I was pretty good at keeping myself on track. Ensuring my whereabouts in the path, I decided not to be defeated. When the summit came closer to me as I pedaled vigorously, even though my butt was burning, legs about to disintegrate, and face to be drenched in suffocating sweat, I continued my leg motion.
While I was riding the bicycle, I felt that my mind opened as Pandora's Box opens. The journey was like reaching to the point to find a hidden treasure. The bicycle trip was my first experience of self-discovery. In the evening of the first day trip, I felt a sense of completion, though there was still a distance left to be ridden. I wondered what tomorrow would bring in my journey. Fifty nine kilos long left? It is not a task.