Delusional Love

“You were born to be loved. Are you feeling that love in your life?”

Yoonwoo had never had a peaceful night’s sleep in his small, non-soundproofed studio apartment. He often woke up in the early hours to the loud phone conversations of the Chinese exchange student next door. Now, on this Sunday morning, the singing voices of children from a nearby church pierced through the small window, tormenting his eardrums.

You Were Born to Be Loved was a popular kids’ tune he had learned in elementary school. But to Yoonwoo, it was just a bunch of lies. He had never felt truly loved by anyone.

Back in fourth grade, his homeroom teacher was a young woman. One day, after either reading a motivational book full of fancy words or watching some educational program, she told the class, “We need to learn to love ourselves. After all, how can we expect others to if we don’t feel that way about ourselves? Self-respect and self-love is the first step.”

Even at that young age, Yoonwoo instinctively knew this wasn’t true. Take Hyerim Jo, for example. She was the class president, and she wasn’t admired just because she loved herself. It was her pretty face and lively personality that made her popular. If the teacher’s words were true, then was Yoonwoo ostracized by his classmates just because he didn’t love himself enough?

Yoonwoo was just an average kid. But after someone remarked that his voice sounded feminine, laughter would erupt whenever he spoke, and he was even mocked as being gay. It made him fearful of speaking up. He grew quieter and struggled to make friends. Was that really because of a lack of self-love? Even before Yoonwoo started to dislike himself, others had already begun to treat him poorly.

Hyerim Jo, the class president who never joined in the teasing, said to him, “Yoonwoo, did you hear what the teacher said? You need to love yourself, too!”

Yoonwoo knew the teacher had asked Hyerim to look out for him because he didn’t fit in with the other kids. Seemingly intoxicated with her role—the beloved class president, even getting special requests from the teacher—Hyerim would sometimes throw out these random pieces of advice. This time, it sounded like she was saying Yoonwoo was unloved and that it was his fault.

Angered, Yoonwoo shot back, “Really? Well, I already like myself a lot. Since I love myself so much, does that mean you’ll love me too, Hyerim? Should we start dating?”

The teacher had said that you needed to love yourself before others could love you, not that loving yourself would automatically make others feel the same. But that kind of logical detail didn’t matter much to young kids.

Hyerim’s eyes widened in shock, and soon, tears began streaming down her face. Almost instantly, Yoonwoo found himself the object of everyone’s criticism. No one cared to listen to his attempts at explaining himself. With the popular, pretty Hyerim in tears and the unpopular Yoonwoo by her side, it didn’t matter what had actually happened; everyone blamed Yoonwoo. From that moment on, he realized how pointless it was to speak up. So, throughout middle and high school, he stayed silent. Whether he spoke or not, he felt the same—unloved and alone.

Yoonwoo had no fond memories of his childhood. His parents fought constantly, and their anger often turned toward him. “Why did we even have a child if we have to suffer like this?” they would say. “If it weren’t for him, we’d be much better off…”

Yoonwoo felt guilty about everything: eating, using water, turning on the heat. Simply breathing and being alive felt like a mistake. He studied hard because if he brought home bad grades, his parents would fight, each blaming the other for their child inheriting the “wrong” traits.

But even when he did well in school, there were no words of praise, no special meals out. To his parents, spending money on Yoonwoo was a burden, and his academic success wasn’t something to celebrate; it was just what was expected. It’s hard for a child to hate their parents, so in Yoonwoo’s mind, he was the problem. Before falling asleep, he would always imagine a world without him—a world where his parents didn’t have to spend much money, didn’t fight, and could enjoy their meals together in happy conversation.

However, the world he envisioned wouldn’t magically appear just because he was gone. If Yoonwoo were to die at home, his gruesome corpse would soil the house, costing money to clean up. Worse, his parents might be held responsible for his death, potentially ruining their reputation—something they, both being university professors, valued above almost everything else. So, if he were to die, Yoonwoo thought, he’d have to make sure not to dirty the room and to ensure his parents weren’t blamed. Otherwise, even in death, he feared he would still be a burden.

“You’re much more valuable than you think, Yoonwoo.”

These were the words of his psychiatrist. In his cramped studio apartment, a few pills like diazepam and quetiapine were the only things holding Yoonwoo’s deteriorating mental state together. Whether these medications had a positive impact on his psyche was uncertain, but since starting them, his sleep had increased to about eleven hours a day. Yoonwoo hadn’t gone to the psychiatrist expecting his nearly twenty-year-long depressive mood to suddenly lift. He sought help because the waking hours were pure agony, and anything that could reduce that time, even just a little, felt like a relief.

Sitting through the psychiatrist’s seemingly pointless chatter during each visit was a different kind of struggle. Every time, the doctor would say things like, “You are capable; didn’t you get into a good university?” and “Believe in yourself; you are special.” To Yoonwoo, these comments felt more like mockery than encouragement.

He figured the doctor probably gave similar advice to all his patients, offering some kind of rationale to affirm their worth and motivate them to keep going, before prescribing the necessary meds. It seemed to Yoonwoo that even if a broken clock sat in the patient’s chair, the psychiatrist would commend it, saying, “Haven’t you worked hard in the past?” and “See? You show the correct time at least twice a day.”

University? Sure, Yoonwoo’s parents were professors at SoSo University, but Yoonwoo had failed the entrance exam there. Instead, he got into the economics department at Gogo University, a level below. It felt like a failure. His parents neither congratulated nor consoled him. He should never have been born. Every aspect of his life felt like a failure. Yoonwoo himself was a failure—a broken clock to be discarded.

Rabbit: Tofu, are you already asleep?

It was 9 p.m. Yoonwoo had been awake since early morning, roused by the unpleasant singing of children, and he still felt lousy even after getting back from the gym. He hadn’t eaten anything and just lay in bed, staring into space.

The KakaoTalk message was from a person whose face and name Yoonwoo didn’t know—someone he’d met in an open chat room. Yoonwoo used the nickname ‘Tofu Soft Tofu,’ while his friend went by ‘Mountain Rabbit.’ Rabbit addressed Yoonwoo as Tofu, and Yoonwoo, finding it awkward to type the strange name ‘Mountain Rabbit,’ simply called her Rabbit.

Tofu: I’m about to go to bed.

Rabbit: Oh, why? I just woke up. Let’s have a drink.

The invitation wasn’t a suggestion to meet in person. Instead, the idea was to video their drinks and exchange photos via KakaoTalk to enjoy the moment together.

Initially, Rabbit had suggested they meet in person for drinks, but Yoonwoo, preferring not to meet anyone or be seen, had declined. Rabbit then proposed this alternative. Although Yoonwoo wasn’t much of a drinker, he played along, sipping a cheap can of beer. This delighted Rabbit, who seemed to drink almost daily.

Tofu: If I drink now, I won’t be able to wake up early tomorrow.

Rabbit: What’s wrong with that? You didn’t schedule any classes for first period on Mondays anyway right?

Tofu: But I’ll feel bad if I wake up late because I’m hungover.

Rabbit: Why don’t we just get it over with quickly? I’m good whenever.

Tofu: I still… feel like I’d be less sorry if I at least got my diploma before dying. To my parents…

Rabbit: Once you’re dead, it’s all over. Why worry so much about other people?

Tofu: But we agreed to do it after graduation.

Rabbit: Yeah, I just said that because I hoped you’d feel a bit better. I guess I’ll go play MapleStory now.

Tofu: Okay. I only drink on Fridays or Saturdays, so let’s talk then.

Rabbit: I don’t even look at a calendar anymore, so I don’t know what day it is. You’ll have to tell me.

Tofu: Okay, I’ll do that.

Yoonwoo had met Rabbit in a one-on-one open chat room. Although searching for the word “suicide” in such rooms was prohibited, there were plenty of alternative terms that people used to get around the restrictions. When Yoonwoo first started university, he was overwhelmed by the urge to end his life and began searching for the quickest, cleanest way to do it. But all information on the subject was heavily censored.

Why is that? If someone is desperate enough to attempt suicide due to the lack of an easy way out, wouldn’t it be better for them to just die? If they’re that kind of person, wouldn’t it be okay to let them go? This world that forces people to live is too cruel. So why can’t they just censor the chat rooms instead?

Many people of all ages and backgrounds, all wanting to die, gathered in these open chat rooms. Yoonwoo wandered through them, hoping to find information on a comfortable and clean death. But most of the rooms he found weren’t serious.

The most distressing cases Yoonwoo encountered were people who persistently inflicted severe injuries on themselves and seemed eager to show these injuries to others. For some reason, those who self-harmed always wanted to show their wounds, as if it didn’t matter who saw them. Yet, ironically, they didn’t really want to die.

Yoonwoo found it extremely difficult to look at such photos. They made him feel disgusted with the people who shared them. It seemed to him that they were using the idea of death as a way to create a spectacle, to attract attention, ultimately causing more trouble for everyone around them.

“Everyone naturally wants attention. Such actions manifest from their deep emotional pain,” his psychiatrist had said when Yoonwoo shared his thoughts about these people. Of course, Yoonwoo didn’t mention that he was searching for ways to die. He just said he was lonely and looking for someone to talk to when he came across them.

Yoonwoo understood that everyone craves attention. Nevertheless, he believed that to get attention, you need certain qualifications. You had to either have exceptional charm, like Hyerim Jo, the class president from his childhood, or achieve something significant, like getting into SoSo University. Attention, it seemed, was reserved for a select few. People like Yoonwoo, who didn’t meet these criteria, often found themselves overlooked, even by their own families.

But to seek attention through tantrums without having any qualifications? That was just naïve. When he thought about it more, though, he realized that these people were victims too. You Were Born to Be Loved. That song had misled so many. If someone grows up genuinely believing they were meant to be loved, only to be profoundly disappointed later, it can be devastating.

They were essentially crying out, “Look at me. Wasn’t I born to be loved?” as they expressed their pain. Adults irresponsibly plant these fantasies in children, only to mock them when they grow up and express their feelings of injustice, dismissing them as immature. If anything, kids should be taught from a young age that only a select few are born to be universally loved.

During his earnest quest to find a means to end his life, Yoonwoo encountered Rabbit. Unlike Yoonwoo, Rabbit wasn’t seeking a method to die alone but was instead searching for a companion to share the end with. To Rabbit, it seemed that as long as she had someone to die with, nothing else really mattered.

Rabbit was profoundly lonely. But observing that Rabbit didn’t actively seek out companionship and preferred to stay alone in her apartment, it seemed she also recognized she wasn’t one of those “born to be loved.” Although Rabbit had once suggested meeting up for drinks, when Yoonwoo declined, Rabbit didn’t press further, possibly implying it wasn’t a genuine invitation after all.

Rabbit wasn’t reckless in seeking attention and was committed to her principles, which made it easy for her and Yoonwoo to get along. They even had a few voice chats through the app, but once, Rabbit was crying so much that Yoonwoo couldn’t make out what she was saying. Rabbit mentioned that she often woke up at night and immediately started drinking. She said she got through each day in a drunken haze. When Yoonwoo asked if the day they had chatted while she was crying was a boozy day, Rabbit actually said she hadn’t had a drop of alcohol then.

Ultimately, what truly mattered to both of them was finding a companion who was seriously considering death. Conversations about love or attention seemed irrelevant in the face of mortality. So, they agreed to steer clear of unnecessary personal questions as much as possible. During their voice chats, Yoonwoo realized that Rabbit was female, but this detail didn’t matter to him. Similarly, Rabbit never remarked on Yoonwoo’s voice. As companions on their journey to the afterlife, they were nothing more than loyal and supportive friends.

Rabbit’s goal was simply to die with someone, by any means necessary, while Yoonwoo’s was to disappear cleanly without tarnishing his parents’ reputation. If he were to die with Rabbit, leaving behind a foolish note suggesting a romantic double suicide between lovers, it would likely reduce the chances of his parents being embroiled in scandal over his death. In this way, Yoonwoo and Rabbit’s interests aligned perfectly.

At least… it seemed that way at the time.