She Became an Angel Overnight
"Does this look okay?" — Sujin shrugged playfully in front of the mirror.
As the white lace cascaded over her collarbones, I felt my lungs seize with a pain that had nothing to do with beauty.
There was no guilt in the dress itself.
The guilt was all mine.
The Perfume of Hidden Desire
No, absolutely not.
I told Sujin I blessed her marriage.
But inside, the needle kept scratching.
She has crossed the pass-fail line named marriage; I still pace the corridor outside the exam room.
Admitting the difference means admitting I have failed.
So I bit the inside of my cheek while staring at the hem of her gown.
Why must it be so flawlessly fair?
If only the waist were a fraction shorter, or the lace a shade less luminous, I might have breathed a little easier.
White Thread, Red Thread — Two Private Stories
Case 1: Miran, 32, wedding planner
After three years, Miran quit the bridal hall.
One reason: she could no longer endure the moment when every bride-to-be’s face turned translucent with joy.
Her last client, Haeun, 28, was marrying into a chaebol family.
At every fitting Haeun caught Miran’s eyes and whispered,
I’m anxious too.
But someone has to witness it.
Miran smiled back,
In the end, the dress is yours to wear.
My anxiety won’t change that.
That night, Miran zoomed in on a photo Haeun had snapped of her stilettos.
The back of one heel was smeared with dried blood.
Miran locked herself in the bathroom, gasping like a wounded animal.
She wakes at night with the same scissors on her chest.
Case 2: Jia, 29, Sujin’s future sister-in-law
Jia remembers the first evening Sujin visited.
Their mother clasped Sujin’s hand and said,
This house will soon be yours.
Under the table, Jia pressed her own knee until it bruised.
Mesmerized by the clarity of Sujin’s fingernails, she pictured her brother falling asleep while holding that hand.
That night Jia knelt outside her brother’s bedroom door.
I’m sorry, Sujin.
The happier you become, the more alone I feel.
Why Do We Fear Happiness?
A heel stippled with blood, a knee on the cold floor outside a sleeping room.
The emotion aimed at the bride-to-be is never simple jealousy.
It is laced with the word surrender — the knowledge that someone else is living the future I forfeited.
Psychologist Kimberly Crepeaux writes:
The more we exaggerate another’s happiness, the deeper we tongue our own wound.
The moment Sujin stepped into her gown, I realized I was still nineteen — a single strand of cut hair left trembling on the floor.
So, Who Do You Really Hate?
Look in the mirror.
At the end of that glare may stand no bride at all.
Your eyes are fixed on yourself, still clutching a numbered ticket outside the testing hall of marriage, terrified it will be torn away.