That first evening after learning we had to move to Korea,  I sat in my room brooding, scheming scenarios that would allow me to stay in the states. I don't remember them all but they converged on me running away and living on my own.

My 12 year old imagination of what it meant to live life on the streets was stitched inaccurately together of scenes from film and TV where make-up artists had dressed actors up to look like people living on the streets. Because this is what I imagined it'd be like I didn't think that living on the actual streets would be so bad. I could do it! I would soon be a teenager after all.

I was already imagining what the abandoned house I would occupy looked like, who my friends there were. How we would all play different roles like some type of RPG video game. In the evenings we would all gather for a hearty dinner. Somehow in this imagination we were always eating large portions of meat. 

I can't help but smile while writing about these schemes now in the way a parent would smile when their kid proclaims to them that will become an astronaut, pro wrestler, hitman, CEO, president, and Youtube star when they grow up.

Eventually there was a feasible plan. We could ask someone in our school district to take me in while my mom, dad, and sibling went to Korea.