In a small-to-medium-sized city at the southern end of South Korea, in a small but well-appointed apartment, there lived a kind and generous woman, full of good intentions for her husband and two young children. The husband—a primary school teacher—was also very kind, and full of love towards his family. The children were especially well-behaved, and did everything they could to please their parents.
Over a short period of years, a cloud of good intentions gathered within their household. It followed the mother around the house, watching her care for her children; cook and clean for them, and teach them the ways of the world. It studied the husband’s behaviour in the evenings and weekends; how he cherished his wife and played with his children when he was not working.
The cloud fell deeper and deeper in love with the family. It longed to participate in their life; to play with the children, and to show gratitude to the couple for caring for them. It wanted to look into their eyes and see them looking back with the same pride they showed their children. The longer it spent with the family, the more it longed to be human. The more it longed, the more it condensed into a smaller and more defined area, until it was almost visible to the naked eye.
As it condensed, it found it harder and harder to float through the house. It worried that one day it would fall to the floor and be trampled underfoot; unseen by the family it had fallen in love with. One night—terrified by the idea—it struggled into the parent’s bedroom, up the bed and into the slumbering woman. It attached itself to her; hoping that if it could no longer move, at least it could remain close to the heart of the family it loved so much.