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ㅡ of personality traits in contemporary psychology. ( original post )

OPENNESS TO EXPERIENCE

★★★★★★★★★★ : likes new things ★★★★★★★★★★ : likes novel settings ★★★★★★★★★★ : intellectual/ideas/imaginative ★★★★★★★★★★ : enjoys art/culture/adventure

CONSCIENTIOUSNESS

★★★★★★★★★★: self-disciplined ★★★★★★★★★★: hard-working ★★★★★★★★★★ : prepared/dutiful ★★★★★★★★★★ : aims to over-achieve

EXTRAVERSION

★★★★★★★★★★ : outgoing ★★★★★★★★★★ : risk-taking ★★★★★★★★★★ : excitement-seeking ★★★★★★★★★★ : physically adventurous

AGREEABLENESS

★★★★★★★★★★ : trusting ★★★★★★★★★★ : compassionate ★★★★★★★★★★ : empathetic ★★★★★★★★★★ : enjoys company

NEUROTICISM

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ : angry ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ : depressed ☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ : anxiety ★★★★★★★★★★ : emotionally stable

It’s her unbreakable, unshatterable, unmoving joy that puts Kamiko on edge. How could one individual be that happy? How could one be that ALIVE? Kamiko’s learned the hard way that the woman before her was no human. How many times had she watched her bleed out only to pass by her on the streets again? That haunting smile on her face, mocking, taunting – Kamiko’s fingers twitch at the very thought. It’s why she has the knife pressed against Yeoreum’s throat, metal against soft flesh. She’s itching to drag the blade across her neck, end her for good. But there never is an end with this one. There’s just good.

She reluctantly moves away from the other when she speaks. Why? She’s not sure. She could leave her out to die right now in the kitchen, but here she is restraining herself. Maybe it’s because she knows that no matter what she does, she’s be back to haunt her. Maybe it’s because she has questions. Maybe it’s because it’ll never actually get her anywhere. The girl talks too much, too much nonsense that Kamiko doesn’t have the patience to deal with. As soon as Yeoreum’s hand rests on the counter again, Kamiko drives her knife in the space between her fingers. “What are you? Why do you even need to eat? What sort of spirit lies in you?” She’s playing a dangerous knife game as she rapidly stabs the knife from one space between her fingers to another. A slip of her hand and off would go one of Yeoreum’s appendages. 

It’s to forcefully keep her in her spot, stilling her throughout her interrogation. “Why do you keep dying but coming back? You’re not a ghost.” As if to reassure her own statement, she presses a finger against her cheek. Solid. Skin. Absolutely not a ghost. “Then what are you?”

“Your curiosity and persistence are at least great things.” And Yeoreum is more than elated that she’s been given a bit more time. Whether it will last or not, that shouldn’t be lingered on. Isn’t Kamiko just a straight explosive? In a completely different way than Yeoreum. Where Yeoreum will take you towards something more lively and somewhat of a blast of energy. Kamiko feels as if she’s just about ready to drag a soul down to--well, the place that shall not be mentioned. She isn’t fond of mentioning Hades, whether in her mind or--outloud.

It’s not fear, it just doesn’t come out and the moment she thinks of the underworld, or as they call it--hell. Her own thoughts jolt at her to intercept any ideas she might have about it. It’s a pretty strict system up here in her head. That’s why Yeoreum is simply arching her eyebrows at the knife dancing between her fingers. So much for a bit of peace. There’s a million gratitude that she isn’t the type to flinch or jolt, or be startled shitless by these antics or she might have already lost one or two fingers. That wouldn’t look too good. 

Yeoreum thinks death might be better than--well, getting hurt. It takes so much longer for things to find themselves back on her body than it takes to get revived. “Well, I shouldn’t be saying this, but that’s a bit rude of you, it’s not like your constant need to kill someone makes me ask you what you are? I mean, you have a body and flesh and I treat you like a human being for it. So, I’ve got the same thing as you, blood, flesh, I’m obviously human.” 

their last day on earth is a bit like sleeping. unlike the way death shakes them whenever it happens through other means than the natural way they’re supposed to go. it’s peaceful and they all have to find a time to be with each other when they sense that the last hour is close. even summer’s constant brightness is dimmed. it’s as if the light that was carrying all of them simply gets blown with a simple puff and no huff is ever heard again.

summer can be heard, chatting softly while the others remain quiet. a little bit tired, aren’t you?  a little bit exhausted.  but this will be good.  at last, at last 

the seasons shall leave place for another generation to be.  they often time fade from memories then, as whoever they might have been. no traces of who they were can be left in the minds of those they might have met. and they always have to be together on the last day, as opposed to how they’re born in different part of the world on their first day. 

“Ethereal, I want it to be that first, ethereal, then eternal, everlasting, forever and ever in the hearts of everyone who walks in! I want it, I want it, I want it!” Silence as she finishes, covered only by the sound of the cloth, sliding on the counter. Dust clinging to it, the clear sight of it turning brown everywhere it passes. The phone is cradled against her shoulder and her ear and it takes awhile before Yeoreum hears a sound from the other line.

Finally.

One thing is for sure, Winter has taught her patience more than anyone else ever has. 

“This is what you said the last time about that one, hm--”  But another thing is for sure, Winter’s memory stays as awful as always. It’s a source of humor, joy, some things will just never change. 

“The hair saloon, yes I know, but this is different!” It has to be. 

Yeoreum’s convinced herself of it for the past week while rebuilding and redecorating the whole store. The old owner, an old couple who had been trying to get rid of the place even if it did hurt them a bit. They’d been actual angels to deal with, even if they argued that Yeoreum was the angel sent on earth. Well, that must have to do with the fact that she paid them almost the triple of what they were offering.

Said it to be their retirement’s jackpot.  But really, she was thanking them for not having destroyed their store, as they said they would have done if no one had taken it by the end of the month. 

“Fate exists.” “Yeah, you know it does.” 

eyes dropping down to examine the pastry on her plate, mina gave the leftovers a good poke before letting out a long sigh.  she really did want to finish the treat, but she knew it probably wasn’t wise to do so.  while the idol wasn’t on a strict diet at the moment, watching her weight was something that was always at the back of her mind.  she glanced back up at her friend, catching the hope in yeoreum’s gaze as she waited for an answer.  who was she to refuse a sweet treat for such a lovely person?

“no, i guess not,” she gave up without much of a fight, pushing the plate across the table for the other.  the small amount of regret that sank in the pit of her stomach was ignored, simply happy that she could make someone else happy.  besides, she had already eaten half of it and it was pretty big.  if she thought hard enough about it, she could probably convince herself that it was more than enough for one sitting.  “just make sure you savor the last of it. cake this good deserves only the best treatment.”

“silly you, who thought i was asking so i could grab your left piece.” rather than doing that which was expected of her. yeoreum thinks it at least, given mina’s words and actions afterwards. she shakes her head and pushes the plate back to let it be in the middle of the table. her question hadn’t been for that intention at all. after all she’d had her own treat and she’d devoured it off her plate in quick mouthfuls because when hunger knocks, one must make sure to satisfy it so it can leave the door and stop banging like a mad man. “i was asking because i have somewhere else we can be at and you were taking forever!” even if yeoreum could have sat there and let mina eat to her heart’s content, because it is always a sight to witness. an adorable, adorable one that always manages to keep her light on her toes.  

but yeoreum cannot control time and sadly it does fly right by when one does not make to grab the moment. 

as he takes the cup of tea generously offered to him, he realizes they share familiarity even with the smallest of things. no, aiden hadn’t come to earth with a name of his own, but he came to earth with the same sense of knowing that yeoreum speaks of - an awareness on one’s own origin. and it’s the type of vague knowledge that he can’t place with words, a knowledge that tells him where he’s from and who he is, yet doesn’t grant any explanation as to why he should even know such things.

he just knows. he knows, and she seems to, as well.

“i think it was an old book. it was all in english. i don’t really know why it was here- maybe it came from a foreigner, or something…” as he pauses, he glances down at the drink that sits in front of him, watches as heat rises from the center and reveals itself as a thin layer of steam that slowly dances through the air. air that’s already hot. “i could read it immediately, and i could read all the signs in this city. when people spoke, i understood everything. it didn’t really matter what language they were speaking in.”

the star fell to earth with a tongue that can mimic any given human language, and a brain that, without rhyme or reason, immediately processes and understands whichever dialect a person chooses to use when addressing him.

(despite, of course, his own habit of inconveniently dodging eloquence.)

“i guess the languages are easy because i know them,” with the warm cup in one hand, he takes a testing sip of the tea, lets the faint mix of sugar and spice swim over his tongue and rush down his throat. it’s good. warm, adding to the heat that already swirls around inside this small building, but good.

truthfully, he doesn’t mind the heat.

“i didn’t have a name, but i sort of knew who i was,” setting the cup down, he turns it with his hands in idle movement that aids his thought process. “actually, i think i came here by mistake because i’ve never felt like i know what i’m supposed to be doing here…” trailing off with the slightest furrow to his brows, he redirects his line of vision to the girl who sits across from him.

“you said you’re reborn here, right? do you know why? and you’re reborn from…” and the second attempt at communication dwindles into silence just as the first had, a tone of inquiry hanging from the last syllable.

she did think whatever the book might have contained, yeoreum did think, it most certainly was not written in the language that people of this country speak. aiden’s quick to prove her small assumption right, and that’s something to tuck in, that he could speak here and could read from another one. unfamiliarity is often times the most arduous obstacles for humans, it’s something they find fascinating with yeoreum. 

it’s something she can now understand. 

fascinating? yes, this is fascinating. not because she hasn’t lived it. but the seasons are a given that they’ll be just like her and unlike the others. so this brings wonders because it’s a once in awhile, just this once, the universe will turn and show you that being alone in this world is nothing but a perception. well, so did winter’s voice sound like the last time yeoreum could catch some seconds with them. but, to yeoreum, perpetually in a good state of mind yeoreum. the universe holds no other purpose but to show that no one is ever alone at all, whether among a sea of people who do not acknowledge your presence, or with gazes that never seem to not follow wherever you go. 

“i came up with a theory awhile ago, before i get to your question, i need to just share that, you need to hear it!” she composes herself, as much as she can. but then decides taking another sip of her tea will be more smoothing, so she does, quietly, before clearing her throat to go on about her theory. “that it’s because from up there, or from all around the world and the universe we hear more than just one language. because it’s so vast, isn’t it? the sky covers not just earth, but other planets and so, that’s why it’s easy to understand them when in a body like theirs.”  

it is a theory she only shared with the other seasons, because they’re the only ones who could understand. most of the other myths, were more tied to this world than the whole of it. what made this world what it is. from the skies down to the damned undergrounds. yeoreum finds herself then trying to find an answer to his questions. about rebirth, hers, about origins, hers. what a suddenly difficult task to delve into. her lips feel tied, they feel glued as she purses them--tongue passing over the shape of it to try to lessen the dryness. 

“why is easy, because it was needed. and to be honest with you, i never really know why i am here. i think in that, we kind of relate to most humans on this planet. everyone i talk to never seem to know why they’re here. but that’s the fun in it see! you get to,” a hum, her hands moving away from the table from her cup, as she leans against her chair. “explore, find out, learn, grow. if you knew everything from the get go then there’d be noting left to do and no world to explore. no limits to push, no mysteries to unfold. how dull, dull, dull.” 

she falls quiet then, for mere seconds. quiet with the breeze that rattles the opened windows of the shop. the only windows of the shop, behind the counter--far from the table where they’re sat. “so whether a mistake or not, is not what i’d focus on.” 

it’s with that, that yeoreum finds her tongue untying itself. like a click, she almost hears it. as if she’s been given permission to speak of what she’s never had to before. it makes her look up at the ceiling as she feels a myriads of things, but mostly--freedom, in a way she’s never known could be possible. it has her face rosy, “i am reborn from the hands of the gods, their last gift to this world. but they had no more strength to be able to leave behind something with power, that could directly affect the lives of humans and so,” a shrug, she looks back down, she’s got a smile from ear to ear. “so, they poured seasons in human shapes and let us run wild! and! i have never ever been able to tell this to anyone before, this feels amazing!” 

     has she heard of the mad boy? stoic is his expression and never does he disclose any of the sentiments he conceals except for wrath, at times. solemn is his aura, laced with the murk of liverish and ferocious demeanor that is refelcted in the brown of his eyes, glistening with a periling sense of enigma. a boy who yearns to be grounded because abiding thoughts of malignity and maggot will not permit his mind to rest. stupefaction would not occur upon features nor inside of chest, because such obsecure and farcical utters are made once some intoxicating substance penetrates the body in one way or another, so he believes; drugs, feasibly, or alcohol – either of the two he absolutely abhors might swirl in her system. albeit, he does not disregard the option that she might as well hold a psychotic mindset and in that case they are both demented – each in his or her own way. perhaps there are some strings or screws loose in her mind and in that case the boy can definitely relate to the mania that is ongoing in her mind – he is the same, in his own aspect. the mad boy who holds apathy as if it is the genuine and sole emotion to ever exist, to ever matter upon the earth while other sentiments are vile and otiose, fraud. humans are fraud, and her preposterous query is his entertainment.    ❛ a person like that… would’ve been reported long ago, to the police. ❜    oh, anarchy is this thing and as much as he execrates authorities and those who seek law (for it is corrupted and anarchy is the true rule of this world) he cannot deny that such figures would have paced here to halt the madness of the man she speaks of, if he in fact exists —– then law enforcements would arrive. however there are none; merely the two of them, lost souls and a thin crowd of people in the roaming streets.

     ❛ but, it’d definitely be something to miss; seeing his freedom taken away from him… ❜

“see!” it took the guy so long to answer, seconds that dragged, on and on, and yeoreum waited through it all. patience was never her forte, more so of a person who walks and speaks and does everything at the speed of light. because it is just how her blood has been taught to do, winter quite often complains when yeoreum is paying a visit. invading its space and every little corner of its life. but winter is grumpy per nature, never really sure of how to show happiness without making one sink in the mushed sensation of it. as yeoreum once said, winter being happy, feels like singing your feet in melted ice. it’s not a bad or a good feeling, it’s just is and that’s as close to joy winter can get. 

“i said the exact same thing, but they said he didn’t, that he’s been walking around here for awhile. it’s been weeks since i heard that story.” now she’s worrying her bottom lip, a frown would soon appear to furrow her eyebrows, but physically it is impossible for her to reach that level. not when it is accompanied with anything but neutral feelings. frustration, anger, disappointment, these things will never wrinkle the lines of her face or heart. it’s the utmost positivism that summer carries everywhere, anywhere at all times, that makes her summer after all. “so i thought i’d try to see it for myself today.”

it was but a little idea. 

like everything else is, begins. every beginning that is but a sprout in the earth, waiting to rise to the full length of a tree. it was but a tiny bit of genius, a morning, a warm one. there’s never a cold morning  for yeoreum, but she always says--it was a warm morning.

when the tea never turned cold no matter how much snow fell.  when she padded along the path of it, white against her shoes.

it was by the winter of '06 that yeoreum caught the broken pieces.  or rather they got stuck under her skin and she bled for seconds.  then she hurt for minutes, trying to pull them out. 

she could still hear spring, laughing at her for always being so careless.  who gets hurt in winter if not for summer? spring’s voice is always reassuring even when mocking. spring should have been the healing balm. but instead her fingers were rough on pulling the splint out. 

it was by that unfortunate moment, that it unfolded. as yeoreum looked up and saw the building. while spring cursed at it for the reddening of yeoreum’s finger. and yeoreum kept the bruised skin against the heat of her tongue. 

it’ll heal.  the house too, she decided.

of course though, when she tells him to stay put he’s already scrambling to fix the mess. minutes had been spent, well what felt like minutes and was only a matter of seconds, spent with him sitting in the same position. criss-cross with pant legs shuffling over glass pieces and dusting around tea leaves. what a sight! honestly what a sight it’s something his mother used to stress about when he was little. joowon was only clumsy because he thought he was impenetrable. honestly, until he’s proven completely wrong he’ll stop but for now, all’s fair in his game.

so he’s still for a few seconds, letting the fact that he is bleeding and scraped around a few areas sink in before he decides to move. and it’s despite a couple winces and a few hisses of his teeth that he does acknowledge the scrapes. it’s all after yeoreum’s taken off though. it’s not about pride or anything it’s just he was so concerned about showing that everything will be good and he’s good that he kept his face bright. and it’s bright now too, with joy and a little of a grimace at the hole that caused his downfall. literally.

“seriously,” he says that to no one in particular. no one’s passing by really and if they were he’d look up and wave at them, bloodied hand and all. dust around his fingers and face and all. 

he does manage to shake some off, much like a shaggy dog and then proceed to scoot together the pieces around him. he’s quite resourceful too, using pieces of the box to scoop the leaves altogether like a broom. there’s really no focus on his mind, nothing like clean up or get up or patch it. he’s just moving to move because the hole messed up his momentum and he’s got to keep it up. maybe that’s all it does.

that’s where yeoreum comes in, momentarily breaking him out his reveries and reminding him that yeah he fell but he’s also bruised. bruised and grabbing things with his bruised hand isn’t the best. neither is touching broken glass but he’s impenetrable right?

and he thinks about her words, thinks about them while holding out his hand freely, and moving back to his same position, knees off the ground and crossed under him. “you know, I broke my arm in primary school. I jumped off the jungle dome? you know the one with all the holes and stuff? and my teacher didn’t know because I was laughing so much. like it hurt but it was so fun, the tumbling and stuff. my mom cried though.” he’s telling the memory because it’s important to note, no matter how many times he’s reminded he can break he always tries to prove he can’t. no matter how many people tell him he’s going to jump too high and fall too hard joowon is just waiting to see if he can overcome it.

“you know what, you’re pretty awesome too! not many people like touching blood. and the last patron I had to deliver too when I dropped her stuff she hit me on the head with a clipboard. twice. so you’re pretty cool. i’m pretty sure there’s only one of you heh.”

he’s impenetrable really!

or well, he’s waiting to be.

“wanna know an actual secret? some people might not like touching blood because they actually like it and that might make other people look at th  mstrangely.” what a random but truthful nonetheless, statement. yeoreum’s mouth purses as she diligently makes to appease the wound against his palms. 

“sometimes fear can be very close to not knowing if things are right, if this is right or wrong then you start going, ah, it’s kind of scary.” a little bit of that, from her own experiences with past entities that had craved her blood more than anything. mostly because they thought it was bound to make them even stronger, more powerful than they are. seasons aren’t typically known, their identities, everything about where they truly are from, is concealed within the last words of the gods before they faded off earth.

but those last words are only whispers in the night, balm against yeoreum’s cheeks and quiet lullabies when the nights seem to drag on. they’re made only for the seasons to hear, listen, know and cherish. they’re made for when the times get scarce and faith seems to dwindle, make them weaker in the sense they should not be. so one night, a man who knew of the secret. what had he said? asleep for centuries, woke up to a slip of a tongue of mother nature.

mother nature can be tricky when she’s bored.  but one thing to another and yeoreum was bleeding, split wrists, split lip and wincing even though she was still trying to sagely tell him that this would get him nowhere. mainly because their blood tend to dissipate like vapor in the air whenever it touches someone else’s tongue. mother nature is not the only trickster in this universe. 

the gods are the most successful most of the times. autumn has his own very charming way of also playing mind games.  but the trickiest of them all, yeoreum would happily hand the trophy to this race. the human race.

joowon’s tale of a youth lived in the wildness of trees and broken bones is enough proof that humans know how to do mischief in a way no other races will ever be able to. 

“she hit you on the head? really? did you tell her that’s uncalled for? because it is. especially on the head, that’s where all the good things come out from. without your brains, aren’t you going to not be able to deliver whatever she may need? tsk, tsk.” a shake of her head and she’s disposing of the cotton balls, now holding the bandaids and opening it up to cover the deeper cuts. “your heart can stay beating for ages and ages but if your brain dies, it’s over, that’s dangerous, tell her that next time.”

bandaids slipped on the bruises and she’s rubbing her hands together before holding them up against her head. “when she gets ready just do this and go ‘stop, stop!! you might as well strike me straight in the heart because that is where it hurts each time you hit me.’.” and she’s putting her hands right against her chest, head tilted. “with that pretty of a face, she’ll probably have pity and find it charming and possibly want to marry you off to a daughter of hers or to herself.”