Finally someone uploaded this song Thank you 

Rooj Tshoob by David Yang ft. Chenning Xiong

Kaj Siab - David Yang Ft. P.A.P Beat Band

Find yourself in a bad relationship but finding the strength to know you need to take care of yourself first.

Space for Rent

She hadn’t been back since she’d been sent to live in Sydney, that messy attempt at “salvation” after her mother’s third overdose. She’d built a new name there, a new rhythm. But when the call came - she’s gone this time, for real - the silence in her chest told her she couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Gangseo looked older than she remembered.
The narrow alleys were still damp from morning rain, the same old fried dumpling stall still puffing steam beside the subway entrance. But there were new glass buildings too - new stores, their blinking lights making them look like giant pinball machines, women in sleek blazers and sneakers rushing to work, faces painted pale like armor. The same streets that once made her feel small now felt… surreal. Like she was walking through a simulation of her own memory.

When she reached the morgue near Gayang Station, she took a moment to lean against the wall, breathing, calm, like her mother used to do against their apartment before work each day.
“Next of kin?” the nurse asked.
Wish hesitated, then nodded. “Daughter.”

They had to look her up twice in the registry because the paperwork still listed her Korean name. The name made her flinch.

Her mother had been found alone, in the same apartment they’d shared before the welfare system split them apart. A neighbor complained about the smell. The police called it an accident. Wish didn’t bother asking what she'd taken. She already knew.

When they unzipped the body bag, she almost didn’t look. But she forced herself to. Her mother’s face had collapsed into peace, like a war had finally ended.

Wish whispered, “You made me come back.”
It came out cracked and half-English, like her heart didn’t remember the right language.

---

That night, she walked through Magok, a district that used to be farmland when she was a little kid but had since turned into a cluster of tech buildings and luxury apartments. The neon signs felt alien. The world had changed without her - everyone connected, everyone performing.

In the subway, she saw posters for plastic surgery clinics promising “confidence reborn.”
In the next frame, an ad for cram schools: Study harder, smile prettier.

Wish stared at her reflection in the glass - her piercings, her cropped jacket, her foreign accent. She didn’t belong to this country anymore. Or maybe she never had.

At the motel, she set the urn on the small table and sat cross-legged in front of it.
The TV murmured through news reports about MERS, youth unemployment, and celebrity scandals.
Outside, the rain started again.

Wish lit a single incense stick - stolen from a temple vendor earlier that day - and said,
“You can stop haunting me now.”

Then she opened her notebook and began to write, the first line shaking onto the page:
This city doesn’t remember me...

David Yang - Txhaum Lub Ntuj

johnny123

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