Who’s Counting?
How do you grieve for someone who you hardly know?
How do you grieve for someone who you hardly know?
But throw it all in a skillet for twenty minutes and you end up with magic.
“This is not the way things are supposed to be!” is a very faithful response. Cry out.
I didn’t swerve around the pothole because I didn’t see it. In many ways, I’ve forgotten how to look outside myself and outside my culture.
Self-exploration and discovery don’t stop at the end of the twenties or upon graduation or after getting married or ever.
But then the form asked me to provide my “Duration of stay in Korea (days).” I put my pen down and looked up. It hit me then that I had no idea how long I would be here.
In the face of wrong in which we have a share of the implications, I hope Koreans—and people of other societies alike in their own contexts of crisis— feel a sense of shame.
In a strange twist of fate, English has now become my first language, and I’m trying to bring my Korean up to a similarly fluent level.
As we have witnessed in countless places, economic crises tend to lead to civil unrest and increased anger towards the establishment. Not in Korea.
As I’m forced to reconsider the value of these objects, especially my books, I’ve noticed that I tend to place more value on familiar things, precisely because I think I can exercise control over them.