For times when you see more than what you actually look

 

une danse avec un arbre

Reading some of my old posts again made me think

that many of the posts are written in the form

of "flow of consciousness" with

 a tinge of poetry to it.

I like this tinge because although it may seem minimal,

i appreciate it like a whiff of smell 

that someone you love leaves on his/her clothes.

I recently started reading a book in English

which made me want to return to my blog again to write.

To write, because sometimes, words help me hold

fleeting ideas in my hand a little longer

describing, choosing words can be

a way to observe details that seem minute

but in fact, quite beautiful in its haphazard way.

thus i begin to write again,

listen and dream...

dream. 

dreaming this time

with my eyes open.

오래간만에 시간이 남아 도서관에서 책을 둘러 보았다. 당과 밀가루 음식이 많이 먹고 싶어지는 겨울에 "설탕의 맛" 이라는 책이 눈에 띌 수 밖에 없었다. 그리하여 난 그책을 읽게 되었고, 또 같은 칸에서 서성이다 거꾸로 엎어져 있는 책을 손으로 잡았다. 책을 즐겨 읽는 사람들은 안다. 우리가 책을 찾는게 아니라 가끔가다 운이 좋은 날이면 책은 우리를 찾는다. 우리가 그 책을 쉽게 찾을수 있게 거기로 와있다. 이 책이 그랬던 것이다. 아무튼 난 이 두 책의 첫 페이지를 읽으면서 저자들의 목소리, 글을 쓰는 목소리가 좋아서 신나게 그 책들을 가방에 넣고 집으로 함께 왔다. 난 이 작은 순간들이 행복이다. 나를 끄는 무언가의 힘을 갖고 있는 책을 찾게 되는 날에는 글을 읽고 너무나 맛있어 계속 또 읽게 되는, 그러다가 나도 함께 글을 쓰고 싶어지게 되는 글의 마법의 힘. 그러고 있으면 내가 한글을 안다는 것에 기뻐하게 되고, 한글 뿐 아니라 다른 외국어를 할수 있다는 것에 대해 감사하게되며, 말을 잘 안하고 말로 하는 소통을 힘들어하는 내가 더 이상 이상하게 느껴지지 않으며, 계속해서 글을 읽고 먹고 또 쓰고 나누고 싶어지고 또 나만 이런 생각을 하는게 아니구나, 나와 다른 관점이지만 작은것에 소중함과 중요성을 느끼는 사람들도 있구나 하는 생각에 힘이 나고 계속해서 호기심을 갖고 더 걸어나가아 이야기하고 이야기를 듣고 싶어진다. and sometimes it's wonderful to switch to a different language and enjoy another way to taste, feel, and express, and be grateful that with other languages, i can reach even more people, i have farther access to more information-- but the beauty of knowing other languages is not strictly in the AMOUNT of information or the NUMBER of exchanges... but it's like having a different body. maybe you have the capacity to reach certain areas because you're tall, or maybe you can swim, so you're able to go in the water and see what's under the sea, or not writing the subject at all in a sentence can be liberating, not having to add adjectives based on masculine or feminine subject can also be refreshing, like sexuality that is fluid and not just binary or straight. ou ce que j'adore dans la langue française c'est qu'il y a beaucoup de silence dans la prononciation des mots, l'accent grave et circonflexe, 등등 여러가지로 간단하지만 풍부한, 작은것같지만 모든것을 다르게 해주는 그 무엇, 삶이 무료하게 느껴지다가 이런 작은 것들에서 행복을 느끼게 되는 날이 오면 다시 아이가 된 느낌이고 무엇을 하지 않는다고 하더라도 내 삶이 크게 그리고 이 세상이 풍요롭게 느껴진다.

the man who took his time to eat his soup

He was neither vegan nor vegetarian. Nor was he pescatarian, which is close to what I was. He often enjoyed charcuterie (of which I wasn't a particular fan), and he would even eat rare types of meat such as pig's ears or seagull's brain. However, when it came to soup, he strictly ordered it without any meat except for eggs.

On this particular day as we were sitting face to face wondering what to order at a restaurant situated in a huge indoor plaza, he picked his favorite dish.
"It's poor man's soup, but I love it" is the first thing he said as he took his first spoonful. I imagined a family gathered around a huge pot of this soup, waiting for his turn as the elderly served everyone a bowl. Then I looked at him who was enjoying every drop of it. Poor man's soup. When it came to poor man's food, I thought of corned beef with cabbage, or Korean ramyeon. To him, it was this soup which looked quite sumptuous than what I had imagined.

There was a clock on the wall, and on the other side of the wall directly behind his back was a door to the restroom. The restroom looked like it would lead somewhere, to a secret passage or another part of the building. Behind me was a young couple whispering to each other and making a light physical contact.

When he finished his soup and watched me eat mine which was rice with assorted vegetables, he got up to use the restroom and disappeared into that little door. As he went in, I thought to myself, "What if he goes in and never comes back?" Suspicion gave birth to nervousness, and nervousness gave birth to delusion. He took longer than I thought he would, and I began to wonder if my sense of time had changed.

Will he come out of that door? No one has seem to notice the disappearance of this man, and no one gave a rat's ass about it. At any moment, I shall get up to knock on the door and say, "Darling, are you all right?"


draft written a long time ago