She was ripe
so fresh
so fresh

She ignored
the test
of the rest

She was headed
to the next
to the next

But the devil
he found her
he wound her

..........................


She worked too hard
she was too tight
each day
each night

I walked away
I've kept my sight
Too bad that she
was not alright

She is here
and has the power
to be free
to do what's right

No, she's not blind
No, she's not deaf
She's just too lazy
to do her best

It's because of greed
that we cannot be free
I cry for you
I cry for me

Oh, how the gods
are so ashamed
That we have eyes
But will never see

Mind the gap...

Just twenty-two pages in, and I've agreed to captivity. Who needs a therapist when you've got Steinbeck. Did he come too soon or did it catch up to him too late? Anyhow, it's here, and it'll be here forever.

So there I was in yet another attempt to have a conversation with my creator. My mother had been out of the country for the past two weeks, back in her homeland, soaking up nostalgia, welcoming a new type of air into her blood. She and my father had missed the election (not that they would have voted had they been here). And so as I sat down to a hot bowl of udon and kimchee I began to explain the repression and destruction that would be looming before us starting now. And once again I found myself in that place, that place where inside her head my mother turns off her ears and discontinues all eye contact with me. That place where the female who is supposed to be demure (because God and the Korean nation say so) is running her mouth again. "Here we are again at the fucking language barrier. Again. And again. And again and again." An ongoing daymare.

It's like with every interaction, every conversation we have, another brick is laid down. I live in fear that one day I will virtually have lost my ability to explain my thoughts and beliefs to my own mother; as I age I find it harder and harder to translate my thoughts from English to Korean as my thoughts about the world manipulate my mind to dig deeper and deeper. My fear, which is often accompanied by disappointment and sadness, is that she will never know who I am.

This specific time she was surrounded by all the gifts and goodies she'd gotten at the Korean markets. She was so eager to show me her new crystal-encrusted leather watch, her fake Versace bag, all the things she'd gotten while she was overseas. These were the things that got her off, that made life worth living.

After a short while of trying to explain loss of women's rights, environmental concerns being shitted on, rich WASPs who live in a bubble with their best friends Ignorance and Fear, I just stopped. What was the point? "Love and let live," I thought. I sighed silently inside my head, and I felt a deep sadness watching her look at her things. Over the next couple of minutes, I let silence take over the kitchen. My need to conquer, I let it go. For me, the moment turned into a rare one - one that was actually kind of relaxing, not awkward, and we sat - maybe not together, but next to each other, in our own thoughts. I realized that this was the beginning. I needed to change my tactic, and here was the crossroad. Loud crunches echoed rhythmically inside my head as I chewed on slices of spicy radish...

I don't see the ring

I must admit that he is one of those people who I am always happy to see. But for the two years that we had spent flirting back and forth, I had never once noticed a ring on his finger.

We normally gravitate right towards each other when we find ourselves coincidentally in the same room. But the day I finally realized that he was married, I wandered into his place, and there he was ducking behind a giant piece of restaurant equipment. And there she was right next to him, talkin' out her neck like a Long Islander on her fifth joe black. And, boy, she was not cute. Lord, no, huh uh.

Curious, and feeling devious, I stepped gingerly up to the counter, and began to say good-day, my attempt to twist the thoughts of the three of us together. It was first time I ever saw him nervous. I was smiling so hard just trying not to laugh that my mouth could've split open and given birth to another head, shit.

After that point, our interactions were born out of this, sort of double life on his part. Wife around, be demure. Wife not around, pheromones, emitting; self control, gone. It was hello, verbal diarrhea. And, honestly, that's all I had wanted back: the verbal diarrhea.