뭉쳐진 솜사탕만 한 눈이 쏟아지다 작아지더니 이네 그쳤다.
Saturday, December 28, 2013
1차선, 2차선 아니면 지방도로로
뭉쳐진 솜사탕만 한 눈이 쏟아지다 작아지더니 이네 그쳤다.
Friday, December 27, 2013
First lane, second lane, or pave roads
Saturday, December 21, 2013
우울한 방문
어느 여자가 남편에게 초조한 듯 간절한 목소리로 전화하는 소리가 병원 휴게실에 앉아 있는 나에게 선명하게 들렸다. 불안한 듯이 전화기를 만지작거리며 한동안 뭔가를 생각하던 여자는 확신에 찬 미소를 지으며 자리를 떴다.
Friday, December 20, 2013
A gloomy visit
Saturday, December 14, 2013
창가의 선인장
공항 휴지통에 처박힌 꽃다발도 살릴만하다고 챙겨온다는 친구의 유능한 의사 남편이 생각난다. 사람이건 꽃이건 무조건 살려야 한다는 그의 마음 씀씀이가 경외롭다.
Friday, December 13, 2013
Resembling a cactus
Saturday, December 7, 2013
생긴 대로 삽시다
언니가 가져온 샐러드와 백김치, 동생이 구운 사과와 호박파이에 우리는 모두 언제 싸웠냐는 듯 먹고 마시며 히히히.
Friday, December 6, 2013
Let's live as it is
Saturday, November 30, 2013
떠나가는 후배
Friday, November 29, 2013
A leaving junior
In the early winter, when all the yellowed leaves have fallen, my dearest junior tells us she's leaving New York and going back to Korea. People I love seem to be slipping away one by one, like falling leaves. The older seniors have already passed on, and now the juniors are heading to Korea. Is it just my husband and me who are left behind?
Out of her backpack, like a tipsy bundle, tumbled bottles of makgeolli and snacks.
Maybe she can’t hold her liquor like before? Her Gyeongsang Province accent was getting thicker—clearly tipsy. I thought she was heading to the bathroom, but instead, she was struggling to squeeze her legs into a long photo booth. Well, maybe she's tired of drinking with the same old seniors who repeat themselves. She used to stay up drinking with us until dawn, even after a short nap.
“Call them. See if they can come,” he said.
When my husband gets a bit tipsy, he gets excited and says:
“Hey, come join us. We’re having a drink.”
And the reply, already slurred:
“I’m already drinking too!”
“Don't overdo it.”
“I love you, sunbaenim!”
“Who is it~”
It's the middle of the day, but the voice sounds like it just woke up.
“You went hard last night, didn’t you? Still passed out?”
Come to think of it, we spent more years together under the excuse of "art" that was more like "alcohol."
As a senior, I wasn’t a great role model or much help—just feel guilty and start mumbling while staring off in a random direction.
I once tried to set her up with a foreigner, not wanting her to struggle alone in New York. But she insisted, “I want to be able to eat Korean food in peace,” so that fell through too. Fine then. Korea's doing well—go. Eat all the Korean food you want, make great work, and live happily without feeling lonely.
The three of us, my husband, she, and I, walked to the subway station, arms around each other, swaying like drunks.
“Sunbaenim, I love you. You know I really like you, right?”
“You drunk?”
“Are we the only ones left now?” I said. “The only ones from our class who came first and stayed behind to keep watch over New York?”
“We stayed not because we had somewhere to be—but because we had nowhere to go, no one calling us back.”
“Why’d she have to leave now, in this bleak early winter when all the leaves have fallen? It’s just depressing.”
“You’d better stay healthy. If you’re going to be my drinking buddy, you’ll need to stick around. You’re my best friend, you know.”
I quietly reached for his hand. He pulled it away without a word and walked ahead. My awkward hand buried itself deep in my coat pocket, and my short legs hurried to keep up with him.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
남이섬 가는 길에
관광버스에서는 붉은색 유니폼 등산복 입은 아줌마들을 쉬지 않고 토해냈다. 남이섬은 폭탄 맞아 불타는 듯했다.