Saturday, September 28, 2013
열리지 않는 뚜껑
Friday, September 27, 2013
The unopened lid
Early on a weekend morning, I walked along the East River, where no one had yet left a footprint. Only the tracks of ducks and seagulls stretched and scattered across the sandy shore, fading into the ripples of the water.
The ducks and seagulls flew off—except for one. A lone seagull, unmoving, stared back at me with calm resignation. It had only one leg. As if it had given up on flying, it showed no sign of distress. While others searched for food and quickly flew away to avoid danger, this one remained still. I wondered—how did it lose its leg? How has it survived in this harsh world, living differently from the rest?
I leaned against the railing at the ferry dock, listening to the sounds: boats arriving and departing, waves crashing under the bridge along the path, and the wind rustling through the leaves. After watching the ferries head north to Long Island City and south to DUMBO, I, too, left the riverfront.
On the way home, I passed an empty lot where a sharp, frantic sound—tick-tick, tick-tick-tick—broke the morning silence. A seagull was anxiously pecking at a clear plastic takeout container, trying to reach the food inside. The lid was shut. The food was right there, visible, almost within reach—but unreachable. The bird looked worn out, thin, and desperate, as if it had been trying for a long time. I looked around, wanting to help, to open the lid—but a tall wire fence enclosed the lot. Neither the seagull nor I could get through. We were both left feeling helpless.
As I walked home, I kept hearing that sound—faint but continuous, echoing in my ears.
The next morning, I glanced over again at the same spot. The container had been pushed to a corner near the fence, now empty. The gull must have pecked and pushed with such determination that the lid finally opened. Maybe by now, it’s flying somewhere with a full belly, at peace.
I thought—am I not like that seagull? Trying to open a sealed lid, struggling to create something meaningful, to bring a piece of art to life… Feeling as though I’m fumbling in darkness, searching for a faint light, desperate to open something that won’t budge. When will my lid finally open?
Saturday, September 21, 2013
브루클린에서 온 여자
Friday, September 20, 2013
A woman from Brooklyn
We ran to the sea—to Fire Island. It was September 11, 2013, and the temperature was over 92°F (33°C). The heat was so intense that I couldn’t resist chasing the last breath of summer. The ocean, warmed all summer long, was still toasty. I ran along the beach, diving into the water and back out again, repeating it over and over. It felt like I was flying—so refreshing and free.
On a small hill near the shore stood a group of very elderly men, barely covered by what looked like camera cases—just enough to hide their privates. They crossed their arms and looked around, probably hoping to find a partner?
“Hi,” one middle-aged man greeted me.
I’d seen him earlier, but now he walked right up to me, completely naked and quite proudly on display.
“Hi,” I replied politely.
“Let’s sit and chat for a while,” he said in a flirty tone. I ignored him and just kept running.
I’d always thought this area was mostly for gay men to sunbathe nude, but apparently not—why me? And today, there seemed to be even more naked people than usual. Was everyone trying to hold on to the last bit of summer by shedding everything?
As I ran toward the far end of Fire Island, the crowd started thinning out. A woman running ahead of me turned around, so I followed her lead. But suddenly, the same guy from before stepped in front of me again.
“Let’s talk. Where are you from?”
“Where are you from?”—I always answer Brooklyn. I say it with attitude, hoping they’ll flinch and imagine I’m a tough girl from a rough neighborhood.
I think he’s falling in love with the ocean too—just like me.
Saturday, September 14, 2013
시간의 흔적
Friday, September 13, 2013
Trace of time
Saturday, September 7, 2013
바다가 부른다
바닷물이 여름 내내 데워진 늦여름 화창한 날, 바다가 부르면 달려가지 않을 수 없다.
Friday, September 6, 2013
The sea calls
If you keep driving past Jones Beach on Long Island, you’ll eventually reach Robert Moses Beach. Even there, I prefer to go further to the stretch of shore near the Fire Island lighthouse. That’s my favorite spot.
On a clear late-summer day, when the sea has been warmed all season long, if the ocean calls me, I can’t help but go.
It feels a bit like taking a shot of soju on an empty stomach—suddenly light and floating. When I surrender myself to the incoming waves, they gently lift me up and softly set me down again. That moment of weightlessness, followed by the soft sand beneath my toes, fills me with joy—and I ride the waves.
I wait for the big waves to roll in. Bracing myself so I don’t miss them, I let the water toss me up like a feather and drop me down again. Repeatedly. My body grows limp, drunk on waves. Soaked in ocean water, perfectly salted like pickles in brine, even the mosquito bites from summer start to heal as I begin to long for next summer.
The endless stretch of white sand, touching the blue sky above, carries me past the white lighthouse, past the drifting clouds back to childhood. The rhythmic pounding of the waves, once harsh like a whip, now sounds like my mother’s lullaby. The warm breeze feels like her gentle touch. With sand as my pillow, I drift off to sleep.
A sunbaked middle-aged woman, perfectly tanned, suddenly strips off all her clothes—except a V-shaped thong—and walks confidently into the sea, bare-chested and unbothered. I reach for my glasses to get a clearer look.
All around, rainbow-striped cloths symbols of the LGBTQ+ community—flutter as makeshift privacy screens. Naked people stroll about, chatting and enjoying the end-of-summer beach. In the next mesh tent, a woman is napping completely nude.
“What are you looking at so closely, even putting on your glasses?” my husband teases. “You spent college years surrounded by nude models in art studios. Don't act surprised now.”
Like a bird that can't just fly past the mill, he can't help but make a comment.
The human body without clothes actually looks more natural. In fact, the brightly colored swimsuits feel more distracting. Naked bodies, under the blue sky, lying on the sand or floating in the waves, look like trees—just another quiet part of nature. I turn my gaze away, lost in thought.